"Between the madness and the apathy, it seems there's nothing left inside of me that's good."
- Anson Seabra
"There you go." I hold Evangeline over my head, allowing her to place the angel atop the decorated Christmas tree. "Perfect. Ready to come down?"
"Ready!" she squeals, kicking her skinny legs and almost knocking my front tooth out. I place her on the floor, and she steps back to examine her handiwork.
"Looks good, right?" I ask.
She nods her head, her green eyes filled with wonder. "It's amazing."
From the kitchen, I hear Mom offer someone a homemade gingerbread cookie. I'm not surprised she made gingerbread. They're Benson's favorite. Gemma and I both prefer snickerdoodles, but we're not her Golden Boy.
Gemma materializes beside me. She says hello and then sits next to Dad on the couch, her eyes glued to the decorated tree.
"What do you think?" I inquire, eager to hear her opinion.
"It's beautiful," she replies.
"Evangeline picked out the angel." I nudge the six year-old's shoulder, recalling how it took her thirty minutes to decide which one to buy.
Evangeline smiles slightly, her emerald eyes twinkling under the light of the tree. Now that Gemma's here, she seems uneasy.
Gemma must notice, too, because she says, "Hey, Evangeline, did you know that your name is Greek for 'like an angel'?"
The six year-old shakes her head. "No, I... I didn't know that."
"When your mom was pregnant with you," my sister goes on, her lips parting into a reminiscent grin, "I helped pick out your name."
"My mom kept a picture of you on her nightstand," Evangeline says. Her voice is laced with melancholia. "I think she was sad when you stopped coming over."
"I didn't... I didn't stop, per se. I just... well, I just got really busy," Gemma stammers.
I roll my eyes. No, you weren't busy, just too self-absorbed, I think to myself.
"Evangeline, sweetheart," my mom cuts in, "what would you like for Christmas this year?"
"You can get anything you want," my dad adds. "Dolls, stuffed animals, an iPad...."
"Hey, I never got an iPad!" I exclaim.
"Me, either," Gemma grumbles.
Benson got one before he left for college, but we were never so lucky.
Mom ignores us. "We'll make sure Santa brings you everything on your wish list this year," she says to Evangeline.
"I already know Santa's not real," Evangeline announces, fiddling with a star-shaped ornament on the tree. "My mom told me last year. She said the reason the other kids got more presents than me wasn't because Santa loved them more, but because he wasn't real at all. The other parents just had more money. Then she started crying."
I bite my lip. The thought of Raelyn having to explain to her five year-old that she couldn't afford to buy her Christmas presents makes my heart ache. I can't begin to imagine how difficult that must have been, how horrible she must have felt.
"Oh, um, okay." My mom smiles, but her discomfort is palpable. "Well, what do you want us to get for you?"
"All I want for Christmas," Evangeline murmurs, "is to see my mom again."
I wrap my arms around myself and sigh. I would cancel Christmas altogether if it meant getting Rae back. This holiday feels fucking wrong without her.
<>*<>*<>*<>*<>
I awaken to the sound of my name. I open my tired eyes and see Evangeline's face just inches from mine.
"Can I help you?" I ask, my voice husky with leftover sleep.
"It's Christmas," she states. "It's Christmas morning."
"Okay."
"Aren't you gonna wake up?"
"Do I have to?"
"Yes!" she exclaims, climbing on top of me and bouncing up and down. "Wake up, wake up, wake up!"
"I'm up, I'm up, I'm up!" I shout, reaching forward to tickle under her arms. She dissolves into a fit of giggles before falling off the bed.
I put on a t-shirt and glance at my phone. It's only six a.m. No wonder I feel like death reincarnated.
"Am I the first person you woke up?" I ask the six year-old.
She nods her head and flashes a guilty smile.
"Why?" I question her.
"You're my favorite, Bowie," she says simply.
I can't help but smile. It's nice to be someone's favorite, even if that someone is in the first grade.
I tell her to go downstairs, vowing that I'll join her shortly. Quickly, I shower and dress myself. By the time I'm done, Mom and Dad are just getting up.
As promised, I meet Evangeline downstairs. She's sitting by the Christmas tree, nibbling on a gingerbread cookie.
