Love, Aubrey

by Suzanne LaFleur

  “AGAIN!” she screamed.

  Bridget and I tugged her out of the snow. Each of us pulling on one of her mittened hands, we hurried back up the hill.

  The track became packed down and slick, making us sled faster. Flying down the hill, I was actually happy. I grew more and more excited with each run. I wasn’t just heading down the hill. I was heading toward Christmas. Christmas, the time of family and wishes coming true. It was the time Gram said we came back to her after Grandpa died, and things got better. If Mom was waiting for the right time, Christmas was it. It had to be. I was heading toward my mother.

  Gram told me the whole family would be coming for Christmas this year, meaning all my aunts and uncles and cousins.

  “Do I need to move out of my room?” I asked. “Aunt Melissa and Uncle Steve used to stay there.”

  “No, I want you to have your room. You might want a private place to go. We’ll figure something else out for them.”

  Of course, there was the room where my parents had usually stayed, but she didn’t say that out loud.

  “What about Mom?” I asked.

  “Your mom is going to go down to Georgia to be with your dad’s family.” When I made a face, Gram added, “They wanted her to know she’s still their family, too.”

  I heard Gram, but I didn’t believe her. It was important for Mom to show me she was still my family, not anyone else’s. Whatever Gram thought the arrangements were, Mom would come here. She had to.

  I usually wasn’t that interested in clothes or looking too neat, but the Friday before Christmas I really wanted to look just right as our family started to arrive. When I got off the bus, I went straight inside and washed my hair, and then I blow-dried it so that it was pretty smooth. It took a long time because I’d never done it before. Then I tied it back with a black ribbon. Gram had bought me a new red dress for Christmas, so I put that on with my black dress-up shoes.

  Before going downstairs, I stopped in front of the mirror. Mom would certainly see how much I had grown when she got here.

  “That dress is for Christmas Eve Mass,” said Gram when she saw me.

  “I want to wear it now,” I said. For goodness’ sake, Gram could have just said I looked nice.

  Gram had been cooking all day. She wanted to have some things ready for the next few days to make it easier.

  I looked into a casserole dish with green, yellow, and gray goop.

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “Spinach artichoke dip,” Gram said. “You won’t like it.”

  The doorbell rang. I couldn’t get to the door fast enough. I pulled it open.

  It wasn’t her.

  It was Uncle David, Aunt Katherine, and their kids, Madison and Todd.

  I felt the smile leave my face.

  “Merry Christmas, Aubrey,” Aunt Katherine said.

  “Merry Christmas,” I echoed. “Come in.”

  Aunt Katherine stepped through the door and gave me a soft, lovey hug. Uncle David took a turn to squeeze me, too, and said, “You’re dressed up.”

  “I wanted to look nice for you,” I said.

  Uncle David’s eyes searched mine. I looked away.

  Madison and Todd stared at me like I had a disease. They didn’t hug me or say Merry Christmas. I tried to remember their ages. Fourteen and twelve?

  Gram came to the door, and there was a lot more hugging and holiday wishes. Then she saw me standing to the side. She must have sensed my about-to-get-a-stomachache mood, because she said, “Aubrey, help me bring all the snacks into the living room, now people are getting here.”

  It was Gram’s usual trick of keeping me busy. I went to the kitchen and started moving snacks.

  The next time the doorbell rang, it was Aunt Melissa and Uncle Steve and my cousin Chloe, who was just four. There was a repeat of hugging. I peered around them on the porch, but there was no one else there.

  “All right, Aubrey?” Uncle Steve asked.

  “Oh yeah,” I answered, shutting the door slowly. I only noticed then how much cold air it had let in.

  Everyone else came to greet them, and there were even more hugs. The hugs were slow and heavy, not light and jolly. Everyone was thinking of those who were not here.

  As if forgetting, Madison rushed in and picked up Chloe and spun her around. Chloe laughed.

  I tried to read the smiles on the grown-ups’ faces, to see if they were really happy or if the smiles were hiding sadness. Even though it was crowded in the front hall and my elbow was nearly linked to Uncle Steve’s, I felt ten feet away from everyone. There was an invisible wall between us.

