Father Christmas

Mom appears to consider the offer. “Sure,” she says, rubbing her forehead. “That’d be great actually.”

Noelle schedules our dinner reservation for this evening, then produces a printed map of the resort and four sets of keys. “You are all set. If you have any questions, feel free to call us at anytime. All the important numbers are listed in the welcome book.”

“There should be plenty of firewood on the porch,” Sawyer adds. “If you need more, let us know and my dad’ll run some over. The hot tub’s ready to use. Just be sure and put the cover back on when you’re done with it.”

Gran looks almost giddy at the mention of the hot tub.

We thank them for their hospitality and head back out to the car.

“They seem like a sweet couple,” Gran says.

“I didn’t know girls were still getting married that young,” Mom grumbles. She slides behind the wheel before I can protest. I hand over the car keys with a sigh.

Our entire family was shaken by Gran’s diagnosis, but my mom took it harder than anyone. To put it simply, she became a nervous wreck, and her go-to coping mechanism when life gets messy is to try and control everything around her. I didn’t want to add to her stress, so I stopped asking to borrow the car, and didn’t object when Aunt Terry suggested Gran sell her Caddy to help pay for treatment.

I gave up what little freedom I’d fought for to help make things easier on everyone else, because I knew I wasn’t going anywhere while Gran was still sick. I’d been working as a cashier while I was still in high school, bumming rides from my co-workers. When an office assistant position opened up in my mom’s dental practice a few weeks after graduation, it just made sense to take it. Now we commute to the office together, with her always behind the wheel.

We drive past at least a dozen cabins, tucked into the trees, illuminated from the insides like jack-o’-lanterns. Mom lets out a long whistle as we reach the top of the hill, coming to a stop in front of our rental, a two-story log cabin with a wraparound covered porch and stone chimney.

“Wow,” Mom says, cutting the engine. “For once, the place looks just as nice in person as it does on the website.”

She pops the trunk. I grab Gran’s suitcase and wait for my mom to unlock the front door. The cabin’s interior is as nice as anything I’ve seen on Home and Garden Television, with vaulted ceilings in the living room and foyer, and hardwood floors throughout.

By the time we’re finished unloading our luggage and gifts, I feel like a roast chicken in my heavy coat and sweater.

“Astrid, you’re sweating,” Gran says. “Take off your coat, I’ll hang it in the closet.”

I make sure I’m turned away from her as I strip off my jacket. It’s two sizes too big, and an ugly greenish brown, but all the nice colors were sold out and I needed to buy a larger winter jacket for this trip, along with all-new bras and elastic-waist pants. Gran eyes my baggy gray sweater. I know she sees the weight I’ve put on, though she hasn’t mentioned it outright. I wish she would say something so I’d know for sure whether she thinks I’m just stress eating Oreos.

Over the past few weeks, I’ve made a point to be seen eating bags of cookies and potato chips. I want my family to assume I’m overeating, anything to hide the real reason behind my weight gain. The life-changing secret I carry that can’t remain secret for long.

I bring my suitcase upstairs to my room and start to unpack the rest of my sweaters and leggings, plus the few athleisure pants I can still fit into—for now.

“I see headlights,” Gran calls from downstairs.

My breath catches like wool on a kitten’s claws. I drop the socks I’m folding and cradle my slightly distended belly with both hands.

I’ve been dreading this trip since I mustered the courage to pee on that little stick. I’m not ready for everyone to know my secret, least of all the man who helped make it happen.

“Looks like Terry and Pavan just pulled up with the kids,” Mom says.

I exhale a silent thank you and head downstairs. In truth, I’m only prolonging the inevitable awkwardness, but I’ll feel a little better if my cousin, Leena, is by my side. When I was little, I looked up to her like an older sister, and she treated me like a best friend. We’re still best friends, though we don’t get to see each other as often as we did before she left for college.

Mom lets Aunt Terry and Uncle Pavan into the foyer, trailed by Leena and her ten-year-old twin brothers, Ryan and Dev.

“Snow’s really starting to come down,” Aunt Terry says, setting the laundry basket full of wrapped presents on the floor so she can hug Gran. “I don’t see Finn’s truck in the driveway.”

Gran kisses my aunt’s cheek. “Finnegan said his flight was delayed.”

My heart beats faster at the mention of Finn’s name, but I don’t have time to dwell on my body’s reaction before I’m tackled by my young cousins.

“Guys, give the girl some breathing room,” Leena says to her brothers, shooing them away so she can hug me. “Merry Christmas, bae. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you, too.” I haven’t seen Leena since Gran’s surgery, and though we text each other almost every day, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her what happened—what’s still happening. I clutch her long, slim frame like she’s my saving grace. Leena’s always been gorgeous, tall and toned, with lush black hair and tawny-colored skin. When I was little, I thought she was the most beautiful, stylish girl in the world. She’s still the only person I know who can pull off high-heeled winter boots.

“You feel different,” she says, squinting at me. “What’s with the maternity sweater?”

My heart catapults into my throat. I glance around to make sure nobody’s taking her question seriously. “It’s not a maternity sweater. I just like the color.”