Just DNA

I see my sister once a year. At Christmas.

I never speak to her, outside of the required and customary "Merry Christmas" and "Happy New Year." My family is big enough that I can go the whole holiday without being alone with her or having to talk to her. Every year, the family descends on my hometown and my parents' house for a week-long glut-fest. I talk, I mingle, I eat... with everyone else. Never with her. If a room is emptying and the two remaining are she and I, one of us abruptly gets up to "go help" Mom or Aunt Susan or Uncle Eric, whoever is in the kitchen.

This year, though, my brother is the host. It's his first time and he has never liked that she and I refuse to converse. Probably never understood it. I don't even know if he knows the reason. That must be why he set this whole Christmas tree plan in motion. I talk to him and his wife, Ella, several times a year. And I know she does too. But never on a conference call and never in a group email. If he sends a group email, I reply only to him. If he starts a conference call and she's on the line, I hang up. He was pissed the first time I did that. And the two times after that. Eventually he stopped trying. I thought he had given up, but now that he's hosting Christmas, he seems to think he can reconcile his two sisters.

The first day of familial festivities is Christmas Eve. My younger niece, Hannah, is in a Nativity play again this year. The whole family goes to see her perform. Last year she was one of the sheep the shepherds were guarding. This year she is one of the shepherds and she takes her role very seriously. We stuff everyone into half a dozen cars and take up three rows in the auditorium. I seat myself between Ella and Aunt Susan. She is at the other end of the row.

It's adorable watching Hannah act so intensely; it's as if her life depends on it. I grin at Ella when she claps enthusiastically after Hannah's lines. Despite my niece's involvement, the play unfolds with boring predictability. The kids are excited and over-enunciate their words. One eager innkeeper practically shouts his lines. Parents fan limp programs against their heat flushed faces while the angels sing in the heavens, older siblings fidget in their seats while the shepherds meet Baby Jesus, and grandparents hold up their ipads to get the best view of their grandchild while the Magi present their gifts to Mary and Joseph. Finally the whole cast comes out and takes a deep bow grinning widely to parental thunderous applause.

Getting out of the auditorium is much more difficult than getting in. Everyone tries to leave at once resulting in pushing, pressing, shuffling chaos. Beyond the doors of the auditorium in the relatively cooler air of the foyer, my brother finds me and taps me on the shoulder.

"I need to head back now, and I need to take Mom, Dad and Ella with me. Do you mind catching a ride with Emily?" He gestures to his eldest who is across the room chatting and giggling with her friends.

I shrug. "That's fine."

"Great!" He nudges me towards the Christmas tree in the middle of the foyer. "Wait by the tree. Emily will find you." His smile is too big.

I've taken two steps when I see her by the tree. I turn to protest, but my brother is already gone.

Glancing around, I don't see Emily, who has also mysteriously disappeared, or Hannah, who is probably off with her friends reveling in the high that comes with a performance. Not seeing anyone else I know, I squeeze through the crowd and head over to the Christmas tree. I stand as far away as possible without leaving the vicinity. However, the press of the masses, the constant stream of happy people greeting each other walking this way and that eventually push me next to her.

I stand next to her, rigid as a statue. I don't speak. She doesn't speak. Like two strangers on a train platform. Moments of silence stretch out.