It's Beginning to Look a lot Like Christmas

It’s quiet at home, at least it has been for the past couple of days while I’ve been alone. The snow muffles the noises from outside and makes it almost quieter than it would be during summer.

Dana and Rowan text me sometimes, but they’re busy with family things so they can’t really spend time with me. And I don’t have work since Linda and Bryan always close up shop for the end of the year holidays. Even if it would be a really busy time of year if they were to stay open.

Within these two days, I have very nearly completed my final essay for English and assignment for my Social Sciences class, as well as started on the research for my Social Sciences final essay. By the time Christmas is over, I’ll more than likely have completed all of the necessary homework and assignments and finals, and then what would I do for the rest of the holidays?

I even went out and got myself a turkey, some cranberries for sauce, and some bread to make stuffing. The turkey is small, but it will still make a hearty amount of leftovers for later. Since I will be the only one consuming whatever it is that I make for the holiday meal.

I sigh and look at the time. It’s already five pm on Christmas eve, and I haven’t thought of, nor done, anything festive yet. I didn’t even put up our tree, since I would be the only one seeing it, and I would also have to be the one to dismantle it later, alone. So, I didn’t see the point in doing it in the first place.

I put my laptop down on the dining room table which has turned into my study and homework table since the break started. I stretch and I can hear my bones popping back into place since I have been sitting here in one position for the entire day.

I decide to make myself a cup of hot chocolate. Maybe it will make me feel a little more like it’s the holidays. Or maybe it will just warm me up and then I can continue doing my homework.

I wrap my blanket tighter around my shoulders, even with the heat on in the house it feels cold and imposing being alone at home all the time, especially during the holidays. Going on social media just makes me sad, especially seeing all my peers having fun breaks and spending quality time with their families.

I thought I was immune to all of the familial cheer. It’s been so long since we had anything of the sort, but I guess I’m not as invulnerable as I like to think I am.

I wrap my hands around the warm mug and sigh, leaning against the island in the kitchen and looking out the big dining room bay window. The window stares out to the few maple trees that line our back fence. All of them are barren now that it is winter. I remember the winter that my mother and father had Matthew and I tried to tap the trees for sap to make maple syrup. It had been messy, but it had been fun.

I’m pulled from my memories when I hear the front door open and close. I frown and wonder who the heck would be entering my house at five pm on Christmas eve.

I put my cup down on the counter beside me and wrap the blanket tighter around me before shuffling over to the living room only to see the salt and pepper hair and distinctive overworked beard.

“Dad?”

“Hi Eleanora,” he grunts as he puts his suitcase down and struggles to pull off his winter outerwear.

“Hi…” I feel confused like I am seeing a hallucination and I know it’s a hallucination. But when I reach over and grab the suitcase, it feels very real in my hands. Warm even, from my father’s grip on it before. “What are you doing at home?”

“What do you mean ‘what are you doing home?’ I’m home for Christmas.” He finally gets his outerwear off and goes to rub my head, messing up my already messy home-alone hair.

“Yeah, but I mean,” I stop my words, flapping my mouth open and closed for a few moments, not sure how to continue with my sentence. My father coming home is so rare that I’m not even sure what to say to him now that he is right in front of me. I just close my mouth finally, deciding that silence is better.

“You didn’t have plans, did you?” He asks joking as he moves into the house. Seeing my homework sprawled on the dining room table, and the nearly barren house otherwise. I move the few steps and start to shuffle my homework pages into a pile, closing my laptop and placing it all off to one side.

“No plans, not for Christmas at least.” I shake my head.

“Then we can do turkey tomorrow.” My father says as he opens the fridge and notices the small-sized turkey sitting in a bag, thawing.

“Uh, sure.” I barely finish before he moves off again, taking his suitcase upstairs and into the guest room that just barely looks presentable. I haven’t even looked at this room since my mother tore through the house nearly two months ago. He seems to sigh and then moves about in an almost clumsy manner to clean the room up.

I frown and shuffle off to grab him new sheets, handing them off to him before watching him awkwardly half unpack. I’m not sure why he’s doing that considering he won’t be here for more than a few days, just like the last time he was here at the beginning of the school semester.

