24. Then
Then: Christmas Day
T oday is the day I’ve been waiting all year for—and no, not just because it’s Christmas. It’s because I know today is the day: the day my parents (mostly Dad) promised me a car! Okay, fine. Maybe they didn’t exactly promise me a car for Christmas. But, I may have overheard them discussing a vehicle the other day, and I’m pretty sure it was for me. It’s a very good sign that they’re going to break the “you need to get your license before you get a car” rule. I’m so excited. Nobody or anything can screw today up. I’m simply not going to let it happen.
I wake up and it doesn’t feel real, but there’s no way I am still dreaming. Mom has taken off again, and I have no idea why. She’s been missing for five days now. Dad doesn’t have a clue where she might be, and without a phone, there is no way to track her down. He is concerned, but not enough to call the police. Her leaving is almost normal now, as sad as that is. But today is Christmas. Mom has never missed a Christmas before, surely she won’t miss this one.
She won’t.
I find out a few moments later that I am right. Despite Mom’s absence over the last several days, she’s home. Before I even step foot into the kitchen I can sense her presence in the air. She’s here. I know it.
I can smell her famous butterscotch maple pancakes. Dad doesn’t cook, ever. Frankly, I’m not even sure he knows how. Without Mom here we’ve been living off takeout and fast food. He’s refused to let me cook because Mom will be home soon, and letting me cook is like giving up hope on Mom coming back. Something he wasn’t prepared to do yet.
She didn’t leave anyone a note this time, not even for me. I fight the burning sensation dwelling in my eyes. Not today. She’s here, she’s here. I believe it, I can sense it, but I need to know it’s for real and not just a feeling. I need to see the proof of her existence.
Any doubt that had been previously lingering has vanished. Evaporated. As I make my way into our kitchen I see not one parent, but two standing by the table beaming at me over a steaming plate of freshly made hotcakes.
I notice something else. Dad’s arm is draped across Mom’s shoulders as though she’d never been gone, and everything is normal and fine. They aren’t getting a divorce, and Dad didn’t sleep with his therapist. It never happened—none of it.
Nothing has ever been normal or fine in our family. Especially not this. My parents don’t even like each other anymore. But then I remember what day it is. Christmas. There has always been something extra magical about this day. Whether or not I believe in real magic, there’s something about this holiday that can either bring out the best or worst in people. At this precise moment… it’s bringing out the better parts of my parents.
I want to hold onto this. I want to wrap it up neatly and tie it with a pretty bow, because come tomorrow morning everything could change. It’s as though we are under some sort of holiday spell and the moment it’s over the spell will be broken and this day will have seemed like nothing more than a faraway dream.
We all sit down together at our table. Mom smiles at Dad and Dad smiles at Mom. And then they both smile at me. I smile back because it’s contagious. I can’t help it. I also don’t want to add any more cracks to our fragile facade. Because I know that’s all this is, but I’m not going to be the first to break it.
I stack my plate high with Mom’s ooey gooey pancakes, my mouth watering at the sight and my tummy rumbling in response. The sticky sweetness from the syrup coats my mouth in a way that makes me feel like I’m drowning. Something about it tastes sweeter than normal. I’m not much of a milk drinker but I need something to help wash these down. I reach for my dad’s mug of coffee and take a big gulp. I can feel both of my parents watching me in amusement, but I don’t bother complaining. Maybe Dad helped her make these and that’s why they taste a little different. I don’t want to ruin this. Be polite. I thank them both for breakfast, and I’m completely taken by surprise by what happens next.
Mom ties a sheer, orange scarf around my eyes and guides me out the front door, out into the frigid December air.
I shiver as my slippers plummet into a pile of snow beneath me, but I’m too confused to let it bother me. Like a child about to whack a pinata, Dad spins me around three times. One, two, three they chant together. On the third spin, he places something cold and hard into my hands and peels off the scarf.
It takes me a moment for my eyes to adjust to the bright sun reflecting off every surface. That isn’t the only thing that reflects in the light. I freeze in my tracks. No way. No way! Parked along the edge of our driveway is a brand-new Ford Explorer. She’s shiny, new, and looks expensive. So expensive. We can’t afford something like this.
I’m in a daze as my parents say words around me that I can’t make out .
Today is Christmas. Magic is written in the very name. Today is special. Mom came home for me. Okay, maybe that part isn’t entirely true. But she’s here nonetheless. We are all here, as a family. They made me my favorite breakfast, and we are now standing out in the freezing cold staring at my brand-new car! I have a car!
Yet, none of this feels real to me. Despite the magic in the air, I can’t help but sense that something feels very wrong. Nothing about this day has been normal. A more accurate depiction of our lives would be to take a snow globe and shake it all up, watching the snowman stand in place as everything around him erupts in chaos. That’s us. We are standing still in the midst of a storm.
I should be jumping for joy. I should be hugging my parents and thanking them for this day that had been promised to me and come true. This is a promise that has not been broken. Yet I don’t feel or do any of those things. I don’t feel anything at all. I feel numb. Empty. Lifeless. Like I’m in shock.
I hear words and voices buzzing all around me but none of them stick. They melt and evaporate like the snow I’m standing in. My snow globe has been disturbed and my parents’ voices surround me like tiny, little snowflakes, yet I hear nothing. They can’t reach me.
I focus on the shiny black of my new car until it vanishes completely from my line of sight.
Their voices come across like static through an old radio. I can’t tell who is saying what, they are both blending together. Swirling, mixing, chaotic.
“Say something, honey.”
“You like it, don’t you?”
“Of course she does. She’s just in shock.”
“Maybe we should all go for a drive.”
“What do you say, Sweet P?”
I don’t say anything at all. Because I can’t. Because my entire world goes black as it all fades away. So much for this day and its Christmas magic. For the spell has finally been broken. Again .