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𝐶𝒉𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑚𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 𝑔𝑙𝑢𝑒, 𝑖𝑡 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝𝑠 𝑢𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑐𝑘𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜𝑔𝑒𝑡𝒉𝑒𝑟. – 𝑹𝒐𝒔𝒊𝒆 𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒎𝒂𝒔.

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Paula huddled under the covers, gripped the sheets, and held her breath as the wind brushed past the curtains before dragging herself out of the bed, yawning and stretching, and into the kitchen.

"Hmm," she mumbled behind her mother, savoring the aroma of freshly baked vanilla cookies filling her nostrils.

"Here's your coffee," her mother said and chuckled. "Perfect for the chilly morning."

"Mom, have you noticed the nights are quite short? The wind has gotten worse too," Paula said, shielding her eyes from the intruding sun rays on the kitchen counter close to the window.

"Have I? Well, Christmas is almost here. I can feel it." Her mother chuckled again as she diced carrots. "Please pass the plate, baby."

"Ugh, mom. I'm not a baby anymore," Paula protested, her mouth thinning in displeasure.

"Well, you're a big baby."

"I'm a big girl, mom. Not a baby. Not a big baby. I'm thirteen."

"Thirteen still makes you my baby, Paula. Now don't argue with mommy. Pass the plate."

"Fine." Paula sauntered towards the cupboard and took a porcelain plate.

"Who wants fries?" Mr Rogers ducked to get through the kitchen door.

"Daddy!"

Her father's lips widened in a smile as he embraced Paula and squeezed her in a huge embrace, stroking her hair.

"Paula's been watching TV a lot," her mother reported, not looking away from the sizzling oil.

"It's not true, daddy," Paula said, avoiding her father's gaze.

"Mommy doesn't tell lies," Mr. Rogers pointed out.

"I watch very little, daddy."

"If that's what you do, then your nights won't be short," her mom piped in.

Paula groaned, her lips pressed together and disentangled from her father's embrace.

"All right. Daddy's going to California today for—"

"Not again, father," Paula whined, slamming the door of the fridge in a thud.

"But it's Christmas. Almost Christmas. Why would they send you? How long will you be gone?" Mrs Rogers said, abandoning the carrots and trudging towards her husband.

"Five days," he said.

"Five!" Paula yelled, her brows furrowed.

"Christmas will be over in four days. Please have a rethink, sweetheart. They can send someone else," Mrs Rogers said, worry clouding her voice.

Mr Rogers scratched the nape of his neck as lines of stress formed on his forehead. He gave an uncertain smile. "It's all for the good of the company. I can't fail them."

"Please stay, daddy," Paula pleaded, her eyes shimmering from the formation of tears.

Mr Rogers heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry, Paula. I can't. I promise to get all the goodies for you. I'll get chocolates and—"

"But I don't want chocolates, dad. I want to spend Christmas with you and mom. Please. It's not too much to ask for. Please. Please don't—"

Mrs Rogers stared out of the window at the blaring black car outside. A momentary look of discomfort crossed her face as her husband enclosed her and Paula in a short embrace.

Paula sighed as she raced to her room and threw herself against the bed, sobbing into her palms.

Her dog whimpered and wagged its tail as it bent towards her face, its fur meeting her face.

"Why won't he ever stay? He's always going on trips. Freekles, this is so frustrating," she cried.

Paula sniffed and wiped tears off her face. "Freekles, I wish I had a very cool relationship with my parents. We are not even cool. We don't talk. We share nothing!"

She pulled her dog closer and stroked its fur. "I wish things could change, Freekles. I want to get to know my parents better. What's the point of celebrating the season when dad's gone?!"

Paula didn't know when she fell asleep in the middle of her sobs, unaware of the glint of light in the mirror.

                                        • • •

Paula stood transfixed, the toothbrush falling freely from her hand. There, her favourite pancakes with maple syrup lay on her bed. A cup of milky coffee too.

"You didn't have dinner," her mom said.

