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“No, Mom. It’s not a Christmas card. Or to Dad. Never mind. Everything okay?” Gia wouldn’t mention Gianna’s lack of letter writing skills herself—she hadn’t even bothered to send a birthday card.
“Everything’s fine. I just wanted to talk.”
That couldn’t be all. Gia slid the phone between her shoulder and ear as she wiggled the passenger side door open and slid over the gear shift to the driver’s seat. Another couple months and she’d have enough money saved for a down payment on a new-to-her car. In a couple months, the old hatchback would be history. It couldn’t come soon enough. “About?”
“I wondered what you’re doing for Christmas. Want to come home?”
Travel during the holidays to spend time in an RV in Flagstaff, which most definitely wasn’t her home? Hard pass. “I have to work.”
“Honey, it’s Christmas. Can’t you get a few days off and come see your mother? I came to you last time, remember? And I bought you all that furniture—” Gianna’s voice trailed off. Though her thought was incomplete, the sentiment was intact.
“I work in a grocery store, Ma. We don’t close for holidays. I don’t have any vacation time saved up, sorry.” She wasn’t.
“Just come for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I’ll send you a plane ticket. You shouldn’t be alone on a holiday, in your first year sober. Come home, doll. I’ll make lasagna. Nonna’s tradition. Hm?”
Gia turned the key in the ignition. “Mom, I really have to—”
“Please? It would mean a lot to me. You mean a lot to me, Gia, sweetie. I would like to spend Christmas with my daughter.”
Persistence—check. Guilt—check. More guilt for good measure—double check.
“I’ll see what I can do. But don’t buy a ticket! I’m not even sure if I can get off work. I mean it, Ma. Give me a couple days. I’ll get back to you.”
Young Gia loved Christmas. Her dad took her ice skating at the mall near their house on Christmas Eve, keeping her out past her bedtime, which she later understood was a rare moment of teamwork in her parents’ marriage. Gianna must’ve played Santa while they were out, bringing in wrapped toys and arranging them around a plastic tree lit in white. When they came in from skating, Gia could pick one toy—only one—to take to bed with her. It was a game to find the stuffed animal amongst harder, less cuddly toys, and “Santa” made sure to leave some part of a fuzzy bear or soft doll exposed so Gia could win.
When her dad left, so had her enthusiasm for Christmas. Gianna seemed unaware of how to amuse a child without help, and Christmas became a game of guessing if she’d get a present at all. Her dad came through at the last minute each year—until he remarried and started a new family.
“Family is too fucking hard.” Gia talked over the morning DJ on her radio channel, who’d been prattling on about plans to take her daughters to a reindeer farm. Where was there even a reindeer farm in Palm Springs?
???
“¡Necesitas más fuerte!”a man yelled. “Swing harder!”
Gia was blindfolded and holding a wooden baseball bat, in a city park close to old downtown. She’d driven past the park, named for a woman, dozens of times, with its vast swaths of always perfect grass, large deciduous trees, and walking path that cut through in a lazy, indirect route. The sun had set, taking with it views of the surrounding mountains, but it was still inviting, still vast.
The piñata dangling from a leafless tree—a pink flamingo—was less inviting. Though she’d locked eyes with it before they spun her around, attempts to make contact were unproductive. Five swings. Five misses.
“I give up. Someone else try.” Gia held the bat out and pulled the bandanna down from her eyes, revealing she was several feet from the piñata. “No wonder I couldn’t make contact.”
To laughs and claps and a rogue high-pitched whistle, she handed the bat to one of Roxi’s nephews and took a bow.
“Good try,chica.You know that game is rigged, right?” Roxi stepped out of the crowd of onlookers—mostly family; a few women Gia recognized from the pool party. She’d worn the black dress outfit from the day the crew filmed her vignette, painted her heart-shaped lips with shimmery lip gloss, and pinned barrettes into each side of her hair—no ponytail that evening.
“I do now! But I gotta hand it to Rodolfo. He really set a mood.” Gia motioned to the picnic area, strung with lights and complete with blow up couches, iced down coolers, and pinwheels to mark the borders of their reserved space. A colorful, “You’re a superstar, Roxi!” banner was draped between two trees, and lit with a portable lantern.
“He likes to throw parties. Makes him feel important. Rodrigo’s the gadget guy. Rodolfo’s the host.Papásupervises.” Roxi made air quotes around the word, “supervises” and tilted her head to an elderly man drinking a Corona in a camp chair, complete with suspenders over his long-sleeved plaid shirt.
“What does that make you?”
“The entertainment, naturally.” Roxi winked.
Naturally.
As they watched a young boy repeat Gia’s mistake—and end up too far from the piñata to make contact—she noticed how jovial everyone was. Roxi’s family laughed and joked with each other, cutting up and slapping backs, offering hugs and smiles as they made the rounds. The thing was, they saw each other all the time. Gia knew family was important to Roxi—she said they’d always been close and became closer when her mother died. Hearsay and participation were different, though. Seeing a family in action doing family things—was—there wasn’t a word for it. Gia itched with discomfort when it all sunk in.
She needed to see her mother for Christmas. Theirs would never be the picture-perfect family that celebrated each other’s life events together. Hell, they didn’t even acknowledge each other’s birthdays. But family was family—you didn’t get a choice, and you didn’t get another one.
“What’s wrong,chica? Most people don’t hit thepiñata.I wouldn’t worry about it.” Roxi dug into a cooler for a cold Topo Chico. “Drink?”
