I claw my way out of a dream, only to realize the shouting I’m hearing isn’t something I made up in my head. It’s coming from the living room. I scramble out of bed to see what’s going on.
Mimi shouts, “I’ve bitten my tongue for sixteen years, but this is ridiculous. What you’re doing to your kids isn’t right.” Duke barks when she raises her voice. “Hush,” she tells him.
“Everyone calm down,” Bumpa says, standing in the middle of the chaos. “It’s Christmas morning. Mimi has hot cocoa and biscuits. There are gifts under the tree. Let’s enjoy ourselves.”
“I refuse to spend Christmas morning with my mother making snide comments,” my dad hisses.
My mom puts her hand on my dad’s arm. “Russ. Your dad’s right. Not now.”
“When then, Melinda? We might as well get it all out in the open. Why are we pretending everything’s fine?”
“Maybe you should let Juniper live with us,” Mimi says. Her tone is very matter-of-fact. Like it’s the solution to everything.
“Stop it!” I shout.
The room goes silent. Poppy looks at me, then my dad. My mom looks at my dad, then Mimi. Sequoia looks at me. Bumpa looks at the Christmas tree lights, avoiding eye contact altogether.
“Is that what you want?” my dad asks me. “Do you want to stay here with your grandparents?”
“What? No!”
“It’s something to consider,” Mimi says, looking at me seriously. “You don’t have to decide right this very second.”
“You know what?” my dad says, standing up and pointing his finger in the air. “Here’s what we’re deciding right this very second. We’re going home. Get your stuff, everyone.”
“Russ,” my mom says. “It’s Christmas.”
“Nope. I’m done.” My dad turns on his heel and pounds up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I can hear him yanking things around, shoving clothes and toothbrushes into suitcases.
“What do I do?” my mom says, wringing her hands. She looks at Mimi for answers.
“What can you do?” Mimi shakes her head. “He’s as stubborn as always.”
Poppy edges closer to the Christmas tree, like the gifts might disappear if she doesn’t guard them with her life. “We can’t leave. We haven’t even unwrapped our presents.”
Sequoia joins her, practically flinging his body across the presents to protect them.
Christmas gift rules say that my brother, sister, and I can only give each other something we make ourselves, so I made a kaleidoscope for Sequoia and repurposed an antique tin box into an art supply center for Poppy. I polished it until it shone again, then added dividers, some long and skinny enough for her colored pencils, others small and square for stamps and sequins.
My dad stomps down the stairs juggling two suitcases—one belonging to my parents and one belonging to Poppy and Sequoia.
“Get in the car,” he says to us.
Sequoia rushes into my mom’s arms, crying.
“Oh, sit down,” Bumpa says.
“Poppy, Sequoia, car. Now,” my dad says, brushing past Bumpa.
Sequoia grabs a gift from under the tree. Clutches it. “Can we bring our presents?”
My dad ignores him. “Melinda, are you ready?”
My mom stands there, looking stunned.
Mimi stands up. “This is absurd. You can’t make the kids spend Christmas Day driving in a car.”
“I think I’ve made it clear that I don’t appreciate you telling me what I can and can’t make my kids do.” He turns to me. “Juniper, you’re coming home, too.”
I cross my arms. “No.”
“Get. In. The. Car.”
My dad has never, not once, hit me. He never would. But the look on his face scares me enough to do what he tells me.
“She needs to get her things,” my mom says.
“You have two minutes,” my dad says, yanking open the front door.
“The presents!” Sequoia shouts.
“I’ve got them,” Mimi says, bending down to quickly gather the gifts. “I’ll put them in the car. You can open everything when you get home.”
I rush to the guest room and shove my dirty clothes from yesterday and my homemade deodorant into my duffel bag as Sequoia’s sobs echo from the living room.
When I get to Bessie, Poppy turns to me with rage in her eyes.
“You ruined Christmas!” she screams. “You’re not the only one in this family. Today isn’t just about you. Today is Christmas for all of us, and you ruined it!”
“I guess you chose a side,” I say.
I fling my duffel bag into Bessie, knowing she’s right.
I ruined Christmas.
I ruined everything.