Chapter 31
THIRTY-ONE
If I never see another roll of wrapping paper, it might be too soon.
It’s all I can think about as I smooth out another red and green striped swath of paper and place a toy on it before slicing the paper to size.
This should have been finished yesterday, but last night we got about halfway through the wrapping before a terrible crash came from the other side of the room, and I looked up to find the stage we had set up the night before had collapsed.
It seems the volunteers missed a few nuts and bolts in the assembly.
Thankfully, no one was hurt, and even more thankfully, it happened yesterday instead of today with people on it.
I called my dad sobbing, and as is his way, he came downtown immediately with my mom and stayed until almost two a.m., fixing and redecorating the stage.
Since it was so late when I finally packed it in, Hallie insisted I stay at her place, not wanting me to drive while so exhausted.
I woke up bright and early with a pit in my stomach, and I’ve been anxiously checking my phone and email for a last-minute piano player, but to no avail.
Because apparently, nothing can go right, I received a call last night that Mr. Mooney, the pianist, was down with a cold and unable to play.
Just my luck, my backup, the choir teacher, is also down with the same thing.
We’ve always had live music for the festival, with my grandmother insisting it made everything more cheerful and intimate in a way that prerecorded tracks never could. However, this year it seems that’s one thing that isn’t going to happen.
I tell myself that it will be fine, that the festival will still be amazing, and I’m just getting the hiccups out of the way early as I smooth the paper over the side of a box holding a doll.
The decorations are up, and they are more spectacular than ever.
The stage is perfectly decorated and even more secure than before.
On one wall are more baked treats than I think have ever been at this event, and despite myself, I know it’s because I insisted I couldn’t be the one to take it all on.
Instead, I called my mom and told her we needed baked good donations, and she called up her friends, all of whom eagerly pitched in.
People will help; they just need to know you need it.
I can almost hear Adam saying that in my head, but I brush it away quickly.
Guilt over forgetting our date remains intertwined with the hurt and anger from our conversation.
Still, I don’t have time for anything other than productivity and holiday cheer, so I’ve forced myself to put it off and deal with all of that later.
For now, I’m finishing up wrapping the gifts for Santa to give out to all the kids tonight, and even though my brothers are supposed to be helping me, it’s just me on my knees getting papercut after papercut while they pretend to do their own but haven’t wrapped more than a gift each.
Mom is making sure the treat table is all set up with boxes for people to take extras home and plenty of tongs to keep germs away while Dad lugs in the drinks.
When I look around, I know I’ve done a great job with the decorations, craft tables, activities, and more. It’s the best holiday festival to date and one people will be talking about all year long.
And I’ve never felt less festive in my life.
“Dude, you need to get out,” Madden says, leaning back against a wall, a roll of wrapping paper spread out in front of him, though there isn’t even a gift on it.
He’s not even bothering to pretend. Though I try to ignore the irritation their blatant lack of help brings me, it bubbles beneath my skin.
“Yeah, I’ll be sure to fit that in between work at the farm, keeping my house clean, and making sure my daughter doesn’t grow up with daddy issues,” Jesse says under his breath.
“When was the last time you went on a date?” There’s a beat of silence, and Madden groans.
“Dude.” Jesse, to his credit, is pretending to wrap a gift, though he’s doing it painfully slowly.
In the time I’ve wrapped five gifts, he’s still on one.
“That’s it. We’re going to the city the Friday after Emma goes back to school. You’re getting laid.”
“And this is when I remind you that I have a kid and can’t just fuck off wherever I want. You know that Mom and Dad go on their trip the first week of January.”
They’ve done that since we were kids: prioritizing their relationship after the chaos of the holidays and spending a week somewhere tropical to decompress.
Every year, when my dad gifts my mom the trip, she acts shocked and confused, but by now, everyone knows they’ll be gone and plans for it a month in advance.
“Oh, well, Wren can watch her,” Madden says with a shrug. “What about Friday? We can go to the city and hit a couple of bars. I’ll pick you up at six; you just gotta drop Emma at Wren’s for a sleepover at five. That way, you don’t even have to worry about feeding her.”