"I admire your self-restraint," I tell her. "I would have opened all my presents by now."
She shakes her head. "This is new for me. I wanna enjoy it."
Eager to keep her in good spirits, I turn on Rudolph and get her a glass of milk. Mom and Dad come downstairs and begin to prepare our holiday feast. While they cook, I occupy Evangeline.
After all, I am her "favorite."
Once Rudolph is welcomed into Santa's gang of reindeer, we watch The Santa Claus. Gemma and Benson are expected to be here soon. I'm not excited to see the latter. As usual, he's going to silently brag about his financial situation—he works for Lionspace, a.k.a. the most corrupt scientific research facility in North America, which I suppose is fitting—by getting Mom and Dad an expensive gift. Last year, he bought them a new plasma TV. The year before, it was winter tires for both their cars. I can only imagine what his grand gesture will be this Christmas.
As Mom runs around like a mad woman to finish lunch, my dad comes into the front room with a dress for Evangeline. He instructs her to put it on.
"I... I don't like dresses," the six year-old protests. I don't blame her. They seem uncomfortable and difficult to move in.
"Calista picked it out," Dad says, as if that's supposed to convince her. "Can you wear it for her please?"
Evangeline lets out a theatrical sigh but agrees to change out of her snowman pajamas. All the while, I'm trying not to laugh. If I ever have a kid, they're gonna get away with everything.
When she returns, I barely recognize her. In a sleeveless, off-white gown with golden sparkles etched into the fabric, she looks like a princess. She's just missing a pair of silk gloves and a tiara.
"You look great, kiddo," I tell her.
She rolls her eyes so hard that I'm shocked they don't get lost in her skull. "I look dumb."
"Nah, you're a stunner."
"I'm cold. This stupid dress has no sleeves."
"Which is why I bought you this!" Mom appears, a deep green cardigan draped over her arm. "Put it on, sweetie."
Evangeline rolls her eyes once more. I'm beginning to think she's the queen of eye-rolling. She reluctantly accepts the sweater.
"Oh, you're so pretty," Mom squeals. She pulls Evangeline toward her, spins her around, and begins to braid her long, brown hair.
"Help me," Evangeline mouths. Once again, it takes all of my self-control not to laugh.
I turn off the TV and venture into the kitchen for a snack. Mom has laid out an elaborate platter of cheese, crackers, and various deli meats. I snag a slice of cheddar as the front door swings open. Gemma and Benson make their way inside. I always forget how much they look alike. They both inherited Mom's dark features, whereas I have Dad's pale skin, blonde hair, and blue eyes.
After placing their gifts under the tree, they join us in the kitchen. Mom hugs Benson first, Gemma second. What a fucking shock.
"Merry Christmas, everyone!" my sister exclaims. The scowl on her face leads me to believe that there is nothing "merry" about this day. I don't fault her for being so glum. Her best friend killed herself a few short weeks ago, for fuck's sake.
I watch as her brown eyes linger on the pitcher of homemade eggnog. She pours herself a hefty glass and then glances at our father, who's typing away on his computer. She smirks and asks, "You're working on Christmas, Dad?"
"Duncan asked me to start sorting out his reelection material," he responds, not looking up from the screen. "You know how your uncle is. He says Merry Christmas to all of you, by the way."
My mom shoots eye-daggers at him. "Close the computer, honey. All of our children are here. It's time to celebrate."
He lets out a sigh before closing his laptop. "As you wish, dear."
We gather around the table. Mom serves a mouth-watering lunch of honey-glazed ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and green bean casserole. After our plates are cleared, she brings out dessert: chocolate crème pie and apple pie. When our bellies are full, we migrate to the front room to exchange gifts.
Evangeline claims the spot beside me, clinging to me like scrambled eggs on an ungreased pan. Most of the presents are addressed to her, but she seems uninterested. She barely touched her food, too. I think it's finally hitting her that this is the first of many holidays without her mom.
"You okay?" I whisper.
She shrugs her shoulders. "I guess."
"Here, I got you this." I hand her a red bag stuffed with green tissue paper. "Open it."
"What is it?"
"Open it and find out."
