I felt stupid.
Most people love Christmas day. It’s full of love, warmth, happiness, caring. I love Christmas day, and have done ever since I could remember. But for some reason, not unknown to everyone else around me, the past two 25th of Decembers have been absolutely horrible. Don’t get me wrong; there had been no change in the traditions. No change in the food, the warmth, the decorations, or the venue. To anyone else, it’d seem like nothing had changed. But everyone knew what had gone missing – or whom.
It only took one person to ruin Christmas for me, not intentionally, but still irrevocably. And his name, ironically, was Christian.
“Mel, honey, could you pass me the cream?” Aunt Yasmine asked, stretching a podgy arm across the crowded table. I stopped poking the remaining blob of jam in my dessert bowl to glance up at her.
“Oh. Um, sure,” I scanned the tabletop for the small jug of cream. It was tilted on a worrisome angle, sandwiched between a huge bowl of trifle and a half-eaten plate of tiramisu. I hooked the handle around two of my fingers, reaching up to hold it out to her.
“Thanks darling,” she smiled, taking it from my grip. I just smiled back quietly, picking up my spoon to poke at my leftovers once more.
“You didn’t have any trifle, Mel?” Nan asked from across the table, her thin eyebrows pulled together. I looked up and shook my head, attempting a polite smile.
“I was too full from Uncle Toni’s hamburgers.”
“But you’ve always got room for trifle, it’s your favourite,” she persisted.
“Mum,” Dad warned her. I forced another smile, looking down at my bowl.
“Maybe we could take some home? I’ll eat it later,” I suggested quietly.
“Oh. Of course, honey, I’ll put some in a container later,” Nan agreed in a light tone. I didn’t miss the look she sent to my dad, however.
“So, how’s Glory going?” Mum asked Uncle Toni in an attempt to change the topic, taking a bite of the gingerbread man she was holding. Toni swallowed a mouthful of cake, nodding.
“Yeah, she’s good. Spending Christmas with a friend’s family over in America. She sent us a card though, and a box of Pop Tarts. Surprised they managed to get through customs,” he laughed, smiling broadly. Everyone else at the table laughed too, except for my little cousins, who were arguing about who drank the last of the lemonade.
Uncle Toni and Aunt Yasmine weren’t really related to me. In fact, if anything they were more like my second parents. I hated the fact that I’d been avoiding them for the whole year, but even their faces reminded me of Christian – yeah, they were his parents. Their family had become really close with ours after Nan and Pop moved next-door to them.
“And how’s Christian? Any news from him?” Nan asked, entirely missing Mum and Dad’s pointed glares. I just shut my eyes, wanting to laugh sadistically. My Nan could be so oblivious sometimes.
“No, nothing yet. We haven’t heard from him since the last letter,” Yasmine replied, smiling sadly.
“And that was what? Eight months ago? Cheeky boy, must be having too much fun,” Nan shook her head, chuckling. I just sent my cream a hostile look, purposely ignoring the rest of the conversation with my mouth set into a grim line.
Now that Nan and Pop had retired, they seemed to think the world was somewhat perfect. The fact that my best friend of eight years had been forced to leave and join the army was just wondrous to them; “serving their country proud,” they’d said.
