I stood at the top of a ladder, using push pins to hold a swag of holiday greenery in place.
“I don’t understand why you didn’t hire decorators to come in and do this,” I said as I stepped down.
Mom moved back from where she had been holding the ladder steady. Together we picked it up and moved it along the wall another six feet.
“I haven’t had a reason to decorate in years, Gemma. This is the first time either you or your brother have been home for Christmas in, oh, I don’t know how long,” she said. “And now everyone’s coming home, and there’s a grandbaby.”
It had been four years since I was last home at Christmas. John hadn’t been home for at least the two years before that. We didn’t see him much after father’s passing.
I sighed as I climbed up. Guilt tried to sneak in and ruin my mood. “I’m sorry about that,” I started.
“Hush, we’ve gone over this. You had your reasons.”
My reason was named Amelia, and she squealed and giggled in her playpen in the middle of the den.
“We are doing this for the memories, and new family traditions,” Mom stated.
Every year growing up my father had hired decorators to give the old mansion a holiday make-over. There were themed Christmas trees in every room. Garlands festooned with gold ornaments and red ribbons adorned balconies, balustrades, and railings. It was beautiful and magical, and as I got older, I realized, excessively impersonal.
We had the family tree in the den. It was a smaller, more intimate family room than the grand halls and rooms that made up Orchard View. It was the tree, that on Christmas morning, all the presents would be wrapped and displayed under. This was the only room we chose to decorate.
“Maybe we should put some string lights around the entry. The lights always look so pretty in the snow,” Mom sounded wistful.
“I agree. Can we hire someone to do that? I don’t think I’m capable of hanging lights outside. This ladder isn’t tall enough.”
“If we can find someone this late, then yes, I’ll hire someone to light up the front of the house,” she said.
I climbed up and down the ladder, pinning and hanging. We laughed. We made plans to bake cookies. We discussed what we should get for my brother this Christmas. We made happy memories to replace the gloom that had descended on Orchard View.
Christmas morning with a toddler who barely understood what was going on was the best. We didn’t have the flurry of ripping everything open with frenetic haste. Amelia picked a box and then walked it over to either me or to Mom. She helped us unwrap the gift. Tearing paper distressed her, so we went slowly and meticulously. Her delight lit up the room each time. She took her new toy, and toddled over to show it off, and then played with her toy for minutes on end before realizing there were more boxes for her to open.
By nap time, we hadn’t even made it through half of her presents. By the time John and his girlfriend arrived, unwrapped boxes were tucked back under the tree for Amelia to open them the next day.
“Is there anyone here?” John’s bellow as he slammed the front door was our clue that he had arrived.
He strode in as if he still lived here. It was his house too, so technically he didn’t need to knock. It seemed presumptuous of me to think he would knock on the front door of a house he hadn’t visited in years.
“It doesn’t look like anyone bothered to decorate for Christmas,” he said.
“I hadn’t realized you were already here,” Mom said.
John handed her his coat and helped his girlfriend off with her coat before dumping that on into Mom’s arms too.
“Aren’t you even going to say hello?” I asked. I stood at the back of the entry hall with my hands on my hips.
John cast a glance at Mom. “You’re still here?”
“Um, hi?” the woman with him said.
He stared at his girlfriend, and then at me.
With a glance to make sure Amelia was occupied in her playpen, I stormed across the entry hall.
I pulled the coats out of Mom’s arms and dumped them on John.
“She’s not the help, put your own coats up.” I pointed to where the coat closet was.
I looked over at the woman John had brought to Orchard View. She was the first of his girlfriend’s ever to make it here, as far as I was aware.
“Hi, I’m Gemma.” I stuck out my hand. “And this is our mother, Katherine.”
“She’s the nanny,” John said, returning after he put the coats away with much grumbling.
“I was Gemma’s nanny before I married—”
“Should we go in? The entry is hardly the place to discuss this,” John announced with a huff and strode into the formal drawing-room.
“We’re back here, this year. Keeping things, a little cozier,” Mom said as she walked past him and continued to the back of the entry hall.
“We came for dinner. Has anyone even set the dining room?” John complained as he trailed behind.
I could feel his sneer and judgmental glares at the casual and comfy clothes Mom, and I had on. He and his girlfriend were dressed for a semi-formal party. Her cocktail dress shimmered emerald green and looked like velvet. John wore a dark olive-toned suit with a green and red tie— his nod to it being Christmas.
“I told you it was just us when I asked if you would like to come. I did say casual,” Mom said.
“I’m not in a tux,” John sneered back.
“Oh, what a sweet baby,” John’s girlfriend cooed as she entered the den and saw Amelia.
Amelia was dressed for the occasion in a red and green plaid taffeta dress with a deep lace collar. Her wispy blonde curls created a halo effect in the lights of the Christmas tree.
“This is Am—”
“Jennifer and I are engaged,” John announced rather suddenly, cutting me off.
My attention went from Amelia to him and Jennifer. His hand was locked around her arm at her elbow. He hadn’t even met his niece yet. He knew about her and seemed rather uncomfortable by her existence, but he had never met her.