She purses her lips and digs the tissue paper out of the bag, scattering it all over the room. When she pulls out my gift—the Skylanders Imaginators game for her Xbox—her face lights up.
"Like it?" I ask. "I figured you'd get bored of Minecraft after a while."
Her lips curl into a smile. "I love it," she replies, giving me a one-armed side hug. "Thanks, Bowie."
"Anything for you, kiddo."
Benson one-ups my tender moment by presenting his Christmas present to Mom and Dad: two tickets to Bermuda, all expenses paid. Mom shrieks with delight and pulls him into her arms. Dad claps him on the back and thanks him for the generous gift.
Gemma and I lock eyes, and a look of understanding passes between us. She and I might be different in almost every possible way, but we have one thing in common: we'll never be Benson. Mom and Dad love us, but we'll never be number one. That spot is reserved exclusively for Golden Boy.
We continue opening presents. My parents went all-out for Evangeline. I think Mom had too much fun shopping in the little girl's section. Evangeline has enough toys and clothes for the next three Christmases.
The last gift she unwraps is from Gemma. It's a framed photograph of her and Raelyn as teenagers. Immediately, Evangeline's eyes well up with tears.
"Oh, I didn't mean to make you upset," Gemma says quickly. "I just... well, you said you wanted to see your mom, you know?"
Evangeline nods her head and hugs the picture to her chest. "I love it. She looks so beautiful. I just miss her a lot."
"I miss her, too." Gemma scoots forward and, to my astonishment, wraps her arm around the six year-old's shoulder. I've never seen my sister try to comfort anyone before. "I took that photo when she was fifteen. Notice how she's smiling with her teeth?"
"She didn't like her smile," Evangeline murmurs, grazing her tiny fingers over her mother's open mouth. "I'm gonna keep this forever. Thank you, Gemma."
Benson leans in and peaks at the photo. His brown eyes flicker with desire. "Wow, she really was gorgeous."
"I'm going to get some more pie," I declare, desperate to get away from my pervy older brother. How dare he think about her that way after what he did.
"Don't eat all of it! I promised I'd bring some home to Levi!" Gemma shouts, blissfully unaware that my sudden need for pie is nothing more than a justification to leave the room.
I pass by the plate of leftover desserts, fetch my jacket, and head outside. I'm tempted to call Winter, but I refrain. She's with Avery. I don't want to ruin her holiday with my tedious family drama.
I decide to put my phone away and take a walk. I stroll down our road and turn onto the next one. I keep this up until I reach a more urban area of the city, lined with restaurants, a laundromat, and even an occult shop owned by a self-proclaimed mystic called Zaltana. I enter the first diner with an OPEN sign, suddenly craving a cup of coffee. Maybe the caffeine will help clear my head.
"Seat yourself!" a slender, dark-haired waitress shouts. She doesn't look at me. Her nose is buried in a book.
Most people would take offense, but I find her insouciance amusing. If I had to wait tables on Christmas, I'd be less than thrilled, too.
Five minutes pass before she saunters toward me. I'm the only customer in the building. Unless there are more hiding in the kitchen, I think she's the only waitress.
"My name is Zayna," she says, her robotic monotone conveying her indifference. "How can I help you?"
"Zayna," I repeat. "Cool name."
Surprise flashes through her eyes, which I notice are golden brown, like two pools of honey. For half a second, it looks like she's going to smile.
She doesn't, of course. She rolls her honey-colored eyes and folds her arms over her chest. "Yes, I know it's weird. I hear the same shit every single day. Before you ask, no, it's not a family name, and I don't know what it means. My crazy mom put a bunch of random letters together and came up with 'Zayna.'"
"Uh, I said it was cool, not weird," I correct her. "And, hey, my parents named me Bowie, so I feel your pain."
She smirks. It's not quite a smile, but I'll take it. "Bowie? Like David Bowie?"
"Something like that, yeah."
"You must get made fun of a lot."
"Oh, I do, but not just for my name."
Finally, she cracks a smile.
"Do you want to sit?" I ask.
"I'm working."
"Not very hard, obviously."
She bites her lip, as if trying not to laugh. "Can I at least take your order first?"
"Two coffees," I tell her, "and that's it."