Mrs Rogers exhaled. "I worried about you. A lot. It means I care about you. Your dad does too."

Paula shifted her gaze from the meal on her bed. Her brows rose in a surprised arc as she battled within herself to define care. She turned away as her eyes welled up with tears.

"You have to understand your father's busy," Mrs. Rogers consoled as she inhaled more frigid air and squinted against the sun reflecting off the window.

Paula flinched as she broke into a high-pitched laughter. "Busy, you say? Mom, I'm twelve. And I'm old enough to know when someone's busy."

"This isn't the right time," Mrs. Rogers said.

"Will it ever be?" Paula asked.

Mrs Rogers stared at her pre-teen daughter, speechless with countless thoughts bouncing in her head. She wasn't ready for this outburst.

"Biologically, we're a family, but sometimes it doesn't feel like that. Pretending to not want love because I'm a teenager is a huge waste of time, mom. I'm not an orphan. You barely ever talk with me. Dad, once in a blue moon. I want us to bond, mom. I want to be loved. I want to be cared for, not left to my own devices. Is that too much to ask?" Paula yelled, her voice breaking into a sob. "I stay in class every day and hear my friends talk about how great their relationship is with their mothers. I long for one. Is that too much?"

No one made a sound. Paula was certain she had never heard a silence so silent before. She watched her mother as she chuckled.

"Sometimes I want to be embraced. Not by anyone but you. I know we argue a lot but please, mom, can we not do this?"

Mrs. Rogers rose from the bed, her expression uncertain. As she stared back at her reflection in the mirror, she could only think of the words her mother had said to her so many years before. She stretched her arms, a smile etched on her face.

A pained whimper escaped Paula's lips as she flung herself into her mom's arms, sobbing. Mrs. Rogers caressed her blonde hair and rocked her like a baby.
Tears trickled down Mrs. Rogers's face as she held Paula's baby portrait that lay above the bed.

Sometimes when she was young, she would sit and wonder where the stars went when each night ended. When she learned that they never truly went away, she realized the answer she had been searching for all along.

Paula sat up and took her mom's hands in hers. She caressed them as she bit her lips while suppressing the urge to cry more.

"I want dad to be here too, mom."

Mrs Rogers stared at Paula and smiled, a huge grin on her face. She nodded obediently.

                                           • • •

"Merry Christmas, mom. Merry Christmas, granny!" Paula screamed, her lips widening in a smile as she hung the last balloon. The gloomy weather had cleared up and the sun sat pretty, gazing at her.

Paula set the food on the table as quickly as she could and raced to shower before coming to watch the door. Each doorbell made her sigh and grit her teeth.

"Mom, will dad still make it?" she whispered, ignoring the presence of the guests.

Mrs. Rogers looked away with a tender expression. "I'm sorry, Paula. Dad said he can't make it back today. But you just be happy. Your friends are here. The guests are around. There's so much to eat, Paula. Please do this once."

Paula stiffened as she glared at her mother incredulously. Hadn't she promised? Again, Paula felt her whole existence was denied.

Paula walked away and sat across the table with the guests, her lips in a pout. Chattering filled the room. The kids screaming. The weather hot, yet mild. Presents rolling in. Her friends whispering.

And when the last guest for the day left, the doorbell rang. Paula reached for the door and pulled it open, a blank expression on her face.

"Daddy!" Paula yelled.

Her smile was so wide one could barely see her eyes.

"Mom! Daddy's back!" she howled, a surge of warmth encroaching the air.

Mr Rogers closed the door gently and proceeded to the dining with his arms around Paula and his wife beside him. And granny waiting for them. Smiles all over her face. She never knew happiness could bring happiness as she hummed jovially to the carol.

"Merry Christmas, Paula," her grandma said, energy-filled.

Paula made a wish. Silently. In the depth of her heart. That they remain together. Happy. Always. She blew off the flames on the candles.

"Merry Christmas, Paula," her father wished her, feeling light and carefree – like the world was finally set to rights.

© Munachimso .P. Mgbadiegwu.
TheRealMunah