Caroline: Non-Legal Family The Day before Thanksgiving

WHEN WE WERE LITTLE, MY sisters and I put on Christmas “shows” almost every day of the holiday season. Sometimes we did a spin-off on Santa and his reindeer or the nativity, but mostly, we were Christmas princesses or fairies or unicorns. Born bossy, I was a natural organizer and director, while Sloane, the artist, could create sets that were stunning. Emerson, the actress, had a flair for the dramatic even as a toddler and was always cast as the lead. Sloane would sometimes get mad about this, but that was showbiz. I never felt jealous that Emerson shone so brightly onstage or that Sloane could turn a blank piece of cardboard into a fairyland. We all had our strengths, and that was that.

Now, leaning back in my surprisingly comfortable airplane seat on our flight from New York to Georgia, my sweet three-year-old, Preston, who always fell asleep on planes, breathed deeply in the seat beside me. And for the first time in maybe my entire life, I actually envied Emerson. I was jealous of my sister who was on a six-hour, cross-country flight with a wiggly two-year-old who did not fall asleep on planes. I wouldn’t have realized it when I was living through it, and I certainly wouldn’t have believed anyone who had told me, but the terrible twos were a piece of cake compared to the fearsome fifteens. Actually, I could think of a better f-word to describe this year of my daughter’s life…

As if I didn’t feel guilty enough already about putting her through a divorce, she had to act like everything on the planet was my fault.

I looked across the aisle at Vivi, highlighted hair across her face, headphones on, glued to her iPad. Her therapist had suggested that perhaps too much screen time was making her moodier—and more downright awful. So I tried taking the thing away from her after her appointment a few weeks ago, but that made it even worse. Instead of being occupied on her iPad, she turned her fury toward me for a larger percentage of the day. So I made excuses to myself as to why I was ignoring the therapist’s suggestion in order to make my life easier. Today’s excuse? Of course she can have her iPad now. We’re on a plane, for heaven’s sake.

Seeing her face soft and relaxed, away from all our problems on the ground, assuaged my mom guilt. Sometimes, now, after a huge fight, I’d go in her room to watch her sleep, to remind myself that the daughter I once knew was still in there somewhere, that I could get her back.

When I had asked last week what she was packing for the trip, she had screamed, “How could you make me be away from my father for Thanksgiving? Just because you don’t love him or care about him doesn’t mean I don’t!”

It is amazing how deeply a skinny teenager’s words can hurt. I was trying so hard to be kind about James. And, in truth, that deep, visceral anger I’d had at him more than three years ago, when I found out about his affair, had all but passed. No, living together and trying to become a family of four again after Preston was born hadn’t worked out. I couldn’t trust him, and I decided I had to choose myself, my happiness, and sanity. Maybe it had been the wrong choice. But he had been the one to appear on Ladies Who Lunch, the most popular reality show on TV, with the model he was cheating with. So I was confounded at how all this anger was now, suddenly, turning on me.

Preston stirred as the captain came across the speaker. “Flight attendants, prepare for landing.”

I looked at Vivi as she put her seat back to its original, upright position. As if feeling my glance, she turned to glare at me, that cold, devilish stare she’d recently mastered. At least she hadn’t tried to sneak out last night. But still. She had done it several times before—once at my house, twice at James’s, not that I was keeping score—and it was the most terrifying thing that had ever happened to me. A fifteen-year-old girl in New York City alone is a recipe for disaster. She could have been kidnapped, raped, murdered, anything at all.

So even though she’d screamed at me when I had told her last night that, yes, once and for all, she was going to Peachtree, her anger was still better than if she snuck out. At least she was in her room. At least she was safe.

I looked down at Preston, into the big blue eyes of my precious little bundle of love. It wasn’t fair how sweet and dear he was in comparison to my daughter. Not that I loved him more. But I would admit that I liked him more, at least right now. He stared up at me. “What are you looking at, sweetie?” I asked.

“You’re so pretty, Mommy,” he said, sighing.

Preston was the most magical gift on earth. He didn’t scream at me and tell me he wanted to go live with his father. At least, not yet.

As we landed a few minutes later and I retrieved our bags from the overhead compartment, Vivi took Preston’s hand. Curiously, she was sweet as pie to her brother, which was something to be grateful for. She shot me another icy glare as we started to move off the plane. Yup, it seemed like her fury really only extended to me.

