The next morning is the 23rd, the first of two days celebrating at Dad’s. Alex graces us all with her presence, a rarity since her social calendar is full. My bag packs itself, or rather some robotic force takes over. Mom hugs us all before we stuff ourselves in Alex’s Chevy Lumina. “Baby Please Come Home” by Darlene Love comes on with the engine. Christmas tunes usually fill my heart with warmth and joy but the closest thing I can find is sorrow. It’s not that I don’t love my dad, it’s that I’ve never spent a Christmas celebration with him and not my mom. The rest of the day is uneventful but smooth, filled with festive treats, holiday shows on the tv. If a response is needed, I mask up and play breezy Bridget otherwise settling cozy in my shell of self-preservation. I bat away the constant inquiries with assurance “I’m just tired” or “I’m fine”.

  That night is unexpectedly hilarious as we play this Wonder of Disney Trivia game that Casey brought. It’s her turn and she holds up a card that shows Buzz Lightyear on the side facing us. “Who am I?” she asks. Dad tries, “Buzz Astronaut” and then he concludes with a massive fart. We are thrown into a fit of giggles. If anyone in this world was born to fart as a sport, it’s him. It seems as though he can do it on command and it’s always the most elaborate tone and pattern. “Oh my gosh Dad, GROSS!” Alex scoffs and makes a distressed face. “Also, BUZZ LIGHTYEAR!” Casey corrects. Once we’re through laughing so she can be heard, Casey moves onto Alex, “What movie am I in?” She gives a look of pique, “Um, Toy Story. Is this the easy version?” Dad swings his head in her direction “Hey!” he accuses playfully since he was wrong on his last answer. I’m beyond grateful to be able to forget the gloom for even an hour, hopeful this memory is logged into my long term database.

  At the end of the night we watch the Christmas Story before we sleep with us sisters sharing a room. Casey jests, “Do you think Alex mothers her boyfriends like she does us?” I tilt my head back, cackling. “No, but it’s possible they have chores.” Alex rolls her eyes “Whatever you guys. I’m NOT your mom. Thank God. If I were, maybe you’d actually be sweet.” Casey dismisses the jab, “Bridget and I are angels.” I boop Alex’s nose, “That would make you touched by an angel.” We laugh obnoxiously loud and we hear Dad open his door to tell us to be quiet and we all pretend to be asleep. It’s hard to act asleep whilst shaking with laughter though. I can imagine he mostly likes coming in to see us under his roof and is less concerned about our volume. Alex pretends to be too cool for Casey and I, but is amused by our shenanigans nonetheless. I absorb the energy of our togetherness in deep breaths, chuckles and smiling as I fall asleep.

  There’s a temporary flicker of hope opening presents trying to find the forgotten gift of peace and excitement no one seemed to wrap for me. Dad is misty saying how much he loves us while opening his gifts and then especially so when he carries our gifts to the car and squeezes us goodbye like we might deposit gold from our pores with enough pressure. As the car leaves his driveway, I feel warmer than I did upon our arrival, grinning out the window singing to “Angels We Have Heard on High” by Amy Grant.

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  I call Mallory the second I step into the kitchen at Mom’s. After two rings, “Hey Bridget. Let me get Mal for you” her mom answers before yelling, “MALLORY! PHONE!” in the background. “You’re back!” Mallory greets me and I respond, “I’m BAAAACK! You wanna do gifts?” Mallory pauses before I hear her cover the voice box, “Mom, can I run to Bridget’s and exchange gifts real quick?” She returns a second later, “Yes! Be right over!” “Yay!” I exclaim and after I put the phone back on its base, I run in to the living room where my mom is watching a Christmas movie. “Hey. Mallory is coming over real quick so we can do gifts… is that okay? While you finish up your movie anyway…” I add, acting like I took her wants into consideration before making plans. “Sure Bridge. How was your dad’s?” I feel content being able to answer honestly and not with resentment, “It was actually decent.” Mom stands to wrap me in a Welcome Home hug, “Oh good. I’m so glad. Well, let me know when you and Mal finish up gifts. Prissy and I will be watching ‘The Christmas Wish’.” Prissy refuses to lift her tiny head off the couch to acknowledge me but flashes me a courtesy side-eye. I lean over the couch to patronize her with some high pitched talking and fur fluffs.

  The doorbell rings and I bolt to open it with an “EEK!” She has a sparkly gift bag in hand and follows me into the family room. I grab her bag from under the tree and coax her by dangling it in front of her. She snatches it, “Ready? Open!” We dig in, hers much fancier than mine as her mother always has the best everything, including gift bags. I pull out a family size bag of gummy worms and then a blueberry scented roll-on glitter. “Oh my gosh this is amazing!” I watch her unveil the powder body shimmer with a puff applicator I gave as well as a mixed cassette tape case she reads the side of, “Mal and Bridget’s jams. Love it!” We open the gummy worms, snack, try on each other’s body shimmer and glitter and then decide she should go. “Merry Christmas, Bestie!” we hug and I watch her run home from the front door.

  Christmas day at Mom’s is marginally heavy with the absence of Dad, but more natural, devoid of pressure. We open gifts with excitement, watch endless Christmas movies, filling the interim with Christmas music as we all enjoy our new clothes and necessities. New Years and the party comes and goes. My attendance is short-lived, largely based on my ability to support Denny and Rachel and the effort it takes to fake excitement. “Happy New Year, Bigfoot!” Denny blows a party horn in my face and his smile beams, destroying my defenses. “Happy New Year, Denny.” I am able to return the smile, powered solely by the exhilaration his presence brings. This exchange was the highlight for me as Rachel was hanging on him the rest of the party.

  When mom pulls up, I sulk into the passenger seat. The door closing prompts the tears I try to silently hide. “How was it?” Mom inquires softly, treading lightly so she doesn’t heighten my despair. “It was fine.” I sniff the snot instigated by my tears. “I’m so sorry things have been hard for you lately.” She glances at me periodically trying to connect. “Thanks.” The rest of the ride is quiet and when we pull into the garage, she turns off the car and turns toward me, “Would you maybe like to talk to somebody about it?” The concern is written all over her face. She opens her arms to me and I bury my face in her shoulder. There are too many problems to sift through at once so I just hold her tightly and sob, “Okay.”