by A. E. Radley
It didn't feel like Christmas. None of the love and comfort was there. Dana knew it was her fault, that she was the one ruining the holiday, but she didn't know how to be different.
She spent a lot of time thinking about Lauren. About how soft her lips had been and how each touch seemed to leave a mark on Dana's skin. She tried not to imagine what the same scenario would have been like with Margot. She could only envision what it would be like with Margot, their arms and legs wrapped tightly together. She knew about how lesbians had sex and, while the thought intimidated her, the idea she could learn with Margot sent shivers down her spine that no amount of distraction could save her.
On the day of Christmas Eve, Margot and Bridget left early. Dana's father left the television off. It was time for him to do his last minute wrapping. This time normally filled her with joy and eager anticipation. Her father was a decent gift giver, but there was delight found in every year wondering where he'd hidden all of the gifts, pulling them out at the very last minute. At night, they'd all gather in the living room and open one present. The rest would have to wait until morning. The tradition had started because Bridget had been so intolerably impatient growing up it was the only way to soothe her demands. Dana had been secretly glad of her sister's overbearing personality; the single present always felt more special than the others. Like it was destined to be opened that night, under stars, when the house was filled with warmth and low light while winter was cold and crisp outside.
Because her father was wrapping, Dana couldn't explore. Which left her hovering near the kitchen, a ghost of Christmas Petulance, until her mom heaved an enormous cast iron dutch oven onto the counter and demanded that Dana come help her.
"I'm not great at cooking, Mom. Bridget's better."
"Well, Bridget isn't here and you are, and this goose isn't going to stuff itself."
Dana felt a quick shock empty her mind of its normal bleak occupants. "You're making a goose? Like, an actual goose?"
Her mother smiled and clapped. "I am! With Margot here I needed a bigger bird, and I wanted to do something special to impress her."
"But a goose? Is that even good?"
"Sweetheart," her mother, dry tone heavy with amusement, "goose is a traditional Christmas meal. I'm wondering if you should have chosen a trade school instead of student loans if you don't know that."
"Ha. This family is hilarious."
"We are. Except for you. Now, go get the bird out of the sink."
How Dana had missed the giant bird filling the sink was beyond her. But she went and lifted, scrunching her nose at the feel of cold, wet, pebbled poultry skin under her fingertips. "I think this is how people become vegetarians."
"Whatever, honey. Just put it in the pot, please."
She carried it, holding it so far away from her body her arms shook with effort. Her mother had placed a roasting grill inside of the pot. It sat toward the top, the slight dip in just enough to contain the edges of the bird as Dana set it down. "Why are you using the grill?"
"I want the skin crisp, so it can't sit too far into the pot or it'll steam instead of brown. And geese are fatty birds. The bottom of the pan will collect the fat and I can use it for other cooking this winter."
Dana went to wash her hands. As she was toweling them dry her mother handed her a knife. "Chop garlic and parsley, please. I'll zest the lemons."
The garlic was still in the bulb. Dana stared at it. "Do I just cut it up like this?"
Her mother stilled, staring with wide eyes. "Eighteen years old and I never taught you to prepare garlic? I've failed as a mother."
Dana worked hard not to roll her eyes. But her mother came over and stood close. The heat of the kitchen and the nearness of her mother was overbearing, but Dana leaned into it. She'd been working extra hard to isolate herself. She'd forgotten how much she loved the nearness of another person. Especially her boisterous, busy mother, who managed to accidentally wound with her words but always provided the balm of unconditional love after.
"You'll want to just pop it apart like this--" her mother pulled the cluster apart. Smaller shell-shaped lumps fell to the cutting board. "Now take your knife and--" Dana had expected her to start chopping, but her mother put the flat of the blade on top of a clove and smashed it down with her free hand. Then she smashed another one. She handed the knife back to Dana. "See? Now it's easy to peel and your garlic's already half-minced. I like to get them all free of their skins first, and then chop them all willy-nilly after."
It was such a simple thing, but Dana felt as if she'd watched a magic trick unraveled. She set to work and while she was slower and less confident, she managed to get all of the garlic peeled and roughly chopped. It was methodical work, requiring her attention and yet not. Meditative, perhaps, because she felt more in her body, more present, when she finished than she had in a few days.
"Okay, what's next?"
"Parsley. That's simple. Leaves off stems and then a rough chop."
Dana set to it. As she was ripping the leaves, loving the fresh bursts of green scent that came with each tear, her mother began to talk. "Tell me about what's going on."
"You mean with cooking?" Dana focused too intently on the herbs in her hands.
"Oh, please. You've been moping like a kicked puppy ever since you got home. Did something happen to you?"
Dana thought about Lauren's kiss and the anxious drive home. Her body tingled in all the places Margot had touched her, affectionate. And she recalled Margot's hand, patting her sister's, and her sister's easy apology. "No, nothing happened." She ripped more leaves, mauling them, her fingertips turning green.
