8 OVER THE TOP

The decorations Mrs. Carmichael bought at Home and Hearts were just the tip of the iceberg of holiday decor at their Malibu rental. When Zee and her mother returned from shopping, they found the entire house, including the oversized aluminum tree set up in the space near the dining area Zee picked out earlier, completely decked out. White and green garlands wrapped around the staircase and awnings, and fairy lights twinkled around window trimmings and fireplaces. Snowman figurines and reindeer antlers were perched on mantels and bookshelves.

“Festive chic!” Mrs. Carmichael declared when she walked in the house.

Zee looked around wide-eyed, but her shoulders slumped forward and her mouth suddenly had a sour taste in it. “I thought we would decorate the house together, as a family,” Zee said. “I was looking forward to putting ornaments on the tree.”

“You still can, honey,” Mrs. Carmichael said. “Look, they left plenty of room on the tree for some tinsel.”

“We have other people decking our halls,” Zee said. “That’s not how I thought Christmas would go.” The house looked like it was straight out of a West Elm catalog. “Where are the homemade decorations we had on our old tree, the ones I made when I was in kindergarten?”

“They’re packed away at home in London, honey,” Mrs. Carmichael said. “I’m sorry I didn’t think to bring them, but I knew we were having professionals do everything this year.”

Mrs. Carmichael took out her phone and dialed a number, pacing around the living room as she waited for someone to answer the call. “Hi, how are you? Great, great. Yes, we need catering for about fifty people. What sort of things do you do for a party that size? Yes, at a house in Malibu…. Mm-hmm, yes… Right… Sounds delicious!”

Zee couldn’t believe it. Catering? Zee was used to her mom making all the holiday treats. Is she really going to have other people bake her famous Christmas almond crescent cookies? Zee thought. Does that mean we won’t bake Christmas cookies together this year?

“Zee, is anyone in your class allergic to nuts? There are a few vegetarians, right? We should have options,” Mrs. Carmichael said before she turned back to the phone. “Excuse me, no nuts in anything, please.”

“But I like nuts,” Zee said just as Mrs. Carmichael hung up with the caterer.

“Yes, but we can’t risk anyone getting sick at the event. I mean, it will be online!” her mother said. “Oh, and let’s discuss what you’re wearing. Shall we get you a new outfit? So we can coordinate?”

“I was thinking of a holiday T-shirt and jeans, since this is California and it’s seventy degrees out. That’s what I’ll be comfortable in.”

Mrs. Carmichael shook her head. “Where’s your holiday spirit?”

“The T-shirt is red and green!” Zee said. She couldn’t take it anymore. She felt frustration bubbling up in her throat. She just wanted a regular family holiday at home, with a tree filled with homemade decorations and cookies and her mother focused on her family, not her followers on Instagram. Zee felt a pit in her stomach. Anger seethed from her belly and rose up to her throbbing temples.

“What else, Mom?!” Zee blurted out, unable to control the disappointment any longer. “Can I only watch the approved holiday movies? The ones that are on brand with your social media presence? Am I allowed to drink hot chocolate out of my favorite holiday mug for fear it won’t match the couch? Is this a family holiday or outtakes from The Grove holiday ad?”

Mrs. Carmichael’s smile faded as her mouth formed a tight, horizontal line. Zee knew she had upset her mother. But before her mom could say anything, Zee ran off to her room, brushing past her father on the way.

Surprised, Mr. Carmichael looked at his wife and saw her standing in the middle of the living room, her head in her hands, trying to wipe tears away from her face without anyone seeing her. Then he turned on his heels and followed his daughter.

Zee turned quickly into her room and shut the door. She looked around and noticed that everything she’d put there was still in its place. The Christmas decorators hadn’t touched her room. Thank goodness, she thought, rolling her eyes. Zee plopped down on her bed, regretting how she had snapped at her mother. She looked over at the nightstand by her bed and reached for her journal under the lamp. Picking up a pen, she began writing:

I feel like my version of the holidays has been erased for the Instagram version. Fake snow, fake decorations, fake holiday cheer. Everything is store-bought and same-day delivered. Not one imperfect holiday decoration allowed! Mom, why is everything all about looking perfect for social media? What about the real version of our holiday?

Zee flipped back a few pages in her journal and found the holiday song she’d been writing. She started humming the melody as she read the words. The lyrics sparked memories of the happy Christmases of her youth. Her mother and her making cookies all day. Her family walking around the neighborhood to check out the Christmas lights. Zee making holiday decorations at school, including the handprint in plaster when she was in kindergarten that Mrs. Carmichael had saved and put on the tree for the last six years. And all the fun Zee had making forts and homemade decorations with Chloe and Ally. Zee thought about that time she and Chloe tried to find Santa in their subdivision. They had set up a camera on Chloe’s roof to attempt to catch him in the act (no such luck). Even as Zee got older and outgrew some things, like taking a photo on Santa’s lap, she still wanted to watch her twin siblings grow up and participate in the same holiday traditions she used to have.

