One More for Christmas

“Daddy says she’s a typhoon.”

“Tycoon, honey, not typhoon. Typhoon is a very big storm. A tycoon is a very powerful person.”

“What’s powerful?”

“It can mean physically strong, but it can also mean influential.”

“What’s influential?”

This went on like a cascade, question after question until Ella started to wonder if someone was testing her to see if she would finally snap.

Finally Tab seemed satisfied. “Aunty Sam is a tycoon.”

And now she was expected to explain irony.

“Daddy was teasing her when he called her that—” explaining the subtleties of the exchange escaped her “—but Aunty Sam is very smart, that’s true.”

“Are you a tycoon?”

“No, I’m your mommy. And that makes me lucky.” She had no desire to climb the corporate ladder, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t proud of her sister.

Fulfilment for her came in a job well done, the knowledge that she’d made a difference to someone’s life, however small. As a teacher, her reward had been seeing the delight and wonder in a child’s eyes the first time they realized that letters could become words—d-o-g dog, it’s dog!! Before that, as a barista, she’d made coffee, taking extra care, knowing that at the very least she was improving the start of someone’s day, at best she was saving a life. Because good coffee was lifesaving, she was sure of it. Before her barista phase she’d worked in a bookstore—read this book, it will change your life. The world was often a challenging place—she knew that. She couldn’t change the big things, but she could improve things in a small way for others and for herself.

And now she was a mother. She wasn’t building a career, she was building a family. She was building walls around their little unit that would shelter and protect.

Across the kitchen, her phone buzzed in her bag.

Ella ignored it.

Tab pointed. “That’s your phone.”

“I know, sweetie.”

“You should answer it.”

“The phone does not take priority over our conversation just because it’s loud and intrusive.”

“It might be important.”

“But it won’t be more important than spending time with you.” Ella kissed Tab on the forehead, loving the warmth and smoothness of her skin. She smelled of rose and vanilla, of youth and hope. Her eyes were bright and interested. Ella loved this age, where they soaked up the world and tried to make sense of their surroundings. The why, why, why drove some of the other mothers into a state of ferocious frustration, but not Ella. She wanted to freeze time, to hold on to this perfect moment and never let it slip away. She wanted to always be this close and in tune with her daughter. She loathed the phone, hating the way it could intrude into a conversation, or shatter a romantic moment. She resented its insistent, insidious infiltration of daily life. It was the destroyer of intimacy and the glutton of time, consuming it in greedy mouthfuls. Given the choice, she wouldn’t have carried one at all, but Michael insisted.

The phone stopped ringing and she relaxed, only to tense again when it started a moment later.

Tabitha fingered the rest of the broccoli. “What if it’s Aunty Sam?”

“She wouldn’t ring me in the middle of the day—she’s too busy.” On the other hand, what if it was Sam? Or Michael? She had the phone for emergencies. What if this was it?

Ella caved and walked across the kitchen, stepping over Tab’s dolls and a small mountain of dressing-up clothes as she reached for her purse.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw Tabitha hurl the broccoli under the table and was about to say something when her phone lit up with her sister’s name.

She snatched it up. Her sister never phoned during the day. “Sam? If you’re calling to tell me how many sleeps it is until Christmas, we have it up on the wall here. Tab made a chart. We’re checking off the days.”

“I—No. Not that. Have you watched TV today?”

“No. You know I never watch daytime TV.” She picked up a red crayon that had been abandoned on the floor. “Tab and I started our day at Mini Musicians, where she gave a virtuoso performance on the cymbals—my ears are still ringing. Then we went for a walk in the park and came home via that cute fabric shop, where we bought an incredible gold lamé that we are going to make into a dress that Millicent is going to wear to the ball. But first we are making Christmas cards.”

“Millicent? Oh, the doll. I forgot.”