After losing her job and her girlfriend, it's time for Annie Abraham to admit defeat and move back in with her parents. She has hardly been back to her tiny Montana hometown since the unforgettable summer before her senior year of college, when she...
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Eight days to go until Christmas, and we finally have a tree. After getting back from seeing Annie and Ruth, the kids and I bundled back into the car and picked out a six foot Douglas fir from the Christmas tree farm down the road and Otto and I managed to get it up with minimal swearing. There may have been an expletive or two when I trapped my finger between the trunk and the stand, and a couple more from my son when we stood back to admire our work, only for the tree to start tipping to the side.
While I sit by the electric fire sipping my lukewarm gingerbread latte – we stopped in at Betty's on the way back and Iris chuckled when I bought three more cinnamon rolls – I watch as Hannah cuts her cinnamon bun in half and then cuts one half into even smaller pieces, little bite size chunks of sticky dough for Ava. Hannah is careful not to get the frosting all over her hands, but Ava doesn't care. She grabs each piece her sister hands to her, gleefully mashing it into her mouth without a care in the world about how much sugar coats her fingers.
"You're such a good sister, Han," I muse. Hannah jumps at the sound of my voice over the Christmas music that's been playing all afternoon as we've dug out boxes of tinsel and garlands from the loft. She smiles at me and feeds another piece of bun to Ava.
"Thanks, Mom," she says quietly. "I love spending time with Ava." She puts an arm around Ava and says, "You're my favorite sister in the whole world, Avie-poo. You're the best baby and I love you so much."
Otto, who has been stringing lights up on the tree, says, "What about me? Am I your favorite brother?"
"You're my only brother," Hannah says. I can't help but wonder if that will always be true. If one of these days, their dad will settle down with someone and start a new family.
"Which means I'm the best," Otto says with a self-satisfied smile, pulling over a box of ornaments once he's done with the lights. Every year, my kids each buy one ornament of their choice to add to the tree along with all the decorations from years gone by, which can make for a rather eclectic bunch. There's no sense of cohesion – Hannah loves anything cutesy, especially if it's soft, and most of her choices have been felt animals, whereas Otto goes for anything kitsch, whether it's a dinosaur in a Santa hat or Father Christmas in a Hawaiian shirt reclining in a hammock.
This year is no different, and now Ava is added to the mix. I haven't seen their choices yet. When Hannah picked out hers and Ava's ornaments at TJ Maxx, she took my card to pay, keeping it a secret, and Otto got his last weekend when he was with his dad.
"What monstrosity have you chosen this year?" I ask, finishing off my latte and standing to help string up fifteen years' worth of ornaments, including a gaudy robot holding a wrapped gift.
"So rude, Mom, when have I ever chosen a monstrosity?"
I bend down and pick out the first decoration I see. A glittery tin of sardines, the lid pulled back to reveal four sardines looking out. He chose that one last year. He grins when I hang it up out of sight. "You have no taste, Otto Jacobs."
