“We just got a new couch in the basement. It’s quite comfortable; your dad’s fallen asleep on it a few times while watching movies down there.”
“Alright.”
I don’t argue. I know it won’t help, and honestly, maybe being in the basement will be better. I can hide out from everyone.
“I’m gonna go shower and then head to the basement and sleep, I guess.”
“Naomi will come grab you when dinner’s ready.”
“Sounds good, Mom.” I give everyone a small wave.
“Welcome home, Tater-tot!” My dad yells after me.
I wish I could say it felt like I was home.
Unfortunately, this place hasn’t felt like home since the day we moved in.
It’s the people that make a place a home… and it’s pretty hard for a six-year-old to do that by herself.
eighteen
Fletcher
They’re not going to go in your master bathroom, Mom,” I groan, following her into her room. “And I assure you they won’t care that your laundry basket is full.”
“Do you even remember what Tate’s house looked like, Fletcher? It looks like a goddamn museum over there. The least I can do is make our house look clean.”
“In all fairness, your basement is a complete construction zone, so you have a reason for the mess.”
“Oh, my goodness, the basement.” She freezes. “What if they go down into the basement? I don’t know how it was left a couple of days ago; I haven’t been down there since they started working again two weeks ago.”
“Mom, I promise you, if her parents say anything, it’s not on you. That’s just how they are.”
I don’t think Mr. Lewis would say anything. He’s always been pretty friendly, but I understand why Tate’s mom stresses her out. She’s always saying things that seem like a jab, but she does it with a smile on her face. I don’t think I noticed it back in high school, but I’ve become increasingly aware of it over the years.
“You’re right. There’s no reason to freak out. We have a full house, and it is what it is.”
“Exactly. So, let's head downstairs and help Mama finish preparing the appetizers, okay?”
“Okay.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and walk us downstairs. By the time we reach the bottom, the nerves seem to have dissipated, and she walks straight into the kitchen and gets to work.
We don’t always have Christmas Eve with Tate’s family. I honestly don’t even know when it started; I just know we rarely do it at their house. I think they’re worried one of the kids will destroy something, which is fair.
Whenever we do have Christmas Eve with Tate’s family, we dress up. We’re usually a pajama-all-day kind of family, but our moms told us we can handle one day dressed up, and then we can be a pajama-all-day family on Christmas.
She bribes the younger kids with candy. Not only to dress up but to be on their best behavior.
The doorbell rings, and my mom takes a deep breath.
“They’re here.” I smile. “I’ll get the door.”
I smooth out my shirt as I walk toward the front door. As I open it, Tate’s eyes widen, almost as if she’s warning me about the day we’re going to have.
“Merry Christmas.” I step back far enough that they can squeeze by me, but still in view.
“Look at you, Fletcher. I swear you get taller every time I see you.” Mr. Lewis pats me on the back as he walks by me.
“Dad, he’s literally been this height since the eighth grade.” Tate rolls her eyes, and I flick her as she walks by.
