Scrubbing my father's throw up out of our living room carpet definitely isn't how I like to spend my Christmas mornings. It isn't how I like to spend any morning frankly. Yet here I am on my hands and knees next to the yellow recliner, trying not to barf myself as the smell of digested  beer and burger engulfs my nose.

This morning I was awoken by the sound of glass shattering on tile floor, which was then followed  by the sound of pounding footsteps. Afraid of what would come next I shot out of bed and ran to the entrance of the hallway that opened up to our little living room.  Usually these noises were the prologue to a gruesome shouting match in which no one won except our poor neighbors when our screaming ceased.

What I saw wasn't an angry drunken man, instead I saw my father grip the back of the recliner, bend over, and empty his stomach. I could see the line of sweat that dampened the back of his shirt and when he turned around to face me, the hand that wiped the thick remains of last night's dinner off his chin shook. Without taking his gaze from mine, he walked over to where I was standing in the entrance way.

He lifted his soiled hand, placed it on my shoulder and leaned in so his breath fanned my face. Too stubborn for my own good I refused to tilt my head away. I stared back into his dark constricted pupils. "Clean that up, would ya," he breathed then pushed me back just enough so he could slide past me in order to make his way down the hall and to his bedroom. "Oh and Merry Christmas," he added before I heard the sound of a slamming door and the springs of his bed creak from his sudden weight.

I grit my teeth as I scrub harder and harder, the power of my movements matching the fervor of my racing thoughts. When I'm satisfied with my cleaning job, I sit back with legs tucked underneath me and blow out a puff of air in order to move the wave of caramel hair that had been ticklingling my nose and obstructing my vision. I sigh and begin to put my rag and dirty paper towels into the bucket now containing a mixture of soap and contaminated water when a glint of silver catches my eye. My gaze diverts back to the sudden sparkle which came from under the recliner. My heart begins to race as I reach underneath the tearing piece of furniture and my hand grips what I know is my coffee container, a.k.a. my sorry excuse of a safe.

Popping the lid off the tin can brings me a swift relief from the putrid smell coming from the bucket placed beside me as the sharp scent of coffee grounds hits me, but the feeling quickly fades when my fingers finish flipping through each dollar bill.

I'm 200 dollars short.

I shuffle through each dollar again, not caring what questionable substances stick to the bills. I'm still short. Infuriated I whip my head towards my father's bedroom. I snap the lid back on to the can with such vigor that I make a dent in the side where my fingers clutched it, and shove it back under the recliner before striding over to the bedroom door which faces directly across from mine.  Without hesitation I slam the door open and for the first time in a while step into my father's room. I open my mouth to proclaim his guilt of theft, but I'm met with the sound of a heavy snore. Deciding that if my sudden entrance was unsuccessful in waking him up, then my voice would get lost in the void of sleep as well, I take tentative steps towards the sleeping giant.

Sprawled out on top of his blankets, my father is wearing the same clothes I watched him leave the house in last night. His hair sticks to his forehead with sweat and his breath comes out slightly strained. I look away in disappointment and disgust towards the side of the room and that's when I spot the familiar sight of an orange plastic container pressed up against an open bottle of dark liquor.

Just as I'm about to take a step in the direction of the night stand, I hear my phone buzz from my bedroom. I reach out, place my hand on the doorknob, and shut the door before walking back into the livingroom to finish my previous task. I could confront my dad later, but right now I needed to get ready to do something I never thought I would in a million years: spend Christmas day at my little sister's recently returned mother's house.

And I would bet a million dollars the buzz from my phone was her reminding me of this.

~•~•~•~•~•~

Good thing I fight instead of gamble or else I would have lost a million and two-hundred dollars this morning, because the text I received wasn't from Maria but from Renan and Kiara.

I smiled to myself while I sat on the bus on the way to Maria's as I replayed and replayed the quick clip. Renan was standing in what I assumed was his room in a horrendous looking bright green and red checkered collared shirt with Kiara resting on his hip in a sparkling red dress and her hair in two little buns with green mistletoe clips attached to them. With one hand supporting her and the other holding the phone the video began with both their smiling faces. Then seconds after Renan and Kiara exclaimed, "Merry Christmas Eve and Eli!"

Kiara giggled as Renan took the lead and added, "I hope you both got exactly what you wanted from Santa," Renan winked at the camera, "and Kiara and I are both looking forward to this Friday. Right Kiara," he asked as he turned to look at his sister.

"Yup," she said smiling even wider, "it's gonna be the best sleepover ever!"

Renan chuckles, "way to put me under pressure Ki. Set the bar a little high didn't you?"

Kiara goes to respond but instead of her voice comes the distant sound of Mrs. Mathews yelling to her children that their guests have arrived. Renan rolled his eyes but turned back to the camera and closed out the video by saying, "anyways we miss you, Merry Christmas, and see you soon," the smile returning to his face.

But what really made me grin was the sound of Kiara yelling, "we love you," just before Renan could cut the video off which ended in the still image of Renan's face transitioning from one of happiness to surprise.

I keep the feeling of this video in my mind as I climb the porch steps of the home in which my princess has been living for the past week or so.  When I knock on the door, I try to make sure my hand is steady. I'm not sure why I'm so nervous when only 15 minutes ago it was anger that filled me, but now my racing mind is replaced by a racing heart. What is wrong with me?

