On Christmas Eve a week later, my whole family piles into Bessie to make the trek up to Sacramento to stay with Mimi and Bumpa. As if my parents aren’t embarrassing enough, they insist on dressing Bessie like a reindeer at Christmastime, with antlers on the windows and a red nose on the front bumper. I’m always positive people in other cars on the freeway are rolling their eyes at us. So I’m not sad when the rain picks up and Bessie loses an antler and her red nose to the downpour. The traffic gets more horrendous, but I’m grateful for the reprieve it brings because it means my mom and dad will be too busy focusing on taking turns driving to bother arguing with me. I nestle into the cocoon of a blanket in the back of the van, leaning my bed pillow against the window until I fall asleep to the sound of the rain on the roof.
We make a few bathroom stops and take a lunch break. Because of the pouring rain, we have to eat the picnic my mom packed inside the van in the parking lot of a gas station. When we finally arrive in Sacramento, we’re all swept up in hugs and Duke barking and nipping at our legs. I pick him up and nuzzle him.
“Aw, he missed you,” Mimi says. “He’s been so excited all day, almost like he knew you were coming back to him. Bet he can’t wait for you to take him for a walk.”
When I stayed last summer, Duke slept on my bed every night. I scratch him under his chin and he licks my wrist. “I missed him, too.”
“Bad traffic?” Bumpa asks, because traffic is his favorite subject. He lives for stories about harrowing travel conditions.
My dad puffs up his chest like he just survived the Indy 500. “What should’ve been a six-hour drive took nine.”
“Wowza. How many accidents did you pass?”
“At least five,” Poppy brags.
“Thank goodness you survived,” Mimi says, scratching Duke’s scruffy neck. Some strands get caught on the big, fat diamond of her wedding ring and she has to untangle herself.
“Mimi, where do you want us?” my mom asks.
“Russell’s old room. I’ve got Juniper in the guest room. And Poppy and Sequoia can take the sofa bed in the rec room.” She looks at them, grinning. “There’s a second Christmas tree up there.”
Poppy squeals in excitement. I have to hold back from doing the same because the truth is, I want to do a happy dance, too. The guest room is downstairs, away from all the other bedrooms, and it has its own TV and bathroom. It’s where I stayed this past summer, but I thought Mimi might give the room to my parents since it’s more private.
“Both trees have twinkle lights,” Bumpa informs us, like they’re some fancy new technology.
“Cool,” I say to humor him.
My dad grabs the suitcases, leaving my duffel bag on the floor by the piano, and heads upstairs. My mom goes to the kitchen to unpack her reusable grocery bags of food, because she doesn’t trust Mimi’s refrigerator or pantry.
Mimi whispers to me, “How many superfoods will she have us consuming this week?”
“Tons.”
Bumpa lands in his La-Z-Boy with a grunt and points the remote at the TV. Sequoia rushes to the couch, eager to watch whatever he puts on.
Mimi pokes at the logs in the fireplace as their flames rise and crackle, the reflection catching in the big silver bulbs decorating the Christmas tree. Duke curls up on the rug in front of Mimi’s feet, rests his head on his paw, and closes his eyes.
It’d be the perfect day-before-Christmas setting if there wasn’t that anger from my parents bubbling underneath the surface.
“One hour of TV. And only something educational,” my mom mumbles to us as she passes again. She turns to Mimi. “I’m going to lie down for a bit. It was a long drive.”
“Do you need me to do anything?” I ask.
“Nope,” my mom says. “You make up your own rules now anyway.”
“Mom—”
“What’s that about?” Mimi says as the door shuts upstairs and my dad shuffles back into the living room.
“Oh, you didn’t hear, Mom?” My dad flops down on the couch, pushing the decorative holiday pillows into a pile to the right of him. “Juniper is taking us to court. Apparently she can take care of herself now.”
“That’s not the whole story.” I turn to Mimi. “I just want to get my vaccinations.”
“Ah.” Mimi nods her head knowingly. “I could’ve told you something like this would happen eventually.” She looks at my dad. “Your kids are going to grow up and realize your ways are too extreme, Russell.”
My dad tosses a glare at his mom that isn’t unlike one I’d give my own mom. “I didn’t come here to be lectured about the way I’m raising my kids.”