  I sneaked the door open again and looked out.

  She still wasn’t here.

  I am in Gram’s kitchen. I am small. I stand between two tall legs, clenching the fabric of their jeans in my fists. I peek between the knees of the jeans and giggle. Uncle David wears a Santa hat and hides on the other side of the legs. When I peek out again, he makes a face, and I laugh.

  The legs are Mom’s. She reaches around and picks me up. She hands me a cup of juice from the counter and I drink it, starting to feel sleepy. She makes a sling with her arms, turning me so that I lie like a baby. She talks to everyone, Gram, Daddy, Uncle David, Aunt Katherine; Madison clatters by with a noisy toy. Mom carries me to the living room, and we sit on the couch next to the twinkling Christmas tree, but I keep my eyes shut and begin to dream….

  Aunt Linda, Uncle Douglas, and my teenaged cousins Max, Andrew, and Sarah came next, but she didn’t come.

  We ate all the snacks, and she didn’t come.

  Aunt Katherine passed around school photos of Madison and Todd, and she didn’t come.

  We ate dinner, and she still didn’t come.

  Aunt Melissa brought around the dessert, pecan pie, and stopped at my place.

  “I don’t want any,” I said. My head was on the table, and the ribbon had long since come loose and let out strands of hair. “Actually, excuse me for a minute, please.”

  I went upstairs to my room.

  Why wasn’t she here yet?

  I left the lights off and sat at my desk. I put my head down again.

  Well, Christmas was still a few days off. She could still make it.

  Yes, that was it. Such a Christmas surprise would only take place on true Christmas. Maybe Christmas Eve. I would just have to wait a little longer. Besides, if she did come tonight, I wouldn’t want her to see me sad. I would want her to see how well I was doing, how we could be happy together because I was learning how to be happy again. How I wouldn’t bother her at all or be hard to take care of.

  I trooped back downstairs, little bursts of determination guiding my steps.

  Andrew, Madison, and Todd had started a game of Scrabble on the coffee table in the living room.

  “Can I play?” I asked.

  Todd and Andrew kept quiet, but Madison said, “Sure,” and tossed the bag of letters at me.

  I thought as a rule up North there had to be snow on Christmas. But there wasn’t. After that first snow had melted, the world was just brown again.

  On Saturday night we went out to get a tree. And I don’t mean we drove to some parking lot. We bundled up, went out in the woods, and looked for one. Aunt Melissa seemed most convinced that she knew what kind of tree we wanted, so she made the final decision, and Uncle David and Uncle Steve used a little hatchet and a saw to cut the tree down.

  It was one of three little firs in a row. As our Christmas tree came down, I wondered if the other little firs would miss him.

  We dragged the tree back to the house, and a big show of standing it upright began in the living room. It seemed a lot bigger, now that it was inside. I thought of the little outdoor firs.

  The ornament boxes had been brought down from the attic and waited in the hallway. No one was looking at the decorations as they helped set up the tree or made hot chocolate in the kitchen to warm everyone up. So I opened the boxes myself, gathered a few bright round ornaments into my
hands, and snuck out the front door.

  Going off into the woods by myself at night was not something I’d say is a good idea, but I wasn’t going too far, and I remembered the way. After a few minutes I came to the fresh stump and the two remaining firs. I set the ornaments on the ground, trusting the moonlight to help me find them again. I squatted next to the stump, reaching out to touch the fresh-cut wood. Some thing sticky got on my fingers. A glistening purple syrup. Sap.

  I collected the decorations and started hanging them on the two trees.

  “Hey!” a voice called.

  I turned. “Hey, Bridget,” I said.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Decorating,” I said.

  Bridget wore an expression almost like a mother as she said, “Where are your gloves? You’ll get frostbite!”

  I hung up the last ornament, got my mittens out of my pocket, and put them on. Bridget’s expression went back to normal.

  “I was coming over to say Merry Christmas before we go away,” Bridget said. She was going to her cousins’ for Christmas. “But I saw you leave the house. I called you, but you didn’t hear me, so I followed you.”

