“May God be with the Coleman family,” Chuck said, his voice cracking. “I love all of you, and I’m so grateful for you. Thank you for being here with me today. Thank you for being all together.” He bowed his head, then slowly sat.
Not a single Coleman eye was dry.
After that, they burst into action, passing turkey and mashed potatoes, bowls of gravy, vats of buttery brussels sprouts, and cranberry sauce. Oriana helped Reese fill his plate, knowing thathe wouldn’t be able to touch most of it. They’d pretend it wasn’t like that. They’d fill up several Tupperwares and tell everyone they’d eat more at home.
“I never thought I’d say this,” Rachelle offered from the opposite end of the table, “but I’m so glad not to be eating pizza or pasta right now!”
The Colemans laughed. Their marvelous Rachelle was back, if only for a moment, before she rushed back into her gorgeous and freewheeling life. Darcy gazed at Rachelle with love and confusion. It reminded Oriana of her relationship with Meghan: how they’d always been as thick as thieves but entirely different, entirely their own selves. They’d been allowed to watch one another through the many stages of their individual careers. They’d been each other’s champion. They’d been each other’s stability. But at some point, as Darcy was learning now, it was essential to recognize that you had to step back, if only a bit. You had to be comfortable with a little more distance. It was a tragedy, Oriana knew. But it also allowed space for new relationships to grow.
A half hour after dinner, Reese gave Oriana a look from across the room that meant he was too tired to stay for much longer. Oriana went to the kitchen to pack up and tell Meghan her plans. Meghan told her, “Someone can take Reese home and make sure he’s safe and comfortable. You can stay here with us.” Her eyes widened with hope.
But Oriana shook her head. “Reese and I had a deal,” she explained. “I can’t go back on it now. Not for all the pie in the world.”
Meghan tried to laugh, but it sounded strange. She filled Tupperware after Tupperware, because she needed to feel that Oriana and Reese were safe and well-fed. There was so little anyone could control in life, Oriana knew. This was why peoplebrought you food, blankets, and flowers in times of strife. People understood much more about food than they did about life.
Chapter Eleven
It was Christmas morning in Oahu. Wearing a soft linen dress and a pair of sandals, Jasmine opened the double-wide doors of the convenience store and watched as the sunlight flickered across the rolling waves. All across the world, she could feel the ecstasy and joy of millions of families, celebrating the holiday. And now, as she padded around the counter, she saw that many families who’d opted for a holiday in Hawaii were staking their claim on the beach, stripping down to their suits and plunging into the waves. She couldn’t help but smile.
It hadn’t been Jasmine’s initial plan to “celebrate” Christmas from work. She’d had Thanksgiving off, and she’d enjoyed the hours with her grandchild and the safety and warmth of Cynthia’s family immensely. But when Jenny had told her last week that she, Walton, and the kids were planning a “small Christmas dinner, just the five of us,” Jasmine hadn’t fought to trade shifts. Maybe in the future, her grandkids would fight to spend Christmas with her. Perhaps they were too scared of their father (and their mother?) to say what they wanted. Or they were too young to understand the nuances of their parents’ and grandmother’s difficult relationship.
It didn’t matter.
A man in his sixties came into the convenience store, holding the hand of a little girl he called Margo. Margo had a long sand-colored ponytail and a turquoise swimsuit she seemed very proud of. When she looked up at Jasmine, she called out, “Merry Christmas!” in a way that shattered Jasmine’s heart.
“Merry Christmas to you,” Jasmine said, smiling. She poured the man’s coffee and scanned the rest of his items: bags of chips, bananas, and cut pineapple.
“We’ve never had a Christmas at the beach before,” the man said sheepishly. “It’s strange. We’re used to White Christmases. I guess those sound strange to someone like you.”
“I haven’t seen a White Christmas in fifty years,” Jasmine affirmed.
The man clucked his tongue and gathered his bags. Jasmine couldn’t tell if he thought she was crazy or a genius for avoiding the snow and the ice and the hardships and the gray.
It was more of the same as the day wore on. Christmas music jangled nonstop from the speakers, but Jasmine didn’t mind it. She caught herself singing, celebrating the songs she’d known her entire life. Some of the kids who came into the shop to buy candy sang along with her. Some of them looked at her ruefully, as though they couldn’t fathom why she’d embarrass herself like that.
A small, private part of Jasmine prayed that her grandkids or daughter would come to the shop to say hello today. But she knew better than to hope too much.
At around two in the afternoon, after the lunch rush had subsided and many of the beach-goers were slumbering under their umbrellas, a girl of maybe seven or eight came into the convenience store. She wore a yellow bikini and had long black hair. On her shoulder, she wore a little linen bag, within which was what looked to be a pad of paper. She looked Jasmine rightin the eye and said, “Why are you working? It’s Christmas, you know.”
As ever, Jasmine was amazed at how open and honest children could be. They didn’t see social limitations. They said whatever came to their mind.
“I’m working because I have to work,” Jasmine said.
“Don’t you celebrate Christmas?” the little girl asked.
“I’m a Christian,” Jasmine said. “I celebrate Christmas, all right. It’s one of my favorite holidays.”
“You’re supposed to take the day off,” the little girl said. “My mom and dad took the day off, and they work all the time.”
Jasmine laughed. “Do they?” She imagined that the little girl and her parents were city slickers, New Yorkers who’d abandoned their corporate jobs for a little bit of sun. She imagined that their little girl was far more mature than most her age, that she had a way about her on the streets of Manhattan that Jasmine herself wouldn’t have.
“Where are your parents?” Jasmine asked. It was rare for parents to let their kids roam free, in and out of the convenience store, especially now. Previous generations would have been okay with it.
“They’re asleep,” the girl said.
“Don’t you think they’ll wake up and wonder where you are?” Jasmine asked.
The little girl waved her hand vaguely behind her and said, “I can see them. They’re fine.” She said it with so much authority that Jasmine could only believe her.