Mimi shrugs. “Very well. Snacks, anyone?”
“Mom,” my dad warns. “Melinda brought food for them. They should eat that.”
“Fine. I’ll have a look. Come on, kids.”
Sequoia pops up from the couch immediately, but Poppy chooses to stay by my dad’s side when he hands her the remote for the TV.
Bumpa snuffles out a snore.
“Looks like we already put him to sleep,” Mimi says.
“Think I’ll do the same,” my dad says, closing his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. “Remember, Poppy, only something educational.”
Mimi rolls her eyes and heads to the kitchen, with Sequoia hopping behind her. She pulls a package of Oreos out from the pantry and puts her finger to her lips. “Shhhh,” she says, and Sequoia looks at me uneasily.
“They’re good,” I tell him. “You eat the insides first. Here, I’ll show you.”
Mimi plunks the package onto the middle of the table, and we all settle into our chairs. I twist the top off an Oreo and lick at the white goo in the middle. Sequoia untwists his own cookie and tentatively touches the tip of his tongue to the filling. He screws up his face in disgust and bites into the chocolate wafer instead. He grabs a napkin from the holder on the table and wipes the white residue off the other half so he can toss that wafer in his mouth, too.
Mimi laughs. “I guess your mom still wins this one.”
“Not entirely,” I say as I lick up more filling and push the wafers I didn’t lick over to my brother.
“So tell me what this court thing is about,” Mimi says, tapping her Christmas-red nails against the table.
I fill her in as she tuts and groans, finally shaking her head in exasperation as I finish.
“They don’t want to even try to listen,” I say.
“I’ve certainly tried to talk to them myself,” Mimi says. “As a parent, I support their right to raise their children as they see fit. But for crying out loud, they’ve got to get out of their own heads. Your dad tries so hard, but sometimes it’s too hard. He doesn’t realize how he ends up pushing people away.”
“He’s very stubborn,” I say.
“Ha!” Mimi guffaws. “Stubborn is an understatement. Did you know he got booted from the Boy Scouts for refusing to wear the uniform?” She can’t help but smile at the memory, the same way my mom gets all choked up when she tells me about something I used to do when I was little. “And he never played sports, because he didn’t like the idea of looking like everyone else.” She waves her hand. “Thank goodness I didn’t send him to Catholic school. He would’ve led a revolt.”
“Yep. Classic Dad.”
“He means well, I know that, but he’s a stubborn one, isn’t he? Skipping sports because of uniforms. My goodness.”
“Yeah. Sometimes it’s not so bad to be on a team.”
“Exactly.” She pats my hand. “I’ll try to talk to them for you. Again.”
“Thanks for offering, but I wouldn’t expect them to listen,” I say.
“I can be calm and rational when I want to be.”
“I’m sure you can. But I’m not sure they can.”
I stand up and wet a paper towel to wipe off the chocolate crumbs that have collected all around Sequoia’s mouth. He jerks away and rushes to the living room when I’m done.
Two seconds later, my dad bursts into the kitchen.
“Oreos, Mom? Seriously?”
“He only had a few. And he didn’t even eat the filling.”
My dad pulls at his hair in frustration. “What do I have to do to get you to respect our rules?”
“This is my house. I have rules, too. And they include spoiling my grandchildren.”
“Your rules do not apply to my children when it puts them at risk.”
“From a cookie?” Mimi says. “Please.”
He looks at me. “I’m sure you encouraged this, right?”
Mimi stands up. “She had nothing to do with it. I pulled the cookies from the pantry and Sequoia didn’t even like them. I doubt he’ll ever try another one as long as he lives, so calm down.”
My dad talks through gritted teeth. “Do not tell me to calm down.”
“Oh, go take your nap,” Mimi says, shoving the Oreo package back into the pantry. “You need it. That long drive made you grumpy.”
My dad groans and stomps out of the kitchen.
I stifle a laugh in my hand. “Is it weird to say that’s the most I’ve related to him in the last year?”
Mimi laughs. “Nope. That was definitely a flashback to his teen years. Next thing you know, he’ll tell me I need to relax because piercing his ears with a safety pin he pulled from my sewing kit was no big deal.”
“He did that?”
“Oh, he did. And I have the trip to the doctor and the antibiotics to prove it.”