She felt her mother behind her before she realized her mom had moved. A hand on her shoulder jerked her from her task. She turned to face her mom and felt shame stoke in her belly. Her mom's eyes were wet. She reached up to cup Dana's cheek. "Did something happen? Did someone...did someone hurt you?" Dana heard her mother's voice crack on the last question and she felt sick. She'd been so caught up in her own self-imposed misery she hadn't considered what it would look like for her family.
When she'd left for college, she'd been forced to attend a lecture for incoming freshmen. It had been about sexual assault on campus. The statistics were alarming, even though they were assured they were broad and not Western Carolina University specific. The lecture had scared her so much, Dana knew that was why she kept a close eye on Anna. Because Anna seemed at risk of being another statistic with her drinking and partying and sleeping around. But Dana, safe and cautious, never considered it for herself. Now she saw that's what her mom had worried about. Had probably been nail-bitingly worried over all semester.
Dana threw her arms around her mom's plump shoulders. Her mother was shorter yet managed to feel like a rock, stable and supporting. Dana allowed herself to fall into the comfort of the embrace. She cried, her body rocking and trembling with the release. "It's not that, I promise," she said between sobbing breaths. "I swear it. That's not what's upsetting me."
It took a few reassurances for her mother to soften against her. Dana imagined she could feel the huge sigh of relief from her mom as she let go of the gnawing concern that her daughter had been hurt or violated. A hand smoothed over her back in large, soothing circles. Dana cried then, simply because it felt good to cry. "I'm sorry, Mom, I don't mean to be such a downer."
"Oh, baby, you aren't a downer. But if it isn't...that...then what is it? You've always been quiet and a bit of a lonely girl, but I've never seen you so inside of yourself."
Dana extracted herself from the embrace. She kept her hands on her mother's shoulders, refusing to lose contact. They both needed the touch, the connection. There was still love. They were still a family. That was important. It was important. And she knew she was damned lucky to have it. "It's just normal teenage heartbreak, Mom. I'm being melodramatic."
"Heartbreak? You met someone?"
She snorted. "You don't have to look so surprised. Yes, I met someone. It's just cause
d a lot of emotions I was real good at not letting myself feel. Now I'm trying to work through them and I'm sorry I'm doing it in such an awful, obvious way."
Her mother laughed, mouth open and astonished. "I can't believe you met someone. I'd begun to believe there wasn't a boy out there for you."
This was the moment. She could correct her mother. It wouldn't be a big deal. Hell, her mother might even have advice. Their family wasn't conservative. They voted center, not right. They went to church, but they didn't force it on their children's heads.
"I guess college changes people." It wasn't a lie and it certainly was the truth, albeit skimming over a large detail.
Her mother hugged her again. "I'm sorry. Heartbreak is the worst. I was always a little thankful you didn't date much in high school. I never had to coddle you like I had to take care of Bridget. She falls in love every other week. Even now, I think she's going out with some boy tonight. She's certain he'll propose, and I can't even remember his name."
Dana pulled back. "Proposals? Bridget?"
"I know." Her mom sighed and shrugged. "Your sister has always needed to learn things her own way. This is just one of those times that I need to stop back, because if I say anything--"
"Oh, she'd do it just to prove you don't have a say." Dana sympathized while still absorbing the news. Bridget was like that, working double time to exert authority over her life and making sure everyone knew it. But marriage? And a boy? What did that mean about the weird conversation in the car? The brief hand touch? "If she's out tonight, what does that mean about our family tradition? The single present?"
She saw the way the light caught in her mother's eyes, so similar to her own. How the skin around her mother's eyes had started to wrinkle, staying lined even after the smile had faded. It brought a new sadness to her, deeper than any morose teenaged pinings for Margot. This might be the last Christmas her family was together like this. Dana felt the inevitability of time and with it, the awareness of her parents’ mortality. If her sister got married, she'd share the holidays with her husband's family. And now the tradition wouldn't happen. It had been made obsolete with age.
Her mother patted her cheek. "Oh, sweetheart. I know. College isn't the only thing that changes people. We all change, all the time. It's okay to let go of a tradition and it's okay to be sad about that. You can still open a gift if you'd like, but we always did it for Bridget. Besides, Margot doesn't have anything under the tree. I assumed not opening tonight would cut her a break."
Dana processed all of it, but her mind clamped down on the last bit. "What do you mean, there's no gift for Margot?"
CHAPTER 9
She swung her car back into the parking lot in the last available space on the deck floor. Dana looked at the dashboard; the mall would close in half an hour. Early, so employees could go home for the night and be with family.
She could make it.
Dana dashed across the parking lot, running past exhausted looking patrons laden with bags on their arms and under their eyes. The revolving door at Belks turned too slowly for her. She huffed and pushed, wincing as her hands left marks on the glass that someone had probably just cleaned. Once inside, she started hurrying through aisles. Dana hustled past women's clothing and lingerie, featuring mannequins so stiff and thin it was impossible to imagine the clothes they modeled on a human body. She moved past men's clothing. Boxers with absurd characters were followed by socks were followed by puffer jackets, now 40% off, don't miss this red dot sale.
There, toward the mall entrance, was the counter she was looking for. Chanel.
