By December, visiting Emelia had long since become normal. It was just something Allison and I did whenever we were bored or Allison demanded we go. I brought over my racing games and we would battle for the last cookie Allison brought from her aunt. Allison would poke us with her feet until we swerved. (She had an in with the cookie supplier! She didn’t even need to win that badly.)
Each time, it felt like parts of Emelia were slowly being unearthed. I remember the first time Emelia attempted to trash talk, by saying, “I’ll be happy to sign your silver medal!” as her car overtook Allison’s for first place.
Allison and I snapped our heads to look at her and then at each other. We laughed so hard out of shock that we couldn’t catch up to her before the finish line. Maybe that was her secret plot. She blushed hard while profusely apologizing. It was awhile before she said anything that didn’t rise to the highest level of polite and kind. But I noticed she didn’t forfeit her prize. Maybe she’s just serious about cookies.
Other times, we would sit quietly, Allison and I on our phones, Emelia reading, until it started to get dark and we headed back. It felt like each time we visited, we waited longer and longer to leave. Part of that may have just been our reluctance to venture back out into the cold, again.
However, when winter break came, Allison went out of town to visit her grandparents. For the most part, I stayed home due to exploited labor. My dad’s brother and his family came to visit, which meant that the house had to be perfect. I was only half-way through my chore list when I lay on the floor in the laundry room, out of sight of the hall.
“Oh, there you are,” Jay said when he found me no more than ten minutes later.
“There’s room for one more,” I said, still staring at the ceiling. “I’m imagining being second mate on a ship, but I dunno what era. You got a stake in this daydream?”
Jay came and lay opposite of me, our heads next to each other. “Can it be pirates? Can I be captain?”
“I was committing to a mutiny plot. But I can adjust.”
“No, bring it on!”
A tap-tap alerted us to our mother’s presence, looking down at us. She had two plastic bags in hand. A sigh led into, “I won’t get angry at your slacking if you promise not to fight me on your Christmas outfits this year.”
You see, family pictures were to be sent out to important business partners so my regular oversized hoodie was no longer acceptable.
She set them down and disappeared.
“A skirt I can handle,” I said. “But if there’s a puffy jacket again, you’re wearing it, not me.”
He pulled one of the bags close. “Okay, but are you sure you’re ready for a sweater vest instead.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s way worse. You win.”
The cleaning finally stopped when the guests arrived, anything left to pick up shoved into multiple closets. But this moment of relief led into nights wishing someone would drill a hole in my head because two of my younger cousins would be staying in my room during their visit.
On Christmas, I was a constant flight risk. I wasn’t used to so many days at home in a row. After faking through family pictures, we opened gifts. Cue my cousins running screaming around the room. When Jay and my mother were too busy baking to help entertain the kids, they reached peak volume.
I sought solace outside. The cold wasn’t unbearable, but it had been raining all day through a cloud-covered sky. The damp chill added a layer of misery. “Just one more day,” was my constant refrain.
I leaned against the garage where my bike was stored. How long would it take for them to notice I was gone? Maybe I could grab coffee from a gas station vending machine? It was just over half a mile. If I timed it right, I could have a hot coffee and be at the bus stop to somewhere else before the cookies were cooled.
I had only been out plotting for a couple minutes when Natalie, the thirteen year-old cousin, burst through the front door. Is there no escape? I started to bang my head against the wall until I realized she was crying.
“Hey,” I said softly, only enough for her to realize I was there.
She whirled around and scrubbed at her tears. I waited a few moments, staring at the sky while she collected herself.
Finally, she burst out with, “My brother is such a jerk. All I ask is for one day of peace! He can’t even be nice on Christmas!” One day of peace sounded good to me, too. Oh no! She was back to full force crying again. “Christmas is supposed to be special!”
Ah, yes, special, huh? I wondered what Emelia would say in this situation. I bet she has an opinion on everything. “How would you feel being alone on Christmas?” I asked, but knew it wouldn’t come out right.
“Well, I don’t want that, either, but…” She looked down. She must have thought I was trying to scold her. I was only curious because there wasn’t much I wouldn’t have done to be alone right then. “But maybe if I were back home, I could at least see my friends. I didn’t want to be gone the whole break—not that I hate it here!”
I laughed to let her know I didn’t care. We were in agreement about them being here. But not wanting to be away from friends during the holidays? I didn’t think about it a lot. My classmates and Allison had their own family and parties. They were probably too busy to think about me, dealing with their own packed houses and obnoxious jolly music.
—Then, of course, there was Emelia. What were her feelings about Christmas? Was it special?
Natalie shivered and I suggested we get back inside. When I spotted Jay and my mom in the kitchen, I said, “You know, my brother makes the best chocolate chip cookies from a box. He does something with cinnamon? If you bring the recipe back to your friends, it’s a guaranteed hit. And I know your brother isn’t going anywhere near the kitchen.”
“Cookies are my favorite!” She said and hopped over to the counter.
I went back to finding the best method to speed up time. My dad didn’t even watch sports, but there he was, drinking with my uncle and talking about the home team like a badge of pride. My regular position of all four limbs sprawled in opposing directions on the couch was awkward in a skirt so I settled for a heavy lean while I waited for them to relinquish the TV. This forced me to actually make eye contact and nod at the conversation.
I recognized the expression on my dad’s face, one he directed at me often enough. I don’t think he was having a good time. His laughter at my uncle’s puns lacked joy. Then why were we all doing this?
When they finally got up to go to the garage to check out his tool collection or something equally boring, I spent the rest of my time melting my brain on video games. When my mom fussed at me to spend time with family, I dragged one of the cousins into a high-score competition. Then Joe, the brother, slammed his controller down after losing and the TV was banned. (Well, if it’s broken, I decided that would be Allison’s controller now.)
It took a while, but I finally made my cousins shut up and lie down. Their heavy breaths should have been annoying, but it was peaceful knowing they were deep asleep. I lay on my back with my eyes closed. Despite being stressed and tired, I couldn’t sleep. I had people to blame. I blamed Natalie. I blamed all the people who ambush you at school, the mall, the sidewalk, reading tear-jerker poems and lecturing about the “Christmas spirit.” I could not stop thinking about Emelia, alone on Christmas, like one of those downtrodden protagonists from the cheesy holiday movies playing on loop—All alone on Christmas until some ghost or magical creature floats in to save the day. But in reality, there’s no such force to rescue you.
And did it really matter? She has been alone countless times by now. It was just a day, like any other.
I rolled onto my side and stared at the clock. 1:36 a.m. Would she be sleeping? (No, she has “sleep issues,” I remembered.) It wasn’t even Christmas anymore. Allison wasn’t around to insist I go. I thought I put up a pretty good argument. So why was it that I was suddenly up, pulling on a hoodie, and looking for gloves?
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