It only takes seconds for the front door to be thrown open, and even quicker for Elizabeth, still dressed in Christmas pjs, to jump into my arms. I hold her tight to me, making sure not to crush her present which I've successfully kept intact, and savor the feeling of her arms wrapped around my neck and her cheek pressed to mine. With her little legs holding onto my waist I shift her around to my hip for better support and pull back to look at her smiling face. It's not like I haven't seen Eli at all since the whole date debacle, but it was only at Daycare which provided little time for us to really catch up without the prying ears and eyes of other children or employees.

As I brush some curls away from her face it dawns upon me that this is the first Christmas since she's been born that I wasn't there to wake her up, or make her a special Christmas breakfast, or check if Santa ate the cookies and drank the milk we left out for him on the kitchen table.

I try not to let this realization show on my face as I step through the doorway and exclaim, "Merry Christmas princess," before setting her down and closing the door behind me.

She giggles and takes my hand as she guides me down the short hallway and into the living room. The first thing I notice is the Christmas tree decorated with strands of lights and strings of popcorn. The ornaments are different shapes and colors, but the angel on top  of the tree is made of white, silver, and gold.  Underneath open presents litter the ground and a stocking is propped up against the couch with its contents spilling out.

As Eli motions for me to sit down on the couch, I take a look around some more and notice the other festive decorations that have been put up and the holiday tunes playing from the tv. My eyes make their way to the dining area where a small wooden table with matching chairs is set with red table clothes, green plates, and white pressed napkins.

When I turn back to look at Eli for some reason my mind is hyper aware of the fact that not a single hole is present in the walls and the cream carpet under my feet is in perfect condition.

For a moment I catch myself frowning, and suddenly the single present I've brought for Eli seems to pale in comparison to what she must have opened this morning.

Everything I've done for Eli seems to pale in comparison, because even though this was her first Christmas without me, this was also her first Christmas with a tree, and a stocking, and special pajamas, and more presents then her little hands could carry.

Her first Christmas without having to wait to burst through her door and into the living room where one maybe two presents would be laying on our poor-man's-excuse of a couch, until our father had left for the day.

I taste blood from biting the inside of my cheek and the metallic flavor pulls me from my thoughts in just enough time for me to notice Eli take her present from my hands and begin to open it. Usually I would make a remark about manners, but I let it go just this time.

I watch as she rips open the wrapping paper and a squeal escapes her lips as she throws her arms around me. I chuckle as I return the hug.

"You like it," I ask.

"I love it Evie," she states before slipping it over her head.

A couple weeks ago, the Henders decided to start selling shirts and tanks and other little things to make some more money on the side and promote their gym. They bought their own screen print to ink shirts with and let me play around with some designs to try and help them get the hang of it. I decided this "machine" was the perfect cheap yet heartfelt gift maker, so I bought a plain pink tank-top in Eli's size from Goodwill and printed the words, This Princess packs a punch, on it as well as a crown resting on one of two boxing gloves. It was a line Mr. Hender often said to her when they would "train" together at the gym. Renan's gift took a little more time for me to figure out how to ink, but the frustration was well worth the final product.

I chuckle and begin pulling out my phone in order to show her the Christmas message I had gotten this morning when I hear a woman clear her throat. I turn my hand to the side to see Maria with an apron tied around her and a small smile on her face.

"I'm sorry I didn't greet you earlier Evelina. I was busy finishing up the cooking," she states in an even tone. "But welcome to my home, and thank you for coming to dinner. I know having you hear makes Eli happy."

But not you, I assume as I respond back, "That's okay, I understand. Thank you for inviting me."

She nods before clasping her hands together and looking over at Eli, "you ready to eat Princess," Maria asks smiling now.

Eli nods furiously before jumping off the couch and grabbing my hand to guide me towards the kitchen. "Mommy made all my favorites," she boasts, "I've never seen anyone make this much food in my whole life."

"Oh," I retort, "how nice of her. I don't think I've ever seen her cook anything in my whole life."

As I pass Maria we make eye contact and hold our gaze before I finally have to tear my eyes away from hers in order for my neck not to snap. I see her lips twitch down into a slight frown. Mine twitch in the opposite direction.

I hope she didn't think this would make up for all the nights Eli and I ate slices of bread and an apple split between us for dinner so many years before.

"Did you know that you can make mac'n'cheese without using that orange powder, and that veggies don't all come chopped up in baggies? Oh and that I actually can eat ice cream before going to bed and still fall asleep?" Eli looks up at me as I hear Maria follow us into the kitchen. She hands me my plate and I take it as I say, "that's crazy Eli, who would have known."

"Not you," she giggles. "You think you can make pancakes without powder too?"

Maria tries to hide her smirk but it doesn't go unnoticed.

My grip on the plate tightens. "I don't know Eli. Maybe I'll try that out one day for your rainbow pancakes."

Maria gives me one last amused look before helping Eli scoop food onto her plate.

This was going to be an interesting dinner.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Hey y'all!

Hoped you enjoyed reading about Eve and Eli's Christmas. More will be revealed about it in a later chapter :)

I know these past chapters weren't as cheery but the next few are gonna be about their redo date, and I promise some serious cuteness within them!

Thank you for every read, vote, and comment! I appreciate it and you!

<3 Anne