She slowed as she approached the immaculate glass counter. Her heart raced and she paced her breathing, trying to return it to normal. Behind the counter was a lovely woman. As soon as she registered that Dana was coming over, she perked up.
"May I help you with something? A last minute gift?"
"Yes. Uh, please." Dana frowned. "I believe it's Chanel No. 5?"
"Of course. What size?"
"What size do people normally gift?"
"Does the person you're giving it to normally wear a lot of perfume?"
Dana fidgeted, toeing the polished tile. "I don't know."
"Well," the woman said kindly, "perfume has a long shelf life, but it does have a shelf life. Perhaps medium to small is best if you don't know."
Dana felt the corners of her mouth tug down. "Will small be okay? Like, is it enough of a gift?"
"It's a classic perfume. Timeless. A little goes a long way, which means even a small has the opportunity to tell your mother you love her hundreds of times as she uses it."
Her frown threatened to deepen. Time was ticking. Dana knew her family would be getting ready for the evening, whatever that entailed now. Apparently, not much, because no one had mentioned her coming back. Bridget had already left for her boyfriend, name still undisclosed to family, while Margot read on the couch in the living room. Her mother had opened a bottle of port. It was clear that there would be no gathering of family.
But the mall was going to close and she felt a deep, intrinsic need to get this gift, no matter what. "Uh, okay." No corrections. Besides, what would she say? "I'm not getting it for my mom. I'm getting it for a girl I've loved for forever who doesn't have a gift to open tomorrow."
As if perfume and a wish made on a fake Santa's lap would rescue Christmas.
The woman smiled and grabbed the box. It was small, no more than the palm of the woman. Clean, elegant font. "That will be ninety seven dollars."
Dana stared. "That's the small?"
The woman's smile didn't falter. No doubt Dana's reaction was common because come on, a hundred bucks for a small perfume? "Your mother will understand its value as soon as she sees it."
Numb, Dana opened her wallet. She should walk away. This was ludicrous. She hadn't spent more than thirty on every member of her family, including her mother, who'd grown her in her body eighteen years before. Margot may not appreciate a gift like this. She might now appreciate Dana's attention. Bridget's voice whispered in Dana's mind, reminding her that she'd made Margot uncomfortable. But in the line while waiting for Santa, it hadn't been weird. It had been fun. Easy to talk and joke and laugh. And Margot hadn't needed to stick with Dana. They could have bullied her into waiting alone and she'd have done it. But Margot had chosen to stand with her.
Dana thought about all of the tight expressions she'd caught. Margot wincing or a sadness to her eyes that seemed as out of place during the holiday as Dana's own moping. It occurred to her, staring at that overpriced minuscule box of scent, that she might not be the only one suffering that holiday. Her mother was having to adjust to having both daughters home again after three months of empty nest, and Bridget and Dana had been bickering the entire time. Bridget was seeing a boy serious enough that there might be a ring, but hadn't told her family about him. What did that mean for her sister? Was she okay? And Margot, who wasn't spending the holiday with her parents. No fun trip, no flying first class, no family at all on a day that's supposed to remind people of loved ones. No gift under the tree.
She slid her credit card over the counter. If she didn't drink or succumb to Anna's pressure to give some money for pot, she could pay it off before summer. The saleswoman slid the card, made her sign, and wrapped the gift. Wrapped it, not just a bag, and for that Dana was grateful. In its shimmery paper it looked magical. Elegant and special. Good. It needed to be.
"My daughters would never remember my favorite perfume," the lady said, her smile finally dropping. "They're so busy."
"They aren't home for Christmas?"
"Not this year."
Dana bit her lip. The lights in the store dimmed and a voice came over and announced it was closing time, but it felt like she was seeing the world again with new eyes. "I bet they're missing you right now, though."
"Oh," the woman laughed, waving her hand, "I doubt it."
"This was my first semester at college and I missed my mom at least five times a day
every day. And not just because she cooked and cleaned and now I have to do that stuff. Sometimes I forget how well she sees me. Like, she's the first to know when I need...well, when I need my mother. I bet they miss you, for sure."
The wet in the sales woman's eyes morphed to tears. "You are a sweet girl."
"I haven't been. I've been acting like an ass for like, a week. May I give you a hug, since your daughters aren't able to? Is that too weird?"
"That would be the best gift I've had this year."
The woman closed her register, flicked the switch on some lights, and came out from behind her shining glass fortress. Without it between them, she seemed less large and powerful. She seemed human and Dana smiled. She hugged the woman. She let her hold on for as long as she needed and Dana didn't care when she felt her hair and sweater dampen. At the end, she put a little extra squeeze in it.
When they released, she offered to walk the woman out. The sales lady declined. "We've got a few more things to do to close up. Go on and get home. I hope...I hope you have a blessed Christmas."
The drive home was a blur. Dana had never done speed, but she pondered if this was what it felt like. Her heart had shed a hundred pounds and was beating quickly as if rejoicing in its newfound freedom. Her body felt electric, so heated and vibrant that she rolled her car window down and let icy wind blast her as she drove. It stung her cheeks and made her eyes so dry they hurt. Dana felt good, real good. Better than she had in months.