Page 1

ONE

Mackie

I saw three ships come sailing in / On Christmas Day in the morning

The hazards are already blinking when I come through the arrivals doors, and Mom is out of the car with one hand up like she's flagging a plane down instead of her own kid.

"You're here," she says into my shoulder, both arms around me before either of us has touched the trunk. "You're actually here. The storm brought my favorite Christmas present early!"

"I'm here in body. I can't make any promises about my sanity." I let her squeeze the air out of me. She smells like sunscreen and the inside of a car that's been running the AC since dawn. "You want to pop the trunk, or are we going to hug at the curb until they tow you?"

She doesn't let go for another second out of spite. Then she does and holds me out to look at me. If my mom does anything right, she has always made me feel loved.

I'm dying. That's the thing nobody thinks about when you have a morning departure out of a snowstorm into a tropical tundra. You dress for the parking lot in Holly Ridge, and by the time you land, you're a wool-wrapped disaster in eighty-eight degrees. The second she pulls off the curb, I peel the sweater over my head and drop it in my lap, and breathe.

"I'm so glad you didn't wait until Christmas Eve. This way we get some time before we jump into the Christmas craziness," she says with her head turned away from me as she merges into traffic.

“If I didn’t leave today, I might have been spending Christmas alone in Holly Ridge.” She takes the airport exit, and everything on the back seat slides. I twist around and catch two foil casseroles before they hit the door. "Mom. What is all this?”

“Oh, just a few dishes I want to drop off at the nursing home. And for the record, I’d have driven up and gotten you myself if it came to that."

"You've lost your mind."

"I would have. I'm not ready to give you up for Christmas."

"You will not drive to a Starbucks in the rain, Lis. You are not fighting I-95 in a blizzard for me." She laughs, because it's true. I laugh, and I set the warm casserole dishes back and immediately have to catch them again when she turns.

"Seriously, what is all this? Are you selling food out of your car now?"

"So," she says carefully, the way she says things she's already decided. "I had planned to do this before picking you up, but my oven didn't heat up quickly enough."

"Uh-huh. What have you signed me up for? Are we working at the soup kitchen?"

"Manny called. You know, the amazing nurse at the home. Hildie's having a good day, so I decided to make some food for everyone. I won't get another chance before Christmas⁠—"

"Mom. I want to go. It's fine. I want to say hi to Hildie, anyway. I haven't seen her since she moved in there."

"You just got off a plane."

"Yes. But we aren't going home for a nap, so we have to do something." I settle the dishes with a hand pressed flat against the top one. "How's she doing, anyway?"

"Some mornings she's sharp as a tack. By dinner she can be gone." Mom doesn't offer any cushioning, which is what I appreciate about her updates. "I still play bridge with her twice a week. Some games go better than others, but she likes it either way."

Twice a week. Friends, routines, a nurse who calls her by name. She's built a whole life down here, and it's a good one, and it's nowhere near me. When I start to resent that, I remember this is good for her.

My phone goes off. When I see it's the bank, I answer it. Trina breathes hard through the receiver. She's all upset about a mistake in a post she made to the company intranet, where she tagged the entire marketing team.

"Delete the post. Fix the date. And then post again after four. The engagement's better then. No one will remember it by tomorrow."

"Thank you for talking me off the ledge."

"How's the weather?" I ask.

"Gnarly. But still at the office, so I guess not bad enough, yet."

"Be safe out there. Gotta run. Call me if you need me."

We end the call, and I put the phone between my legs. Mom glances over and asks with her eyes.