Editor’s Note: The Independent is proud to continue its partnership with the Third Street Writers in publishing holiday-inspired stories by Orange County authors.
By Christine Fugate
“Steven, something’s wrong with Mom.”
“Is she mad?” A soccer ball bounced down the stairs followed by Steven, pulling on his cleats. “Mom, wake up!” I said. “You need to drive Steven to practice.”
Mom was sitting in Dad’s comfy chair, staring at the Christmas tree. She blinked and said, “Rally.”
“He’s late.” Mom hates when we are late.
“Zoom, zoom,” Mom said.
Steven and I looked at each other completely confused.
“Maybe she needs to zoom.” Steven grabbed her computer.
I opened it and launched Zoom. “Here, Mom. You can Zoom now.”
I set the computer on her lap. The laptop slid off her lap onto the floor. Steven and I gasped. Her computer never touches the floor.
“Can’t you drive me?” Steven asked.
“I only have my permit, dodo brain. Take the trolley to Alta Laguna or ride your bike.”
Mom blurted, “Zoom, zoom!”
Steven slammed the door. I leaned in front of Mom’s face. “Steven’s gone! You can stop pretending.”
“Rally, zoom, zoom,” Mom said.
I grabbed my phone. “Dad! Mom is having a nervous breakdown. Call me back!”
I shoved aside the laundry by the Christmas tree and sat down.
“What are we going to do, Whiskers?”
Whiskers, our tabby cat, walked over and sat in front of the boxes of lights and ornaments. “Meow!”
I opened the first box and pulled out the twinkly lights. I walked the string around the tree, creating perfect circles. After that, I put Mom’s favorite seashell decorations on the tree.“Mom, isn’t it pretty?”
“Rally.”
“Mom, stop!” My eyes got moist.
Whiskers cried for supper. I fed her and heated up leftovers for Steven and me. I laid down on the couch near Mom.
Steven shook my shoulder. I had fallen asleep.
“She’s not even blinking,” Steven grabbed my phone and called Dad. “You need to come home right now. Mom’s a zombie!”
“Did you have dinner?” Dad said.
“Leftovers.”
“Are there presents under the tree?”
I grabbed the phone. “Dad, we can’t have Christmas if Mom isn’t okay!”
“She hides presents all over the house. I’ll be back in Laguna around noon.”
Steven and I went room by room. There were presents hidden in closets, under beds and even in the linen closet. We put on Christmas music and wrapped them in the dining room.
“I’m so tired,” Steven said. “It’s 2 a.m.”
“We need to clean up before Dad gets home.”
Steven put the laundry away; I vacuumed. We put the presents around the tree. The lights sparkled and created beautiful shadows on the walls.
The next morning, Dad walked in, his arms filled with presents. “Ho, ho, ho!”
“Daddy!” We both hugged him. I’d never been so happy to see him.
“She hasn’t said anything this morning!” Steven pointed at Mom.
“Should I call 911?” I asked.
Dad leaned down and kissed her.
Mom slowly started to kiss him back. Then she looked up at him. “Welcome home, love. How was your trip?”
I grabbed Steven’s arm. What was happening?
“Look at the twinkle lights and all those presents! Did Santa already come?”
Steven hugged her. “Mommy you’re back!”
Still in shock, I held her hand. “Mom, I was so worried.”
“I’m fine.” An awkward family hug followed. Whiskers even jumped onto her lap. Mom stood up. Dad handed her a glass of water. I could be wrong, but I swear he winked at her.
I’m not sure what that was about but thank goodness Christmas was normal and boring. I was completely exhausted.
Christine works as a film professor at Chapman University where she rallies and zooms every day.
