Never Had Christmas √

CHAPTER 2

I sat on the plush couch in Imogen's room, watching her happily select a pair of glitters to add to her collection of snowman string lights she planned to hang. Lost in thought, I began unpacking the rest of the decorations she intended to use.

Over the past few days, I had witnessed my parents quarreling incessantly. Whenever I approached them about it, they would put on serene faces and pretend they were enjoying a peaceful moment, though I saw through their facade. Despite their struggles at work, I never imagined it would escalate to such intense disagreements.

"Will your parents let you come over on Christmas day?" Imogen asked, finishing up with the lights.

I shook my head, feeling a sense of dread. "I doubt they'll allow me to step foot outside on Christmas. I don't want to risk being grounded forever, so it's a definite no."

She sighed sympathetically. "Do you find it odd that they don't celebrate Christmas? Have you ever asked them why it's forbidden?"

"I've asked countless times, but they always avoid the topic," I replied, frustration evident in my voice.

"Maybe they just don't understand the significance of Christmas," Imogen suggested as she glued luminous plastic snowflakes to the wall.

"My parents are Christians. We even attend the same church, remember?" I retorted, pointing at her. "They simply choose not to celebrate it. Every Christmas, they seem to have their own issues, and they're determined to keep them hidden."

Imogen's expression turned thoughtful. "If I were you, Kali, I'd try to uncover the truth."

When I arrived home that day, my sister was already asleep, so I carried her to her room before heading to the kitchen to pour myself a glass of milk. Settling onto the couch in the living room, I took a sip as I flicked on the television to watch my favorite Disney channel show. Suddenly, an idea struck me like a guardian angel whispering the answer to my questions: the truth about my parents' decisions regarding Christmas must be hidden somewhere in Dad's room.

If only I could find something—a photo album, a note, anything that would explain their actions—then perhaps I could solve the mystery.

If I hadn't walked up to my Dad's room that day, I wouldn't have seen the letter, I wouldn't have been aware of what was happening.

Steeling myself, I ventured into Dad's room. The envelope lay hidden in the bottom drawer of his dresser, tucked behind unmatched socks and shoe rags. "Divorce letter" was scrawled boldly across the top of the paper, and beneath it, I saw Dad's signature. It took a moment for the reality to sink in: my parents were no longer together.

Why hadn't they told me? How did they expect me to react to this news? My sister, Brea, was only two years old, and I was sixteen. We couldn't bear the thought of our parents being apart; we loved them together.

Feeling dizzy and overwhelmed, I leaned against the wall, my heart racing with emotions. Hastily, I fled to my room, my heart pounding so fiercely I feared it might burst. Closing my eyes, I tried to push back the overwhelming sadness that engulfed me, but sleep eluded me.

When Mom returned from her shop later that evening, I was seated at the kitchen counter, the divorce letter before me. I thought it might be a good place to start a conversation.

As she entered, stomping the snow off her boots, she called out an apology for not being home in time to prepare dinner. When she saw me with the letter, she froze, dropping the bags in her hands before slowly making her way to me. The silence was deafening as she pulled up a chair and sat beside me.

"I didn't know when to tell you," she murmured.

"Obviously," I retorted, my frustration bubbling over.

"Kali, your dad and I...we have a complicated relationship," she began.

"And yet, you got married," I interjected bitterly.

She hesitated. "I don't always share everything with you because I know you're still young, and I worry you won't understand."

Picking up the letter, she continued, "I wanted to tell you about this since your dad decided we..."

But I couldn't let her finish. Tears and anger erupted from me in a torrent. "Mom! What about me? What about Brea? How did you expect us to cope with all of this, especially Brea?" I cried out.

"I'll be leaving you both with your dad. It's his decision," she said softly, her eyes downcast.

I was consumed by a mix of sadness and anger, unable to contain the words I'd been holding back for so long. "Why can't we be like Imogen's family? They're happy, they're grateful. They celebrate Christmas; they understand the meaning of friendship," I sobbed, wiping away my tears. "Mom, I don't think you and Dad understand any of that."

"Kali, please, calm down," Mom urged, reaching out to me, but I recoiled, too furious to look at her. Tears streamed down my cheeks despite my efforts to wipe them away. With one final glance, I turned and stormed up the stairs, nearly pushing past Brea, who was struggling to come down the stairs by herself.

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