My children walked off the jetway before me, and I heard squeals of excitement and peals of laughter before I looked up and saw my blonde, blue-eyed, beautiful sister Emerson, her ungodly handsome boyfriend, Kyle, and their two-year-old daughter, Carter, with hair so blonde and eyes so blue she looked as though she was one of the Christmas fairies we used to play come to life, plucked out of the enchanted forest. I snapped a quick pic of Carter and Preston hugging—literally the world’s cutest sight. It was only right to share it on Instagram. Happy tears would be shed the world over. Then I squeezed my modelesque little sister so tight I thought her guts might come out.

I pulled back to look at her, tears coming to my eyes out of the pure relief of being with someone who loved me, of being away from my problems at home. Away from James and divorce lawyers. Away from Sloane Emerson New York and the ordering and paperwork. I didn’t realize until then just how much I needed a palate cleanser. Plus, Vivi had always listened to Emerson. Maybe because she was only twenty-nine and still pretty cool, but mostly because she was famous, I think. Hopefully she could talk some sense into her.

I hugged Kyle and kissed him on both cheeks. “You know it isn’t safe for you to be here. They will try to lock you in that coffee shop and keep you there forever.”

He laughed. “Good thing I have my security detail with me.” He put his arm around my shoulder. I reached down for Preston’s hand.

“Aunt Emmy, do I still get to come see you at the Golden Globes in February?” Vivi asked, coming up to join us.

We shared a look. Emmy was none too thrilled about what her niece had been putting me through lately. But even still, as soon as we had found out Emmy was going to present a Golden Globe, we had all planned to be in LA to celebrate with her afterward. It was something my daughter should see. I nodded and Emmy said, “Of course you do. You’re my date.” Then she leaned over and whispered, “But only if you can be nice to your mother.”

“You don’t understand,” she whispered back, the two of them walking arm in arm toward the exit, pulling their rolling suitcases with their free hands.

To which Emerson replied immediately, “No, Vivi. You don’t understand.”

Vivi looked back at me with slightly less venom than usual, and I wondered if being back with our family was working already, if it was making her remember I wasn’t the enemy.

“Did you hear there’s a hurricane coming?” Kyle said, adjusting the duffel bag on his shoulder as he walked, holding Carter’s hand.

A shudder ran through me. Peachtree Bluff hurricanes terrified me. I nodded, fighting the urge to turn around and get back on the plane. “Yeah, but it’s way too soon to really know what its path will be. Most of them peter out this late in the season before they make landfall.”

Kyle nodded. “I hope Pearl gives up the ghost.”

“Who’s Pearl?” Vivi asked.

“The hurricane,” said Emmy.

Vivi laughed. “Hurricane Pearl. That sounds like a little old lady with a purse on her forearm. How bad can a hurricane named Pearl be?”

We all laughed.

“I just hope it doesn’t mess up Jack and Ansley’s trip,” Kyle said. “Wonder if Sloane and Adam and the kids will want to come back with us if they have to evacuate.”

I nodded. Kyle and Emerson were already planning to make a pit stop in New York for a few days to do the whole Christmas-in-New-York thing with Carter. I couldn’t wait. “Oh yes!” I said. “They should come even if there isn’t a hurricane. It would be so fun for us to get together for a few days.”

“That would be so fun!” Vivi said. It was the first time she had agreed with me in months.

“I need more art from her than I even want to tell her, and I could really use her at Sloane Emerson for a minute.” I smiled up at him. “Win-win. Kyle, this is why you’re my favorite non-legal family member.”

He squeezed my shoulder. “Someone won’t marry me,” he said loudly.

“Not having this conversation today,” Emerson called back breezily. Her blonde, sun-kissed hair was long and loose down her back, in beachy waves, while Vivi’s was shorter and darker. But their build and walk were so similar as they made their way to our rental Suburban that it made me laugh.

Kyle scooped Preston up into his arms, making him giggle, and I picked up Carter and covered her little face with kisses.

This was going to be a great holiday. I just knew it. And, seeing how happy Vivi was, surrounded by her family, gave me the best idea. Maybe an extended vacation in Peachtree could do Vivi some good. Now all I had to do was figure out how to get my mother on board.