My crying spree notwithstanding, it's a fitful night of sleep for us all. As a new-born baby, Chrissy struggles to sleep well, her screams ensuring that the rest of us struggle to, as well.
After breakfast, I take pity on both Dad and Debra, who both look absolutely exhausted. I'm sure that they've been dealing with this for the last couple of weeks.
Chrissy settles happily in my arms on the couch, having just been fed by her mother. "Go and have a nap," I murmur quietly to the tired parents. "She'll be fine with us for a little bit."
Greta, who's sleepily curled up at the other end of the couch to Chrissy and me, nods her agreement. "Yes," she confirms. "Go on, you could both do with it. I promise that we'll come and get you if we need anything."
"She'll want fed again soon," Debra protests weakly, looking a little unsure.
I don't exactly blame her wariness at leaving her daughter with us, especially given my awful track record. I've not been the most doting daughter, or a good one at all, really.
Thankfully, though, Dad sees the sincerity in my eyes. I imagine that Greta's presence is also a real comfort to both of them. She's a bit more stable than me and definitely more reliable.
So, he persuades his wife to have a lie down for a bit and shoots both of us a grateful smile.
"Poor them," Greta murmurs quietly, her brow pinched in concern. "I bet they've been struggling quite a lot with all of this."
It doesn't escape my notice that there's no one else here, offering to support either of them. I try not to shift uncomfortably in my seat, knowing that I did absolutely nothing to help before now. Not throughout the pregnancy and then I was dragged here, kicking and screaming. It makes me wonder if they've had any help at all, from anyone.
Trying to swallow my guilt, I look down at my baby sister, who's nodded off peacefully in my arms, having had her fill. Despite her screaming, she's adorable. She actually looks positively angelic when she's sleeping. I'm not sure there's anything purer in the world.
"I know," I whisper back, afraid of waking the angel in my arms. "At least we're here and can help them for a few days."
My older sister eyes me suspiciously. "I thought this was the last place you wanted to be."
My chest aches painfully. "Uh, it was. But... Chrissy."
Her expression softens, likely able to fill in the blanks for herself. "I know. She's amazing."
"I never thought... I never thought I needed another sister," I admit quietly, the words sounding awkward coming from my mouth. "But it's like she's been missing this whole time and I'm suddenly realising what it's like to feel whole. I don't think that makes sense."
Greta sniffs, looking a little emotional as she shifts on the sofa and comes towards both of us. "I know what you mean. I think we were always meant to be a trio."
Clearing my throat, I keep my gaze trained on my younger sister, rather than daring to look in my older sister's eyes. "I'm determined that she's going to get two great older sisters. I'm also certain she'll be a much better younger sister than I've ever been."
She rests her head on my shoulder, and I let her, knowing that physical touch is one of the ways that she really shows her love. I struggle with it, but compromise for her and her only.
"What if I'm too late?" I whisper, my voice cracking. "To make amends?"
I think, somewhere deep down, I dowant to make amends. With Dad, and with Debra. I know there are lots of things to talk about, particularly to hash out with Dad, but I've been holding on to this anger for so long, and it's honestly exhausting.
"You're not," she encourages me quietly. "If you feel ready, it's not too late. I know that Dad would love that. You can't have missed the way he looked at you just now."
I didn't. He was watching me carefully, but there was unmasked hope on his face as I offered to look after his new-born daughter so that they could get some extra sleep. He was looking at me like he used to, before everything went wrong. Probably, he was hoping that somewhere deep inside of me, the girl that was his daughter back then, still actually exists.
I'm not so sure that she does, but that doesn't mean I can't push myself to be better now.
"Do you... do you think we could go and see Mom later?" I ask softly.
Greta and I don't really talk about Mom. I don't think Dad does, either. Each of us have so many scars, too many awful memories, to go dredging them up all the time.
She squeezes my arm. "Of course we can. I haven't been for years."
