Christmas Traditions I'll Never Do Again

four: such devoted sisters

After the tree is set up inside a red metal bucket beside the front door and decorated with popcorn, ornaments, and candy canes, Aimee gives us each a bowl of vegetable soup. I hate vegetables of any kind (except potatoes) with a passion, but I'm glad to finally have something warm in my hands.

Suddenly, the girls start chanting "Polar Express! Polar Express! Polar Express!"

At first, I'm afraid that they're going to drag me onto a train, but it turns out that the Polar Express is just a movie about a train. I can handle that.

We slurp down our soup and Dusty lets out a big yawn.

"Same," Eloise says. "Having a near-death experience really takes it out of you."

"A what?" Aimee asks curiously.

I widen my eyes at Eloise and shake my head.
"What happened out there?" Aimee presses.

"Uh, nothing," I say quickly. "If you think about it, every day is a near-death experience."

Aime lifts an eyebrow. "Hm. Well, I think it's time for bed. Sounds like you three have had a long day."

I wait awkwardly while she puts them to bed. I hear Dusty crying because she wants her Elsa nightgown and not her owl onesie. Jemma can't find her toothbrush. Eloise, as usual, is in bed before the chaos has a chance to die down.

After thirty minutes, Aimee comes back downstairs with a long sigh.

"Dusty is so dramatic," Aimee says. "She always goes on these whims and if it's not her way, it's the end of the world."

"Yeah," I agree, "I know."

"Right." Aimee laughs awkwardly. "I guess you do."

She comes to sit down on the couch and I immediately feel myself tense up. My brain says too close, too personal.

"Sometimes I forget how much time you spent with them," she continues.

"Sometimes I wish I could do the same," I joke, but Aimee doesn't laugh. Of course she doesn't laugh, because it's not funny and I'm stupid.

"Sooo," she says.

"So," I say. "How's your, uh, job?"

Now Aimee gets uncomfortable. I can tell by the way she sits up a little straighter and avoids my gaze. "Oh, it's fine. Fine. Busy, you know, but fine..."

"That's good," I say.

She clears her throat. "How's your relationship going with Finn?"

Yep, that's the last straw. I can't, I can't.

"I think I'm going to head upstairs," I say. "The whole Christmas tree thing is giving me a rash."

She stands up and I follow her. "Oh, yeah, of course. You have a water bottle by your bed and a towel if you want to shower."

"Thanks, you didn't have to do all that."

"It's no problem. Goodnight."

I stand there, hesitating. Are we supposed to hug now? Shake hands? She doesn't make the first move, so I don't either. "Goodnight."

I retreat up the stairs and I can feel Aimee's gaze drilling into my back.

Once I'm safely in my room, I collapse onto the bed, letting out a long sigh into the white comforter.

I blindly pull my phone out of my pocket and dial my emergency number.

"Hello?" Finn says groggily.

"I can't talk to her," I blurt. "And she can't talk to me, either, so it's not completely my fault! It's just so awkward, it's painful. Not to mention I almost got all of the girls killed this afternoon. It was awful, Finn, awful! There were chainsaws and trees and all of these people who were way too happy to be there and you know how much I hate that and--"

"I-I'm sorry," Finn interrupts. "I think I might still be half-asleep. Not quite following."

"Isn't it afternoon or something over there?" I ask.

"Not exactly, love. It's the middle of the night."

"Oh," I whisper. "Oh boy. I'm so sorry."

"Not a worry," he says. "I was hoping to get up early anyway."

"What time is it, then?"

"Er, two o'clock. But did you know that Einstein often woke up at three in the morning? He said it helped balance the electromagnetic--"

"Go back to sleep," I say with a small laugh. "I really didn't mean to wake you up. It's just...a lot."

"I know," Finn replies, sounding more awake now. "But you're there and I'm proud of you. And I'm not quite sure what happened with the chainsaw, but perhaps stay away from them from now on?"

"Yeah, I'm banned from that tree farm now, so...you've got a deal."

"Good morning, Beverly," he says.

"Good night," I say.

I toss my phone to the side and roll onto my back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. How come I can have a thirty-minute conversation with the man who's selling fresh milk dressed up like a bowl of Froot Loops on the street and can't even sit with my own sister for two seconds?

Back when we were kids, I guess you could say we were close, but we never really talked. Should it be easy because we're sisters? But that isn't what it feels like. It feels like a lawyer trying to talk to a twenty-seven-year-old who still puts all of her delicates in the drying because she's too lazy to hang them up.

We're orange juice and toothpaste, the two of us.

And I can only hope that things get easier, or else I'll definitely be getting coal in my stocking.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hey guys! Three days until Christmas!!

~Do you have any tips for Bev?

~Poor Finn, amirite? 

Thanks for reading!