Zee wrote a few more lines down in the journal:

I don’t need fancy gifts, big toys or trains, Just wanna eat Christmas cookies near the fire again With you… with you….

Zee flopped back onto her bed. She threw her arms over her face. With this holiday party her mother was planning, it seemed that the family Christmases she was used to were things of the past. “Christmas has been outsourced,” Zee said out loud, sighing heavily.

Mr. Carmichael knocked on Zee’s door, then pushed it open wide enough for him to see her splayed out on her bed. “Uh, what was that about?” he said.

“Nothing, Dad,” Zee said, shoving her face into a pillow.

“Nothing? That was definitely something. You left your mother practically in tears in our living room,” he said. Zee could tell from his tone of voice that she was in trouble. “You can’t talk to your mother like that.”

“I know. I’m sorry, Dad,” Zee said. She didn’t move from her bed. Zee kept her face embedded in the pillow, fighting back tears. Her father put his hand on her shoulder, nudging her to turn over and sit up.

“What’s gotten into you?” Mr. Carmichael said. “I thought you’d be happy as a clam being back here for the holidays with all your old friends.”

“I am happy,” Zee said. “But I also miss the old things.”

“What old things?”

“My old things! My decorations! My tree! My old house! My mom! There’re just so many other people here. Like, I wanted to decorate my own tree! And where are all our decorations? It’s just not the same.”

“I see,” Mr. Carmichael said, nodding slowly. He listened as he processed what Zee was feeling: out of her element in her own home, even on the holidays. “When you were young, I remember your mother hand painting porcelain decorations for the tree. Making homemade cookies for the neighbors, then going to your school holiday bake sale and manning the cash register to sell goods for your school band. Same thing with Adam—she knitted Christmas hats for him for years. Your mother does not do anything halfway. That is especially true for the holidays.”

“But I loved helping her with those things,” Zee said, “and now it seems like my help isn’t good enough.”

“That’s not true, Zee,” Mr. Carmichael said. “She always loves it when you help her! You can still decorate a tree if you want. Why don’t you talk to your mother and tell her how you feel?”

“Because she doesn’t care!” Zee exclaimed. “She only cares about taking beautiful photos for Instagram and having everything look perfect!”

“Now that’s not true, Zee. I know for a fact she was planning to bake cookies with you and the twins because she mentioned it when she told Camilla to buy extra flour and eggs at the grocery store the other day.”

“Well, I don’t feel like she cares about spending the holidays with me.”

Mr. Carmichael sat beside her on the bed. “Zee, your mother has looked forward to Christmas for two months. She wanted all of us—your brother and Camilla included—together in California having the best holiday possible. That’s why she rented this huge house here! That’s why she’s decorating the house like mad with a professional team.”

“But I don’t want professional!”

Mr. Carmichael looked out the door across from Zee’s room to the backyard. He could see his wife talking to the gardener as they gestured at the grounds. A moment passed and the gardener went back to work. Then Mrs. Carmichael looked out over the beach and put her hand to her forehead, as if she knew that she had somehow done something wrong. It was the first time that Mr. Carmichael saw his wife look so sad around Christmas.

He turned to Zee. “Your mother didn’t think this Instagram thing was going to be a big deal at first. She started taking some cute photos of herself with the twins and putting them on social media mainly to follow you, but then a lot of people liked the photos, and boom—it took off. So she turned it into a business for herself. You should be proud!”

Zee wiped her nose and looked down at her feet.

Mr. Carmichael continued. “This is the first thing your mother has had for herself since you were a little girl. Actually, since before you were born. Your mom gave up her career to raise you and your brother. After you started going to school, she went back to work, thinking she’d have her career again. Then the twins arrived, and she was at home with kids again. She has given her all to us. And now, seeing how she can turn time with her family into an actual business has been quite satisfying for her. It’s made her very happy.”

“I know,” Zee said, “and I am proud of her. I just wish that she can focus less on social media and more on just us.”

Mr. Carmichael put his arm around his daughter. “You should tell her how you feel. Maybe you two can go out to dinner or something and have some quality time. I’m sure she’d love to have an outing with you without having to shop for a party or create any Instagram content.”

Zee looked out the door at her mother, who was now pacing the perimeter of their backyard. Zee could tell she was thinking. Maybe thinking about her. Maybe thinking about how she can get this holiday back on track with her daughter. Feeling guilty watching her mother worry, Zee turned back to her father.

“I guess I was the one who invited the entire eighth grade class to our house for a holiday party,” Zee said. “You’re right, I’ll talk to her.”