It’s almost laughable that he is using a suitcase in his own home, but he hasn’t left any of his personal belongings here for a long, long time. I’m used to the idea that my father doesn’t really live with us anymore. He lives elsewhere and visits us here at home when he can. Or when he wants to, considering he only comes home once every few months. He is definitely capable of coming home more often, he just doesn’t.

I decide to stop being a wallflower and make my way back downstairs. My cup of hot chocolate is no longer steaming, at least it isn’t cold yet. I pick it up and take a sip, wondering vaguely if my father would make it three or four days this time before he went back to his other wife and kids.

I want to laugh at myself, knowing that him having another entire family other than us would be near impossible for the workaholic. It would almost make this entire situation better though. Maybe.

Or maybe not.

I wouldn’t want to think that he was spending more time with another daughter and son, another family, instead of ours, for all these years.

“I could go for some of that.” He says as he comes downstairs, changed out of his slacks and collared shirt for something more home comfy.

I don’t say anything as I turn around and make myself busy making him a cup of hot chocolate. I hand it off in the same manner and I just look at him for a few moments.

My father seems to be older than the last time that I saw him. Grayer at least. His beard is nearly completely gray, and his hair seems to be more salt than pepper. I watch as he takes a peek at what I was doing before he came home, and he seems to be approving of my scholarly pursuits.

“Have you applied to university yet?” He asks me suddenly, turning around and looking at me now instead of my schoolbooks.

“Dad.” I sigh, trying to not be exasperated.

“Eleanora, college, and photography are not viable options for your future, I don’t know how many times I need to go over this with you.” He furrows his brows as he says this, getting more heated as he goes further.

“Well, if you’re so against colleges then there are universities with excellent photography programs.” I retort and he sighs.

“That is such a waste of a university education.”

“But you’re the one that wants me to apply to universities!”

“No, what I want is for you to have a viable future career.”

“You mean this isn’t just to crush my dreams? Could have fooled me.”

“Eleanora…” He says my name slowly, as if in warning.

“Dad, come on, university or college, either way, I’m going to…” I don’t even get a chance to finish my sentence before he is shaking his head at me.

“No, college instead of university I will concede on, maybe. If you have a viable career path. Otherwise…” He stops for a moment before shaking his head again. “You cannot make a living from a camera.”

I scoff. “Plenty of people make livings with their cameras. It’s not like there isn’t a market for photos out there.” I retort.

“You cannot seriously… Eleanora, I will not allow you to throw your life away for a measly hobby of yours.”

“Measly hobby,” I laugh for a minute. “I’m not having this conversation with you. I won’t be applying to universities for science or whatever it is you seem to think that I should apply for.”

“Eleanora,”

“No, I centered my entire high school schedule around your demands, it’s my turn now.”

“I am paying for your application therefore I will be the one telling you what is appropriate or not. That is final.” He glares at me and takes an angry swig from his mug. I grit my teeth and try to bear with it. I just remind myself that I’ve already applied to the colleges of my choice using my own money. He has no control over that. I can just make him happy, apply to a few universities, and then go where I want to go in the end.

My thoughts settle down, and I breathe deeply before finally assenting to his demands.

“Fine.” I move past him and grab my school stuff, heading into the living room and planting myself on the floor in front of the coffee table. I spread myself out on the table here and open my laptop again, deciding that doing schoolwork is much better than having this conversation with my father.

I almost, almost, wish that he hadn’t come home for Christmas. Almost.

The house already feels livelier, warmer even, with the second person wandering around. But at the same time, I miss the silence. That I had no one else other than myself that I needed to cater to.

It really is a paradox, my desire to be alone yet still want to be with others. Or maybe it’s simply that I’m forced to be alone at home so why not just go all the way.

I shake my head; I don’t need to go dumpster diving into my psyche right now. So, I turn my head and focus back on my schoolwork. My father comes up and sits on the sofa behind me, pulling a book out from somewhere.

The two of us sitting in companionable silence.