“Gavin ruins everything.Doesn’t he know they’remyfriends?”
“Do you think that Gavin may not have many friends?Not like your boys?”
“Why is that my problem?”I harrumph.
“Sadie Johanna,” Magda scolds.
“Yeah, I know.I’m sorry.”I cross my arms, not liking it when Magda is upset with me.
Magda pulls out the chair next to me and sits.“I know you and the boys have a special friendship.It’s not easy for everyone to find friends like that.Maybe let him see what it’s like, just a little bit.This will be the last year your brother’s in the same school as you.You’re going to miss him next year when he starts high school in Wetherford.”She leans down to whisper, “And I think he’s going to miss you too.”
I try not to sigh.I know it makes Magda feel bad when she doesn’t think I’m listening.I kiss her cheek and run back outside, where the boys and Gavin are hanging from different branches of the maple tree.
“Let’s see who can hang on the longest while being tickled,” I yell, racing to the gigantic tree.They all drop to the ground.
Idon’t remember much of Christmas Eve.Other than the skull-splitting headache and intermittent waves of nausea.My mother doesn’t care that I’m hungover, though she doesn’t ask what’s wrong with me either.Probably assumes it’s a Jonathan thing.
We’re too busy delivering toys and baskets of food in the morning.Then preparing the house to receive guests for our annual Christmas party—that’s a much bigger production because of the upcoming election.It’s always been my mom’s shining moment with the twelve-foot tree and the catered event.I do my best to stay out of the staff’s way as they bustle around at her direction.
Somewhere between serving lunch at the shelter and showering to get ready for the party, I start to feel more alive.But not like myself.I’m not sure who that is anymore.
Mom wanted to make sure you gotsomething to eat.”She knows he never eats during the party, too busy socializing.I close the door to the office behind me.The room is lit only by the colorful lights of the Christmas tree.Dad’s leaning back in his leather chair, focused on the tree, but a million miles away.
I set the plate and utensils on his desk, then perch on the arm of his wingback chair and join him in admiring the tree the girls and I decorated.
“You girls did a nice job,” he says, rubbing my back.“Don’t tell your mother, but I always look forward to your tree in my office every year.”
“Thanks, Dad.”It’s decorated with only hand-crafted ornaments from over the years.Snowflakes.Confetti-and-glitter-filled balls.Pipe-cleaner candy canes.With the addition of the white-fur-and-red-velvet garland chain and pinecone fairies we added this year.So many years of ornaments.So many memories.It’s nice to have them at home instead of at the firm.
“Are the caterers still here?”
“They’re cleaning up.”
“I want to make sure they get their bonuses before they go.Thank you for the food.”He takes the plate and kisses the top of my head before he leaves.
I slide into the chair and resume being hypnotized by the lights and the snow falling in the background.It’s almost too perfect.What was it that Collin said that day in the garage when everything shattered between me and Jonathan?
“Perfection creates its own damage.”
I’ve thought about that a lot.I want to ask him what he meant, exactly.I mean, I know what it means to me.That nothing is truly perfect.Sometimes, rotting begins from the inside.Consider the armor we wear or the smile I’ve perfected.Inside, I could be screaming.Most times, I’m just checked out, my mind wandering down random lanes of thought.Like now.But no one would know.
I don’t want to be perfect.I mean, I’m not.My family isn’t.But I am lucky.I don’t want to minimize that.
The door clicks shut.
“What are you doing?”
Luck just ran out.
“Nothing.”I don’t acknowledge my brother beyond that.Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away.
“Why were you drunk last night?”
I sigh.“Because I drank too much alcohol.”
“Don’t be a smartass.”
“Don’t ask stupid questions.”