  “I didn’t know,” I said.

  “Well, I brought you a present. Merry Christmas.” She held out a package. I took it from her. She must have wrapped it herself, because the red and gold paper was folded unevenly.

  “Oh, thank you. I didn’t get you anything yet,” I admitted. “I didn’t go shopping yet.”

  “That’s okay. Mom took me to get that. It’s just a book. You can open it later.” Bridget turned to look at the trees. “They look pretty, with the decorations.”

  “We should go back,” I said. “Before people freak out.”

  “Yeah, I’m not supposed to be out in the woods at night,” Bridget said. She paused, then asked, “You are okay, Aubrey, right?”

  I started to walk and she came along beside me.

  “You mean about Christmas?”

  “Mom said Christmas might make you more sad than happy this year, and it was hard for me to be happy, thinking you were sad.”

  “You can go ahead and be happy. I’m going to be happy, when…”

  “When what?”

  “Nothing, never mind.”

  The thing about wishes is that you can’t tell them to anyone, or they don’t come true.

  We were back at our yards.

  “Well, Merry Christmas, Aubrey,” Bridget said, giving me a hug.

  “Merry Christmas.”

  On Christmas Eve morning we had blueberry muffins and hot chocolate for breakfast. Christmas Eve always seems like the longest day of the year. I played board games and watched movies with my cousins, but I kept looking out the window. I wanted it to snow. If it snowed, it would be a sign that Christmas magic was working as it should be.

  For dinner Gram made a feast of beef tenderloin, peas, and mashed potatoes.

  Then it was time to get ready for church, so I put my red dress on. Aunt Katherine was helping Madison and Sarah do their hair up in curls, so she did my hair, too, with a hot curling iron. She piled the curls loosely with pins and threaded the black ribbon through so that it went around the outside almost like a headband.

  “You look enchanting,” she said. “Scoot and finish getting ready.”

  I got my nice coat and my thin black gloves. It really did feel good, being all pretty. I didn’t know how I was going to sit through Mass, knowing that when I got back Mom might be here.

  It took three cars to get us there. The service was so boring. I read on the program that this Mass is also called a vigil—the Solemn Vigil of Christmas.

  “What’s a vigil?” I whispered to Gram. A nice thing about Gram is that she thinks it’s okay for kids to ask questions in church.

  She whispered back, “A vigil is when you stay awake watching. It’s supposed to mean that we’re staying up all night waiting for Jesus.”

  I guess I got the idea of a vigil, but it wasn’t like Jesus was going to show up in the flesh.

  All of Mom’s family is Catholic, but because Dad was a Baptist, they had always taken us to Presbyterian services. So I sat through the service and just listened to everyone chime in with the prayers. I knew the Lord’s Prayer, at least, though ours is a little different. But the church was warm and the candlelight was soft and the music was pretty. Sleepy as all that made me, I was getting ready. Mom could be there when we got back.

  When we got back to Gram’s house, I couldn’t tell if there was an extra car because there were so many, but our old car definitely wasn’t there. Maybe she had come in a different one. I flew to the porch before everyone, flung open the door, and rushed inside. Out of breath, I searched every room downstairs, but she wasn’t there.

  My heart pounded as I stood near the door and caught my breath.

  “What’s the matter, dear?” Aunt Melissa asked, coming in with a sleeping Chloe on her shoulder.

  “Nothing. Um, good night, Aunt Melissa. Merry Christmas. I’m going up to bed.”

  The walk up the stairs was long and slow. There was still tomorrow. She would come tomorrow. She had to.

  “Aubrey, honey, let Savannah go first. She’s so excited and she’s been waiting.”

  I’ve been waiting, too, though. Look at the pile of presents spilling out from under the tree! I’ve waited for everyone to get up, for Mom to make the coffee, for Savannah and me to shovel down bowls of cereal we didn’t even want. It seems like I’ll never get into those presents.

  “It’s Christmas. Wake up, sweetheart.” Gram shook me gently.

  “Oh,” I said. “Oh!”

  I pushed the covers to the floor and jumped out of bed. I ran downstairs.