I haven't, either, obviously. I also never really saw the point, but for some reason, I now feel a really strong pull to go. Maybe just to tell her that I want to be a better person. Maybe just to assuage some of the guilt that I've been suffocating under, all these years.
Chrissy gurgles a little in her sleep, as though she can sense we're talking about the other mother in this patchwork family.
"I just feel like we should," I continue, shifting so that Chrissy sits more comfortably.
For someone who was so furious with Dad, who said she fought for her mother, I haven't exactly done a good job at dealing with any of it. I haven't been a good daughter to her, either. I actually just haven't been a good person, full stop.
Occasionally, I think to myself that it's no wonder Theo gave up on us. It wasn't like I was any fun to be around at all, towards the end. Perhaps, I'm more to blame than I want to let on. I was so convinced that everyone was against me and I remember even before I caught him with Mavis, I would sometimes pick a fight just because I wanted to shout at someone.
The three of us sit in silence for quite a while longer, before Chrissy starts to stir with a bit more urgency. My arms are getting a bit dead, so I carefully shift her into Greta's arms, where she settles really well.
It's quite a while before Chrissy properly wakes up, and even longer until she gets hungry again. Her screams summon Debra and Dad before I can actually get upstairs to tell Debra she's needed again.
Still, the both of them press on us their gratitude that they got a bit of a longer sleep. Both of them actually look a fair bit better for it, too, so Greta and I just brush it off. For a very surreal moment, it feels like a regular family, back together for Christmas, rather than what we truly are, and I allow myself to bask in the good feeling that it brings.
***
Like the rest of Whitley, the cemetery is freezing and blanketed in snow. There are lots of footprints here, showing that other people have been here too. It is Christmas Eve, after all, so I'm not exactly surprised that people are coming around this time of year.
Mom's grave, though, lies untouched. It's hard to tell because of the snow, but I'd wager that it's been neglected for quite a long time. Not that I can complain about that, given that it's been more than three and a half years since I was last here. I'm pretty sure the last time I came to visit her grave, I didn't bring flowers or anything.
Greta's gloved hand finds mine and squeezes hard. It's difficult to tell if the gesture is because she's trying to give or gain comfort, but I appreciate it either way. I'm so grateful that she's here by my side for this whole trip, but especially this particular trip to the grave.
My chest feels so heavy that it's really hard to summon any words. "Hi, Mom," I manage.
While it's me who breaks the silence first, it's Greta who really rallies and musters up some information. "We, uh, we thought we'd come back for a few days. To see Dad."
"I know you know this," I continue, hating how shaky my voice is. "But we have another sister now. She's just a tiny baby and... you'd have loved her, Mom."
Sometimes, it's really hard to remember Mom as anyone than who she became towards the end, but I do actually have memories of her, buried deep down, from before. From when she was an incredibly doting, kind and caring mother. From when she was maybe the best person on the whole planet. That's the Mom I try to remember now, as I stand in the snow, the cold from the chilly outside world seeping into my bones and settling.
"Yeah," Greta agrees, sounding just as weak as me. "You really would have."
It's hard to know what else to say. I burned my whole world down after you were gone?
This time, it's me who seeks comfort from Greta, wrapping an arm around her and resting my head on her shoulder, incredibly grateful that she holds me up like she does.
"Dad adores her too," my sister expands. "And uh, he's married. As you know. We're trying. Trying to adjust and to be the better people that you always taught us to be."
Greta's memories of Mom are slightly better than mine. She had more of them, before she got ill. I don't necessarily remember Mom teaching us to be better people (even if she did, the lesson obviously didn't stick), but I wouldn't put it past her, from what I do remember.
The uncomfortable feeling deep within me rises up and a big, fat tear spills over, sliding down my nearly frozen cheeks.
Greta sniffles, too, as she begins to run out of words. There's only so long you can go on, knowing that you're never going to get a response to anything you say. The silence is louder than anything else, and it starts to get suffocating.
