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“Snowflake? Everything okay?”
My dad’s gaze moves behind me.
“Yup, we’re all good here.” I offer my dad a small smile. “I really do hope you can kick that habit. Have a merry Christmas.”
“You too, kiddo.” He gets into the passenger seat of an old Ford. I recognize the driver as one of his friends from the trailer park.
BJ’s hand settles on my shoulder as the car leaves the lot. “Are you okay?”
I nod. “Yeah. He apologized for being a shitty father and husband. He said he’s going to try to kick the booze after the holidays.”
“Do you believe him?”
I sigh and turn to face BJ. “I believe he wants to try. I don’t know if he’ll be successful, but I hope he is.”
He wraps his arms around me. “That’s all we can do, isn’t it? Hope for the best.”
On Christmas Eve, BJ and I drive out to the trailer park with a care package for my dad. I don’t tell Mom I’m going. She’s doing so well these days, and I don’t want to derail her. But I want to give my dad a piece of the hope the Ballistics gave me when I needed it most. Maybe it will inspire him to do better, to make the changes he needs to if he wants a place in either of our lives.
The trailer is in pretty bad condition, much worse than it was the last time my mom and I were here.
“He’s living here?” BJ asks. “How does he stay warm during winter?”
“We had a couple of space heaters that kept it decent. But sometimes we’d stay at the shelter during a big storm. If he pays the electric bills, he should be okay.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
“He’ll have to find somewhere else to stay.” I worry about that, about him not having electricity or heat. About something bad happening. But it’s out of my control. I can’t force him to make better choices. I can only nudge him in the right direction and hope he’ll choose that path. Before it’s too late.
“You had to do that in the winter sometimes?”
“A few times, yeah.” I squeeze his hand. “I try not to take what I have now for granted.”
“Your life was so fucking hard.”
“It could be, yeah. But it shaped me into the person I am, and the future is a whole lot brighter. That’s what’s important.”
Dad doesn’t answer when I knock, so I find the spare key and let myself in. The clutter is overwhelming, and the place needs a good cleaning, but that’s not my job. I put all the perishables in the fridge and leave the nonperishables on the table, along with the card and a gift certificate to the local grocer’s—the one that doesn’t sell booze, so he’ll use it for food.
Then BJ and I return to his house to celebrate the holidays with his family and all our friends.
My mom and I are used to small celebrations. Usually, my dad would take a shift at the ice cream factory because they paid double, and she and I would celebrate on our own with leftovers from the holiday dinners served at the diner. So the magnitude of the celebration with the Ballistics is something we haven’t experienced before.
Mom and I spent the days leading up to the celebration making homemade origami ornaments with Clover to put in everyone’s stockings. It’s hands down the best Christmas we’ve ever had. BJ’s parents invite us to stay the night, but my mom and I want to start new traditions of our own, so we go home with the promise that we’ll return the following day for more celebrating, including a Christmas brunch.
The cabin is decorated for the holidays, and white lights frame the porch. Some work has been done since I’ve been away at college. The garage has new siding and a new door, which is a huge improvement.
The front steps to the cabin have been replaced, so they no longer sit at an angle. There’s a new storm door, and the front porch has been cleaned out, no longer stuffed with empty beer cases. The kitchen counter is clear of empties, and it smells fresher inside, the scent of cigarette smoke almost gone.
There’s a newer couch in the living room, and the old lounger has been replaced with two chairs. I know the Hockey Academy has been helping out a lot, and through her GED classes, my mom has learned how to create a budget, so she doesn’t stress about the bills anymore. It’s tight, but it’s manageable.
Her new roommate is visiting family upstate for the week, so we have the cabin to ourselves. We put on How the Grinch Stole Christmas and snuggle on the couch, both of us falling asleep partway through.
In the morning, we make coffee and eat cookies while we look through our stockings.
“Your real present is a work in progress,” Mom tells me. “It’s not finished quite yet, but it should be ready when you move back to Pearl Lake for the summer, if that’s still your plan.” She wrings her hands with nervous excitement.
“Yeah, that’s definitely the plan, as long as it’s okay with you.” I have a place on the women’s team at the Hockey Academy and my part-time job at Boones, so moving home for the summer makes the most sense, even if it means I can’t sleep beside BJ. We’re not sure how it’s going to work, but we have time to figure out where I’ll sleep, even if we have to convert the front porch into a makeshift extra bedroom.