  My eyes scanned the relatives, who were all drinking coffee and eating crumb cake. She still wasn’t here.

  Gram rushed after me with a bathrobe and socks. “It’s colder than you think this morning,” she said as I pulled them on.

  “Sweetie, come sit by me,” Aunt Melissa said. I sat on the arm of the couch next to her. She pulled my hair out from the collar of the bathrobe where it had gotten stuck.

  “Have some of my cake,” she said, holding the plate up to me. I broke off the tiniest bit and ate it.

  A hall table had been pushed against the wall opposite the tree. On it were three framed photographs—Savannah, Dad, and Mom. Two candles had been put next to Dad’s and Savannah’s pictures. The table had collected a few cards and small presents.

  I looked at it and willed myself not to feel anything.

  Throughout the morning things were handed to me, and I did whatever the hands seemed to suggest I do next. I opened presents. I ate cake. I drank hot chocolate. I returned hugs and cheek-kisses.

  Whenever I had a chance, I went to the window and looked out. I went to the door and opened it. Where was she?

  Uncle David noticed me at the window again. “Sport,” he called to me. When I didn’t turn from the window, he tried again. “Aubrey. Come sit by me.”

  I joined him on the sofa. I curled my legs up and rested my head on his chest.

  “Christmas can be tiring,” he said. “And we were out late. Just rest for a little.”

  I tried to keep my eyes open, to wait, but he was right, it was hard. I was tired.

  Aunt Katherine woke me at four o’clock for Christmas dinner. I shook my head, and she left me on the couch, where I was. I kept my eyes and ears open, watching, listening. From the dining room came the sounds of dishes, silverware, and glasses, sometimes brief laughter. They kept the lights dim, and before the meal was over, the sun had set. Christmas was ending.

  The phone. Maybe she would call to say Merry Christmas. Maybe that was it. Maybe I’d been waiting the wrong way.

  I went to the empty kitchen. I pulled a chair over to the counter by the phone and put my head down to wait.

  Aunt Katherine found me again. She had a plate ready for me, ham and something and something. I didn’t look too closely.
“You should try to eat,” she said kindly.

  I didn’t respond, and she went back to the dining room.

  Gram came to the kitchen and pulled up a chair so that she was facing me. She looked at me so carefully; then she got up again, went to a cabinet. Opened her address book. Took a piece of paper from it. She handed it to me. A phone number.

  “There. Call her.”

  “No.”

  “You want to talk to her.”

  “No.”

  “Aubrey—”

  “No!” I yelled. “That’s not how it’s supposed to be!”

  Gram sighed. “Tell me, how is it supposed to be?”

  “She’s supposed to come see me! Or she’s supposed to at least call to wish me Merry Christmas!”

  “We didn’t call her, either,” Gram said. “Sweetheart, time and space. If she isn’t here, she isn’t ready to come yet. If she isn’t calling, she isn’t ready to talk yet. I’m really sorry. If you want to try, please try, the number is right here.”

  But I didn’t want to try. I didn’t want to have to try. She was the parent. It was her job to try.

  “I hate her,” I said. I left the kitchen.

  Christmas was over.

  Dear Baby Jesus,

  I know I haven’t talked to you in a really long time. Not even at church on your birthday. I know that isn’t really nice or the best way for us to be friends.

  I don’t know why you took my family a way from me. I don’t know why you know where my mother is and don’t send her back to me. I wish things could be different than they are but I don’t know how to make them different. I don’t think it’s my job. I think that’s the grown-ups job and maybe you should tell them to get going.

  Anyway, I’m going to forget it. If my mom doesn’t want to see me, or even talk to me on Christmas, then I don’t want to see her or talk to her ever again. Keep her safe, wherever she is, but tell her to forget me. It’s the best thing for everybody.

  Oh, and happy birthday.

  Love,

  Aubrey

  Frost laced the edges of my window. Even though I could feel the cold seeping in, I pressed my palm against the glass, watching a foggy outline of my hand appear. With my fingernails I scratched ALP—Aubrey Lynne Priestly—in the corner of the glass, letting the falling frost collect on the windowsill.