There’s no festive warmth, no homeyness, and nothing about this place makes me feel welcome.
I’m a stranger in my own home.
I stand in the kitchen, quietly pouring myself some ice-cold water, when my phone buzzes once with a text.
[Mom]Snow! You still haven’t told us when you’re arriving! Christmas is in four days!
[Mom]If you’re planning on surprising us, don’t. I need numbers, not a heart attack.
Shit. I forgot all about that. I can add terrible daughter to my ever-growing list of failures. Picking up my phone, I slowly text back.
[Snow]Sorry, Mom, there was a sudden change of plans. I can’t make it.
[Mom]Again? Snow, I thought this was important to you.
[Snow]About as important as you all coming to New York and not telling me.
[Snow]We could have seen each other then.
[Mom]Don’t start. I already explained that.
[Snow]Sure. You could fly me out.
[Mom]We don’t have the money to spare, darling.
[Snow]Saving for another concert?
[Mom]Not that it matters, but yes, they’re playing in Brazil at New Year’s. Your father’s trying to get tickets. He says hi.
My heart sinks.
It’s just like her to imply that seeing each other is important and yet in the same breath, tell me it’s not as important as their passion for the band they’ve been following for years.
[Snow]I really can’t make it, Mom. I’m sorry. I’ll try next year.
[Mom]You’ve really upset me, Snow!
“Yeah, get in line,” I murmur, trudging through to my bedroom with water in hand. It’s just as cold in here so I climb into bed, wrap the covers around me like a burrito, and pop my painkillers.
I crave sleep, but it doesn’t come.
My mind doesn’t stop running so to distract myself I end up on social media.
Somehow, these apps know I’m pregnant because within a few scrolls I’m swarmed by baby ads.
Clothing, diapers and strollers, toys and more.
Not the kind of distraction I want.
A notification pops up, bringing me to Hannah’s page, where she’s posted a picture of herself wrapping presents for Christmas with a bright smile on her face.
Presents.
I need to get them all gifts, even though our last time together didn’t go smoothly.
None of them have checked in on me.
None have asked about the baby.
