Page 2 of Back Home For Christmas

“Is he still a smoke show?”

“A smoke show?” I giggled. “Jenna, please, I’m embarrassed for you.” Then we were laughing in the full body way that only best friends can.

“I missed you. I’m glad you are home, even though you don’t want to be here,” Jenna said after the laughter faded.

“I missed you too.” I sighed as I tried to take another sip of my decedent drink without getting covered in whipped cream. I should have just used a spoon, but I liked to get equal parts of drink and cream, so I couldn’t just eat all the topping before I even got to the drink part.

“How was it? Coming back, I mean.”

I shrugged. “Strange, frustrating, heartbreaking, wonderful,” I said, feeling that same mix of emotions well up. “As much as I pretend not to, I love this tiny beach town where I can hear the ocean everywhere I go. But I also feel like a goddamn failure. Probably because I am.”

“You are twenty-two, Cat. You still have time to graduate, get some hot shit psychology job, and rub it in your brother's face."

“Don’t forget my parent’s face too. And maybe Jay’s now that he is around,” I said. “Although listening to people bitch about their problems all day isn’t all that glamorous.” I had spent my childhood listening to my parents tell me, and anyone else who would pay attention, just how amazing my brother Darren was at literally everything he touched. You would think his shit was made of gold the way my parents talked. Darren learned to read at one. He knew his times tables by first grade. He was writing stunning poetry by second grade. He was acing all the tests by fifth grade. He took AP classes and got a scholarship to Princeton. He was polite, and handsome, and thoughtful. Meanwhile, I was just the girl who dyed her hair purple, wore doc martins, argued with teachers, got middling grades, and generally made people uncomfortable with my unfiltered existence.

I got into Rutgers by the skin of my teeth, but worked my ass off at two jobs, while taking as close to a full course load as I could. I hadn’t intended to come home until I had finished my final essay, which I had to get an extension on, and graduation was guaranteed, along with possibly a job offer on the table to show some amount of success. Going into psychology had never been my plan, but my horrible luck and some amount of anonymous sabotage had left me out of choices and locked out of my dream.

I couldn’t stand the thought of listening to all of Darren’s accolades while struggling to get even a single one of my own, so I had spent Christmas breaks working and making excuses to not show up. I’m sure it only reaffirmed my black sheep status in my parent’s minds, but I thought I would redefine myself when I had a six-figure salary and a bunch of letters after my name. It had been a silly dream; I guess. Especially since I couldn’t even finish my final essay with the additional time. Every time I sat down, I felt lost. My ADHD didn’t help, pulling my attention to easier, flashier things, but it was more than that too. With school essentially over, I no longer had a place to live. Had I known Jay would be staying at in my house, I would have lived in my car before coming home.

“Can’t I come live with you for the break?” I asked Jenna.

“You know you can’t,” she said. “My parents have forgiven you, but I don’t think they want you sleeping on their couch for a week, either.”

“Jenna! You know it wasn’t my fault! Who keeps dry potpourri around the base of a votive candle? That is an accident waiting to happen!"

“You are preaching to the choir.”

“How the hell am I going to live with Jay for a whole week? I could just feel his judgement all over me when I walked into the kitchen,” I groaned, letting my head tilt back.

“Is he really judgmental or do you just feel judged?” Jenna asked in her too wise way that was both amazing and incredibly frustrating when I just needed someone to bitch to.

“Who has the psych degree now? And no, he really is judgmental. It’s like he thinks he is so goddamn superior to all of us. He looks down his nose at everyone, but especially me. If I didn’t think Darren felt the same way, I would question their friendship. But to Darren, that’s a feature, not a bug. He gets to be superior by proxy,” I said, and Jenna snorted a laugh. “Did I ever tell you about the time in high school he convinced me that poison ivy was holly, and I should decorate the shop with it? When I got an itchy rash, he called me Cat Scratch Fever for an entire year.”

Jenna snorted a laugh before remembering it wasn’t funny at all. “Yes, many times,” Jenna said.

“Fine,” I said. “Anyway, what’s new with you? How are things with what's his face from Delaware?”

“Over,” Jenna said.

“Oh shit! I’m sorry. What happened?” I asked.

“Nothing happened. Nothing ever happens,” she said. I knew how frustrated she was in her small-town life. Unlike me, she didn’t get to leave, even for a college break. She went to community while working in her parents’ restaurant. I felt bad bitching about having to be home for a week. Although, what I hadn’t told her was that if I couldn’t pass my final class, I would be forced to stay indefinitely without prospects for income or school housing.

Chapter Three

The walk back to my house felt especially ominous despite the unbridled cheer all around me. By noon, the cobblestones of Main Street filled with tourists. I dodged around the mostly smiling faces enjoying the chilly weather, shopping, and general spirit of Christmas, trying to absorb their energy and force out my own dread. The Fred Astaire version of “Silver Bells,” played over the speakers hidden throughout the pedestrian-only street. By the time I turned the corner of our little side street, I felt better. At the very least, I would have Jenna. I would spend my time hiding in my room typing away on my laptop or out making memories with my best friend.

As soon as I pushed open the front door, those positive feelings vanished as my plan to be mostly reclusive fell to pieces. My mother, father and brother all sat in the living room surrounded by ancient cardboard boxes labeled with some variation of Christmas stuff. While the outside decorations had been up for at least a week, they hadn’t done much inside. I’m sure they wanted to make it a family bonding experience to cut down the tree and put up the ornaments and all that.

“There she is!” My mom said with a broad smile, holding up a familiar green and red striped smock with my name printed on the top left corner. When she looked up and really caught sight of me, her smile faltered. “Sweetheart, it’s almost noon. Aren’t you going to get dressed?”

“Sure, mom,” I said, trying hard not to let my annoyance come out in my tone. She must have picked up on it regardless of my efforts.

“Oh, don’t be like that,” she said. “I just don’t think it is appropriate to wear your pjs all day. And it’s clear to everyone you haven’t showered.”

“The scandal,” I gasped. “What will the tourists think?”

“Anyway, look what I found,” she said, holding up the dreaded smock again. It was more than a smock, really. It was elf vomit in wearable form. The base was green and red, but beyond that it was a vast array of appliqué presents, bows, wrapping paper, and little woodland creatures holding Christmas gifts. With all the sewn-on patchwork, it made the once utilitarian work smock into an ill-fitting nightmare that had been my daily uniform for most of my life. Even in the heart of summer when everyone wore beach gear, I lived in that thing. Even in the fall, when everyone focused on spooky vibes, I wore the garish Christmas smock. It was one of the many tragedies of my early years that made me into the contrary pseudo goth that I was today.

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