Chapter 5 - A Different Kind of Christmas
Our house—the modest, warm, three-bedroom home we had bought on the other side of town five years ago—had never felt so magnificent.
There were no crystal chandeliers or imported pine garlands, but there was a crackling fire in the modest brick fireplace, the faint smell of gingerbread cookies baking in the oven, and an absolute absence of walking on eggshells. When we walked through the front door, Zia kicked off her black Mary Janes with a sigh of pure relief, letting them drop wherever they landed without anyone rushing over to scold her about property maintenance.
She immediately ran to the living room, scooped up her battered stuffed rabbit from the sofa, and squeezed it tight against her chest.
"Dad," she called out as Travis set our duffel bags near the entryway. "Can we make hot chocolate with the extra marshmallows today?"
"We can make it with a mountain of marshmallows, sweet girl," Travis replied, walking over and lifting her up into the air with a loud, theatrical grunt that made her giggle. He spun her around once before setting her down on the rug. "It’s Christmas. The rules don't apply anymore."
While Travis busied himself in the kitchen, rattling pots and pans and singing off-key holiday tunes to make Zia laugh, I stood by the front window, watching the snow gently blanket our small front yard. The weight of the morning’s confrontation still hummed in the background of my mind, but it was countered by an overwhelming wave of gratitude.
For three years, I had watched my daughter shrink herself inside Lorraine’s sprawling mansion. I had watched her bite her tongue, swallow her pride, and accept the crumbs of affection thrown her way just because she desperately wanted Travis’s extended family to love her. I had hated myself a little bit every time I let her walk through those front doors on holidays, biting my own tongue to keep the peace.
Travis walked out of the kitchen holding two mugs of steaming hot chocolate topped with a ridiculous pyramid of white marshmallows, carrying a smaller third mug with a candy cane sticking out of it for Zia. He handed the mugs around, then walked over to me, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me close against his side.
"Penny for your thoughts," he murmured, resting his chin lightly on the top of my head.
"I was just thinking about how you carried that red box in your overnight bag for six months," I whispered, leaning into his warmth. "You really knew she was going to do it again, didn't you?"
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Travis took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes reflecting the warm orange glow of the fireplace. "Mom doesn't know how to change, Elena. People like her don't evolve; they double down. Every holiday, I hoped she’d surprise me. Every holiday, she proved me wrong. I just decided that the next time she made Zia feel small, she wouldn't get a polite warning or a raised voice. She’d get the consequence she’s been dodging for thirty years."
Across the room, Zia was sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully placing the small brass key right beside her stuffed rabbit, as if guarding a tiny, precious treasure.
