"Hey, you never told me how your presentation went," Mom glances at me, before turning back to the road. We've been driving for just over two hours already, mostly in comfortable quiet, or humming along to the radio. The presentation seems so long ago, even though it has only been a few days. The few days right before a break, I have found, go by in a stress inducing blur, followed by the sweet bliss of visiting home for a few days.

"I got an A," I say proudly, smiling at her profile. My stomach twists, reminding me of my failing exam grade. She would be so disappointed if she knew.

"That's great baby," She reaches over and pats my knee. The pride in her eyes twists my stomach even tighter. I have to tell her before I go back, if I don't, it'll be a much worse conversation when I get my grades in January.

"Are you nervous?" I sigh, pushing my dark bangs out of my eyes and staring out my window. Tall trees with bare branches line the highway. I've always loved watching the side of the road as I take long drives, always hoping to see a deer or something munching in the tree line.

"Why would I be?" She tries to sound light hearted, but her voice is only a whisper and I think I even hear it shake. Her eyes are straight ahead, hands tight on the wheel.

"Mom, come on," I whisper back, turning down the radio. Hannah isn't the only one feeling uneasy about the holiday. Every holiday the past couple of years has been hard, but we're going to my grandmother's for the first time in years and I'm not stupid enough to think my mom will be completely at ease.

"No, honey." I can tell her smile is forced. "She's family,"

At that, a tear pricks my eye, and I turn back to my window. I wish things were different. Mom has never been good at having hard conversations, a trait I am unlucky enough to have inherited. I try not to think too much the rest of the way to the house, instead focusing on the tall trees passing by.

We walk right into the old home, not bothering to ring the bell. I carry my duffel bag down the hall, lined with mismatched patterned rugs. It's dim in the hall, as it normally is, but I see the light on above the kitchen table ahead. "Oh my! There she is," Grandma brushes her hands on her white apron, before rushing out of the kitchen and pulling me in tightly to her chest. She's shorter than I remember, and her hair is finally starting to gray. But she has the same big smile and Grandma smell that I remember so well. "How's my girl?" She pulls back, holding me by my shoulders to take in my appearance. "Beautiful as ever."

"I'm good, Grandma," I smile back at her. She smiles a similar one back at me, with slight sadness behind her eyes. I can't help but to look away. Probably close to a hundred family portraits clutter the kitchen and living room area, all showing big, happy faces.

"Come here," she pulls me against her again, planting a kiss in my hair. I inhale her perfume, smelling sweet honey and vanilla. I've always loved her fragrance, it always made me feel cozy and at home, I remember. I hug her back, noticing that she's much thinner than normal.

"Beatrice," Mom smiles politely, leaning in for a cordial embrace. Grandma stiffens, but wraps one arm around Mom's shoulders reluctantly. "We brought a pie," Mom raises the platter in her hands like a peace offering.

"Pecan," I tell her. "Dads favorite," Grandma smiles at me knowingly.

"Thank you, Lydia." Grandmas voice is clipped. She has never liked my mother, from the very first date my parents went on. Supposedly, she has gotten more polite over the years. I'd hate to see how she was before, I think to myself as I watch Mom awkwardly take a seat in the living room as Grandma takes the pie to the kitchen, shuffling in her thin slippers.

I sit beside Mom on the couch, taking her hand in mine. We will get through this. We have to. We turn on the TV, switching to whatever channel has professional football. Watching the Thanksgiving game is a tradition, not one we particularly enjoy, but one we do anyways, because it's what he would have wanted. Mom is quiet, her eyes never leaving the screen. She understands the game much better than I do, she and my father used to go on dates to football games, and when they got older, they had friends over every Sunday. I wonder if she's actually paying attention to the plays on the screen, or if her mind is in the past, like mine is.

Grandma joins us a few minutes later, setting a platter of appetizers on the coffee table. I move to the floor and she sits beside my mother, my body between their legs. I lean my head back and she strokes my hair gently, braiding and unbraiding the long strands. No one speaks, the only sound in the room is the loud cheering from the game as one of the teams scores a touchdown. I stare at the big leather arm chair in the corner, exactly how it was a couple of years ago. The leather is worn from where his body sat, and I long to curl into the big cushions, hoping it might make me feel like I'm close to him again. I sigh, turning my attention back to the game I barely understand.

"Really, Beatrice, the turkey was delicious." Mom wipes the corners of her mouth with a cloth napkin. Grandma always had pretty cloth napkins embroidered for the holidays, something I had missed the past couple of years doing them at home. Among other things.

"Unf," Grandma grumbles dismissively, looking to me instead of my mother. "So, my Kat, how's school going?"

"Really good," I force a smile, picking at the stuffing on my plate to avoid her eyes.

"She got an A on a big presentation." Mom brags, beaming at me.

"Uh huh," Grandma nods as if she expected nothing less. "Of course. How's that roommate of yours, Haley, is it?" Mom shifts uncomfortably in her chair. She tries, I will give her that, after all of this time, she still tries to appease my grandmother.

"Hannah." I remind myself to text her later and make sure she's okay after meeting her fathers new girlfriend. "She's doing well. Her brother is home for Thanksgiving, he's in law school now."

"Oh, that boy, Connor?" Mom chirps. "He's wonderful, so handsome." She eyes me purposefully. Why did I bring him up? CJ's smile is vibrant in my mind.

"That so, Kat?" Grandma grins widely. She folds her hands under her chin, gazing at me with love in her eyes.

"He's great." I agree honestly. "But we're just friends," Both of their faces fall slightly even though they try to hide it. Always aiming to please, I mumble, "But I did meet this one boy,"

I immediately wish I hadn't said anything. "You did?" Mom's jaw drops. "You didn't tell me!"

