Once Upon A Christmas Eve: A Novella Read Online Free Page B

isn’t even worth noticing anymore.
    The proceeds of the magnets and dinners and cake walks went to help pay for medical expenses. Thankfully, insurance covered the majority of the treatments. It’s expensive, trying to save someone’s life.
    Now that she’s finished with chemo and radiation and surgery, now that her hair is trying to grow back in—a tiny patchwork of baby fuzz speckling her white scalp, now that she’s not tired all day, or puking in the trashcan by her bed all night, she’s thinking about returning to work. Searching for “normal.” Whatever that means.
    “How is she?” Jonathan asks.
    “Cancer-free, we’re hoping. We find out for sure in January.” I take the magnet from him, replace it on the refrigerator beside a pair of coupons for a “buy one get one free” bag of apples. “That’s why I make lists,” I confess, voice lowering, though no one seems to be paying attention to the two of us. “Because when my mom was diagnosed, there was so much to remember. Things the doctor said, what we were supposed to do, what we couldn’t do. There were medications and diet changes, and there was no way I could keep up with it all, and Mom was too sick to do anything. If it needed to be done, it had to go on a list. Overlooking or mishandling something. . . .” I leave this thought unfinished, not wanting to think about what could’ve happened. “My sister and I had to do everything right. So we had lists—checklist after checklist. We lived by them. Seriously.”
    The weight of his stare crowds the space between us, almost suffocating as he takes this all in, tries to make sense of something that can’t possibly be understood. My eyes refuse to meet his because I fear what I might see there, what I see in everyone when they learn our secrets. Sadness. Sympathy. Pity. And I try not to imagine what this evening could have been like had he not learned this about me. If I wasn’t “Olivia, the girl whose mom has cancer” everywhere I go.
    Maybe we could’ve had a real chance.
    “I feel wretched for making fun of you now.”
    “Well, you know, they’re pretty useful, even when your mom doesn’t have cancer,” I point out.
    “Rolls are done,” Mrs. Andrews sings. I am thankful for this interruption, the blast of heat that fills the room as she opens the oven, forcing us to step back. “Leslie,” she continues, “why don’t you get everyone together. We’ll go assembly-line style through the kitchen, then people can eat wherever.”
    “Best news I’ve heard all day,” Jonathan says to me. “We’ll stay away from the big table. Find our own space. Just the two of us.”
    I consider the idea of a “big table.” Like, the main table as opposed to smaller, less important ones. There has ever only been one table at our family gatherings, even when my grandparents are in attendance. Dad is an only child and Mom’s sister is single, lives across the country. They spend most of their time on the telephone, or video chatting on the computer. It’s hard to imagine what it would be like to be part of a big family—lots of aunts and uncles and cousins. As much as Jonathan was dreading this night, the house seems so full and alive. My Christmas Eve dinner will be dull in comparison.
    “What can I help you with Stacey?” an older woman asks, entering the room behind us.
    Mrs. Andrews moves the rolls from pan to bread basket. “Can you make sure each dish has a spoon or fork? I figured buffet was best. Let everyone get what they want.”
    “Hi. Are we related?” the older woman asks, turning to me as she passes, noticing me for the first time. I guess in a family this big, it’s easy to forget who belongs to who.
    Whom . My mother’s voice corrects me in my head.
    I swallow back a smile at this woman stopped in front of me, so small and frail I feel guilty for towering over her like I do. For wearing these boots. “No, ma’am. I’m Olivia Hall, Jonathan’s friend.”
    She