He kept jostling Jennifer to get her attention every time she started to look at Amelia.
Mom started to gush with excitement. It took me a second to catch up.
“That’s wonderful,” I said. “Congratulations.”
No one hugged like they do in the movies. We all kind of stood around awkwardly. Jennifer’s eyes darted back and forth like she was nervous.
“Mrs. Peters, would you be interested in helping to plan—”
“No,” John cut her off before she could finish asking. “She’s not Mrs. Peters. I told you before that she’s the nanny.”
“John, I know you don’t like it, but I am your stepmother,” Mom said.
I could tell by her expression she was tired of this conversation. With a shake of her head, she held her hand out to Jennifer.
Jennifer kept looking to John for permission. This whole thing had to be strained and uncomfortable for her. She slipped her hand into Mom’s and mom covered it with her other hand.
“I’m not John’s mother. I was the nanny for Gemma before I married their father. John has never forgiven me.”
“You were only after his money,” John complained.
I rolled my eyes. The only person after our father’s money had been John, but he never saw that.
“I was never after your father’s money. Come why don’t we have dinner. It should be ready. Gemma, will you check to see if the roast is finished?”
I lifted Amelia into my arms, and we headed for the kitchen. In the past few years, I had learned how to cook. At first out of necessity, and then because it was fun.
“Your uncle is a poopy pants,” I said in baby talk to Amelia. “Are you ready for dinner?”
“Din,” she said with a wide grin. She didn’t quite have a grasp of full words, but she had some.
I stuck my finger in her mouth. “Is that a new tooth? Did Amelia get a new tooth?” I buzzed kisses on her cheek, and she giggled.
I slid her into a highchair I kept in the kitchen for when we cooked together. She sat and babbled commentary as I narrated the work I did.
“I’m opening the oven. Be careful it’s hot.”
The roast was perfect and needed to rest for a few minutes. By the time I had all the sides out of the warming drawers and pulled from chilling in the refrigerator, the roast would be ready. I carried dishes into the informal, small dining room before I grabbed Amelia and returned to the den to announce dinner was ready.
I stopped before I opened the door. John’s voice was loud and angry, and he was talking about me.
“She’s ruined herself coming home with that bastard. Has she even mentioned who the father is? No, she probably doesn’t even know.”
“John,” Jennifer said, “that’s your sister.”
“Exactly, and that’s why she had better—”
“Had better what?” I asked as I slammed the door open.
Everyone froze and stared at me.
I didn’t care, I was angry. He had given me a hard time for not coming home for over three years. This was exactly why I had stayed away. I didn’t need his condescending judgment. I had needed support and I knew it was not going to come from home. I hadn’t meant to hurt Mom; I was so afraid to disappoint her.
“That’s why you had better come up with an acceptable father for your…” There was no missing John’s glare, he hated the very existence of my daughter. “Mistake.”
“Amelia is a gift, not a mistake. I’m not ruined,” I growled back at him.
“You’re never going to find someone to support you, not with that.”
I wanted to claw his eyes out, he couldn’t even acknowledge the baby was a person.
“I can support myself just fine. I have a job.”
“Internet marketing is not a real job. All you do is play online. A real job would keep a roof over your head,” John scoffed. “A worthless job for…” He trailed off but gave me a half nod.
I knew exactly what he left off: a worthless job for a worthless sister. As if he would know about having a real job. All the properties he or I lived in were inheritances from our father. My dad made sure I was taken care of, a place or two to live, and an allowance. But he gave John the one thing he cared for most in this world, his company.
John may have inherited the business from our dad, but all John had to do was simply make sure the cogs in the machine dad set up kept running smoothly. He never had to start from scratch, find a job and cover his bills. I had, before I came home with my ego bruised and a baby, I hadn’t even told my mother about.
Amelia began fussing, she didn’t like the energy in the room. I didn’t either.
“We’re leaving,” he announced.
“But we just got here. We haven’t had dinner,” Jennifer said.
“When I need you to point out the obvious, I will tell you,” he bit out at her.
“Get our coats,” he yelled at Mom and snapped his fingers at her.
“She’s not the help, she’s your stepmother.” I got up in his face and snapped my fingers at him. I may have reacted like a brat, but he was acting like a pompous ass.
“She’s not my mother.”
“Well she’s the only mother I’ve ever known, and she was our father’s wife, so start treating her with respect.”
“Or what? You’ll never make it on your own. If you expect me to help you out after this—”
“I don’t need your help with anything, John.”
We were bickering like children, but this was the first time I fought back.
“I think you need to leave, John,” Mom said as she led the way out of the den. “I’m sorry you got to see us at our worst, Jennifer.”
Mom and I stood in the large entry hall and watched them go.
“I’m going to have a bit of a lie-down,” she said as she started up the grand staircase. “I’m sorry but you wouldn’t mind putting dinner up for later, would you?”
“It’s okay. I’ve got it.” I more than had dinner taken care of. I also had a plan to show John I really didn’t need his help.
