She’d invited them. Sent them a pretty embossed invitation and a catalog.
There had been no response.
Turning her head, she focused on the snowy scene beyond the windows of the cab. She wasn’t going to let that ruin her evening. Nothing was going to ruin the evening.
The cab driver was still talking. “So you’ll be flying back home for the holidays? Family Christmas?”
“That’s the plan.” Although not the reality. “Family Christmas” sounded cozy and warm, like something from a fairy tale. It conjured up images of prettily wrapped gifts stacked beneath a tall tree festooned with twinkling lights and homemade decorations, while excited children fizzed with anticipation.
Christmas at her parents’ house felt more like an endurance test than a fairy tale, more corporate than cozy. The “tree” would be an artistic display of bare twigs sprayed silver and studded with tiny lights, part of a larger display planned and executed every year by her mother’s interior decorator. Stark, remote and not to be touched at any cost. The “gifts,” artfully stacked on various surfaces for effect, would be empty boxes.
Any child hoping to find something magical under her family tree would be disappointed.
Those gifts summed up her family, she thought.
Everything had to be shiny and perfectly wrapped. Appearances mattered.
Leaning her head against the cool glass of the window, she watched as a man and a woman, loaded down with bags, struggled through the snow with two bouncing, excitable young children. She imagined them arriving home and decorating the tree together. They’d write letters to Santa and hang stockings, counting the number of sleeps until Christmas Day.
The most important things in life, she thought wistfully, couldn’t be wrapped.
She watched as the family disappeared down a side street and then looked away, impatient with herself.
She was too old for Christmas fantasies and with Richard arriving and her exhibition she had plenty to celebrate.
Her phone rang and she tugged it out of her bag, expecting Richard again.
It was her mother and surprise mingled with warmth.
She remembered.
“Mom? I’m so happy you called.”
“I shouldn’t have to call—” her mother’s crisp, cultured tones came down the phone “—but your father and I need to know when you’ll be home.”
Bridging the gap between hope and reality gave her whiplash. “You’re calling about my schedule?”
“Stephanie sent you an email. You didn’t respond.”
Stephanie was her mother’s assistant and Sky knew the email was probably sitting in her inbox, along with all the others she’d ignored while burning the midnight oil to get ready for this week.
“I’ve been busy, Mom. It’s my private viewing tonight, and—”
“We’re all busy, Skylar, and I’d appreciate not having to chase my own daughter for a response. Particularly when you’re the only one without a job.”
Sky thought of the commissions she had lined up. She had enough work to keep her busy through most of next year. “I have a job.”
“I mean a proper job. I’m doing the seating plan for Christmas Eve. We’ll be eighty for dinner. Lunch is more intimate—forty. When will you be arriving?”
Sky leaned her head back against the seat, not knowing whether to laugh or cry.
Forty? Intimate?
So much for a cozy family Christmas.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Then decide.”