"There's nothing to tell." I shrug, dropping my fork. "He asked me out but I said no,"

"Why would you do that? Is he cute?" Grandma begins clearing dishes from the table. I stand to help her but she pushes me down by the shoulder. I know better than to argue with her so I stay seated, shrugging at my mother.

"He is," I see CJ once more in my mind, his green-brown eyes crinkling in one of his one dimpled smiles. Can you miss someone you barely now? I chew the inside of my lip, cursing myself for refusing his date. If nothing else, he made me smile. The truth was, I could never tell him why not. I can't even understand why not myself, let alone explain it to him. "But I'm so busy, with school and prepping to apply to med school." I'm making excuses and I sound like it, too. If there's anyone who will see right through that, it's Grandma. He is really cute, I daydream, shocking myself back to reality when I hear Mom's voice.

"That's vey responsible." She sips her wine and nods her head. My fake smile fades as I realize I wish she had said something else. Anything else, really. Am I crazy for wishing she would actually encourage me to try dating like everyone else my age? Why couldn't she have just asked me what CJ was like? I try not to glare at her, staring at my lap instead.

"Responsible?" Grandma scoffs on my behalf, irritation coloring her tone.

"Beatrice," Mom's voice sounds like a warning as she stares straight ahead, gripping her wine glass tightly.

"No, Lydia. She has her whole life to be responsible, she's young. She should do what young people do!" Grandma furiously shoves dishes into the dishwasher. "A cute guy asks her out, she should go if she wants to."

"Beatrice, let's not do this now." Mom downs her wine in one big gulp and my mind flashes back to the few months when Mom started drinking a bit too much after work.

"You know, you and Sean did a great job with Kat, you really did. But sometimes I wonder if you put just a bit too much pressure on her to be too perfect," Grandma shakes her head angrily, speaking as if I'm not in the room with them. My heart cracks at my father's name, I haven't heard it in so long.

"Enough." Mom stands, putting her plate in the dishwasher and walking to the guest room where she put her things. Just like that, the conversation is over and the air is tense despite her absence.

I stare after her. "Do you really think that?" I stand too, to face Grandma.

She nods sadly. "Yes, no. I don't know. But I do know that you're too afraid of everything." I flinch at her words and she brings a soft hand to my cheek. "It's the truth, sweet Kat. You need to be able to live without always looking over your shoulder for bad news." I lean into her hand, holding back tears. "Shh," Grandma pulls me in for another hug and I slump into her embrace.

After a moment of holding me, Grandma pulls away. "I have to go speak to your mother," she grumbles as she walks down the hall. I wait a minute, listening for raised voices or harsh words, but I don't hear any, thank goodness.

Slowly, I follow down the hall, turning into the second guest room for a nap before desert. That's another tradition my family never skips, I laugh to myself somberly. As I lay down, my breath catches in my throat when I spot the photo frame on the night table. I pick it up, unable to hold the tears in any longer.

His hair is dark, almost black, and wavy like my own.  I have his big brown eyes and pale skin, with Mom's nose and smile. But it's undeniable that I'm his daughter. "Hi, Daddy," I whimper as a tear falls onto the glass. I hold the frame to my chest as I cry silently, wishing Mom hadn't taken all the pictures down in our own home. I miss seeing his face, it was all I had left. As I hear the faint sounds of Mom and Grandma talking across the hall, I fall asleep, holding the frame close to my heart.

The next day is slow and lazy, like the day after a holiday full of food should be. I never go shopping on Black Friday and I will never understand why people go so crazy over the sales. No sale is worth being trampled on, I think to myself as I grab another gingerbread cookie off the tray.

Grandma goes straight into Christmas once the Thanksgiving leftovers have been put into containers and shoved in the fridge. She was up all night baking, in something of a Christmas frenzy. Mom and I woke to garland over the fire place, mini Santa's on every surface, and plush snowmen lining the hallway. She's busy assembling a artificial Christmas tree now, since her allergies act up if she gets a real one. "Want help?" I mumble through a mouth of gingerbread cookie.

"Hush, Kat." Grandma waves her hand at me, "I told your mother already, I can do this myself." Mom rolls her eyes at me lazily, a bemused smile on her lips. No one doubts that Grandma can do things, I just like to feel helpful. I watch as her small body climbs the step ladder, adding a star to the top and stringing lights around the rest.

"How about now?" I smile as I approach, a box of handmade ornaments in my hands.

"Come here, you," Grandma's dark eyes twinkle with the lights on the tree. "You, too, Lydia." She waves her manicured fingers at my mother, beckoning her to us. Slightly surprised, Mom composes herself quickly, grabbing a large box of festively colored glass balls.

"Remember this one, Mom?" I raise one of my own creations at her. Both my grandmother and my mother insist on keeping all the pasta, pipe cleaner, googley eyes "art" from my elementary years. This one is a small, beaded red and white candy cane. Mom grins ear to ear, taking it from my hands and placing it delicately on the tree.

Grandma turns to a Christmas station on the radio, and we all sing along, taking turns handing each other ornaments and placing them. "Can I do this one?" I whisper, holding a paper plate cut into a picture frame by the thin ribbon at the top. Glued in the middle is a picture of my father, holding me in his arms, next to my mom and an old man dressed as Santa. Glitter glue lines the edges in small, disorganized clumps.

Mom's hand settles on her chest, and Grandma wipes away a tear on her cheek. "Of course," Grandma encourages me. I find a spare area in the front of the tree and lean the frame in its branches so the photo is front and center. I take a step back and feel Grandma and Mom hugging me on both sides.

Staring at the photo bathed in the warmth of the Christmas lights, feeling my mother and grandmother beside me, it's almost like nothing has changed. And yet, the empty leather armchair abandoned in the corner of the room reminds me that everything has.