I exhale painfully as more tears fall from my eyes. "I'd change everything if I could, Mom."
Greta starts to shake, and whimpers fall from her lips, so I wrap my other arm around her, pulling her tight to me. Sometimes, I realise that I did my older sister such an injustice. So wrapped up in my own pain about everything, I probably wasn't there by her side, when she really needed me. That, more than anything, is definitely the sin that I struggle to forgive myself for the most.
So, I resolve to be there for her now, letting her quiver in my arms as her cries morph into body-wracking sobs. She wails into my shoulder, the pent-up pain coming out with a vengeance. It breaks my own heart, but I just squeeze her tight as she cries.
Everything about Mom's death is so bitter for both of us, but I know that Greta was even more privy to everything that happened before. While it's been a massive struggle for both of us the last few years, our grief has definitely been handled differently.
Still, as we both let the tears flow while standing in the frozen cemetery, I begin to think that maybe we're not actually that different, after all.
"I miss her so much," she whispers brokenly, voice cracking painfully. "So, so much."
"I know," I murmur softly, reaching up to stroke her hair. "I know."
It takes both of us a while to regain our composure, once we finally let it slip. Perhaps this visit home is taking more of an emotional toll on Greta than I originally realised. I've known since the beginning that this was tough for her, but I had thought it was maybe less for her, given that she's been back since Dad got married. But she's bound to find it uncomfortably painful and I'm annoyed with myself for once again missing something like that.
When we finally peel ourselves away from the graveside – because we're about to freeze on our feet more than anything else – she slips her arm through mine. "I think we should have a hot chocolate when we get home," she comments as we walk towards the exit.
Despite my bruised heart, I can't help but agree with her enthusiastically.
When we pass through the large gate at the entrance, though, and back onto the street, my breath gets caught in my throat as I notice who is walking towards us. I mean, I know which street is adjacent to this one. I know who lives right around the corner from here.
Still, Theo is the last person that I want to see right now.
Greta, noticing the way I suddenly stiffen, glances up and tenses herself at the sight of him.
He pauses in front of us, the adorable Bernese Mountain dog at his side stopping in perfect sync with him. His expression is cautious, despite the callous blows we exchanged last night at the bar.
"Hey," he says, brows furrowing as he observes us.
He obviously knows what we're doing here. He just saw us exit the cemetery. He was there at Mom's burial, too. Part of me is grateful for the softer expression on his face than the one I saw last night, but the other part of me is just bitter.
"You look freezing," he murmurs, reaching up and taking his hat off, transferring it to my head before I can even muster up a protest. "Forgotten how cold it gets here?"
I want to chuck his hat right back at him, but it's so warm on my head and I am freezing, so I don't. Instead, I just exhale tiredly, not wanting to fight. "Please, Theo. Not right now."
He swallows, looking pensive. "I wasn't trying to have a go. Just don't want you to freeze."
I want to ask him why the hell he should care now, but I glance at my sister, who honestly just looks like she wants to go home. Not that I want to stay here and hash it out with him again. We tried that twice last night and it clearly got us absolutely nowhere.
"I can't do this right now," I shake my head, tugging on my sister's arm and side-step him, ignoring the pained look on his face as I walk away.
Of course, an already shitty moment has to be made worse by seeing Theo of all people.
Thankfully, Greta doesn't bring it up on our brisk walk back to Dad's. She doesn't say much, actually, as I find all of the ingredients in the kitchen for a hot chocolate, having deposited Theo's hat on the sideboard, hoping someone else will take it so I never have to see it again.
Both Debra and Dad accept my offer of making them some as well, and we all sit together in the living room, enjoying the warm drinks, even though we don't say much. It's a peaceful moment that I'm determined to make the most of and not ruin at all.
Greta holds Chrissy close to her, like she's her lifeline.
It occurs to me then that maybe, Chrissy isn't just my saving grace, but Greta's, too.
---
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