“Fine,” she answers, though we both know she’s not.
I point to a foil-covered platter. “I have some brownies over there. Your favorite.” It’s a recipe I make every Christmas that I found in a cookbook I bought at an estate sale nearly thirty years ago, one that quickly became Lindsey’s favorite. And Henry’s.
“Thanks.” She gives me a weak smile. “I’m not really hungry.”
“Okay.” I nod as she leaves the room, a dark cloud looming over her head, and I can’t shake the feeling that I helped put it there. That my advice, coupled with the way I’ve lived these last five years—how I’ve forced usallto live—has hardened her.
I follow behind her with my steaming mug in my hands and pass Ben, who’s taking Noah up to bed.
“I wanna go home and wait for Santa,” Noah whines.
“We can’t do that, buddy,” Ben says. “We’re staying here.”
Noah pouts. “But why?”
“Because we always spend Christmas with Grandma.” Ben’s tone is vaguely annoyed, suggesting this probably isn’t the first time the subject has come up.
“But—”
“Tell your grandmother good night, please.”
“’Night, Grandma,” Noah says, his little mouth turning downward.
Ben gives me an apologetic smile, and a twinge of guilt pokes me in the side.
“Good night, sweetheart,” I say before taking my spot on the love seat next to Rose, where yet another Christmas movie is playing. I can’t remember a single thing about the plot of any of the films we’ve watched today. It’s hard to focus on anything with Lindsey looking so heartbroken. She arrived late because she had to drop by the clinic on the way over. Something about checking on a patient. When she got here, her eyes were red and puffy, and I began to suspect there wasn’t a patient at all.
She went through all the motions of a typical Christmas Eve with the family. We grazed on the snacks I prepared and ate lasagna for dinner. Lindsey picked at her food just enough to make it look like she was eating. She’s avoided having much in the way of conversation, opting to play no less than seventeen rounds of Candy Land with Noah and Emily.
The light that’s been shining in my daughter’s eyes for the last month has dimmed to a mere flicker.
“Didn’t we see this one already today?” Lucy asks, munching on a handful of Chex Mix. “That girl looks familiar.”
Willow rests her head on Lucy’s shoulder. “I think that’s because she was the lead in the one we watched two movies ago.”
“Can’t they find anyone else to star in these things?” Lucy pops a pretzel in her mouth. “How am I supposed to believe she’s serious about this guy running the bakery when she’s supposed to be with the guy that owns the goat farm?”
Rose yawns. “That two-timing hussy.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure goat guy and bakery guy are the same person too,” Ellie says. “He just shaved his scraggly beard.”
“Well, he was a goat farmer,” I say. “I think the beard kind of suited him.”
Rose nods. “He’s welcome to farm this old goat any time.”
Lucy wrinkles her nose. “Ew.”
“What do you think, Linds?” Ellie asks. “Beard or no beard?”
It takes a moment for Lindsey to register that Ellie’s question was directed at her.
“Hmm?” she says finally.
“The guy.” Ellie points to the TV. “Do you like him better with the beard or without?”
Lindsey stares blankly at the screen, and I’m positive she still has no clue what we’re talking about.
“Oh. Um, without’s fine, I guess,” she says with a shrug before rising to her feet. “I’m pretty tired. Too much Candy Land for one day. I think I’m going to go on up to bed.”