This isn’t happening.
This can’t be happening.
There is no way they are making plans about me without consulting me, right? Surely, Jesse, my older, wiser brother, will mention how crazy that is. Surely—
“I mean, I guess that could work. I’d have to be back the next day by three to receive a delivery at the farm, though.” Jesse turns to me, finally, and I wait for him to ask if it would work for me.
That doesn’t happen.
“She has ballet in the morning at nine, you could take her to that, right?” Jesse asks.
My hands shake a bit as I sit back, staring at my brother with wide eyes.
Something in me snaps.
Something that no amount of Christmas spirit, a fake smile, or putting on blinders can mend.
The fact that no one bothered to ask if I had anything going on, and that my brothers are making plans involving me without even consulting me, reminds me of everything Adam has said in the past month or so.
I need to put myself first more. I need boundaries. I need to be comfortable saying no.
It’s not about being selfish, though. That’s where he got it wrong, I think. The word selfish makes it sound bad, like I’m screwing everyone over despite something stupid and silly for myself.
The fury rushing through my veins is not about being selfish. It’s about demanding the respect I deserve.
I’d be happy to give up every Friday for the foreseeable future to help my family, support Jesse, and spend more time with Emma.
But I deserve the basic decency of being asked if I am willing to make that change in my schedule.
I toss the scissors down and turn to my brothers, rage in my veins. “Are you fucking kidding me?” I ask, loudly. Both of my brother’s eyes go wide, though I don’t know if it’s because I just threw a pair of scissors or cursed. Both, probably.
“Wren Taylor King!” my mother says, aghast, head snapping my way despite her being across the room. “Be careful with that!”
I have no patience or mind for my mother, though. My ire is directed wholly at my brothers, even though it’s something that’s been welling and not just from them.
“Why is it always assumed I can just drop everything and help?” I snap.
“What?” Jesse asks.
“Everyone assumes I’ll just drop everything and fix every single problem.
That I’ll cancel whatever I may have had going on to help out.
You don’t even bother to ask anymore! It’s like I’m just someone you all go to when you need something, but no one ever thinks about what I need.
Or what I can handle, or what I want to do! ”
“Wow, Wren, calm down,” Madden says, eyes wide and tinged with humor, which makes my anger bubble over even more. I stand then, take a step toward him, and push him on his chest. He’s sitting and topples a bit, catching himself on his hands.
“No! I won’t calm down. I’m tired! I’m exhausted!
I haven’t had a full night’s sleep that wasn’t plagued by my to-do list scrolling through my head in a long time.
God, I don’t even know how long it’s been.
The summer? Because I’m always doing things for everybody else!
Everyone just assumes I’ll do it. Popcorn garland?
Oh, Wren can stay up late three nights in a row and string popcorn until her fingers bleed.
After-school care? Wren loves those kids!
Of course, she’ll take on everyone’s duty for it!
Bottle-feeding fucking kittens? Let’s ask Wren, even though she doesn’t even know anything about fucking kittens! ”
My brothers are both staring at me now with wide, shocked gazes, and my eyes are starting to water, my throat beginning to burn as months’ worth of frustration, disappointment, and exhaustion explode from me.
“I am so fucking tired. No one ever asks me if I need anything!”
“Wren, honey,” my mom says softly, and somewhere, I register that she and Dad are nearing me with that look you have when you step toward an injured, wild dog, but I don’t stop.
I can’t stop. It all spills out.
“The only person who ever cared was Grandma; she was the only one who cared if this festival was good, if the school was decorated, and if every kid on the gift tree got something, and if the fucking streets were all decorated, and she did it for years flawlessly. Now I’m stuck doing it, and everybody assumes I’m just going to do it and do it just as well as her for my first time and not need anyone to help me at all, while also continuing to do everything for everyone.
” I take in a jagged breath that hurts as it enters my lungs, as I fight back the tears that have wanted to spill over all day.