style="font-size:15px;"> 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.”
Skylar imagined her mother seated at her elegant Queen Anne desk, ticking off the items on her to-do list.
Phone dreamy, wayward daughter.
“Christmas Eve.” At the last possible moment. “I’ll be home Christmas Eve, but I’ll make my own arrangements so you can cross me off your list. I’ll talk with Richard and see what works for him.”
“Richard has already sent through his plans.”
Without sharing them with her? “He emailed you? I was assuming we’d travel together.”
“You need to stop assuming and take action, Skylar. Richard’s career is on the rise, but he still found time to respond to my email personally. Your father is impressed, and we all know he’s not easy to impress.”
Sky’s fingers tightened on the phone.
She knew. She’d been trying to impress her father for years, so far with no success.
Something tugged deep inside her.
In third grade she’d painted him a picture. It had taken days of hard, painstaking effort to produce something she thought he’d like. She’d been excited by the result.
Look at this, Daddy. I painted it for your office.
He’d barely glanced at the picture and the next day she’d noticed it in the trash, buried beneath empty cans and juice cartons.
She never drew anything for him again.
She watched as snowflakes swirled and danced past the windows and tried not to mind that Richard had apparently succeeded where she had failed.
“He’s smart,” her mother was saying. “Persuasive. Charming.”
Except when he was under pressure. Then he was short-tempered and far from charming. But that wasn’t a side he showed to the voting public or her family.
She stirred in her seat, feeling guilty for not being more understanding.
This was his dream, and she knew how it felt to have a dream.
Richard Everson had nurtured ambitions of running for office since childhood. The occasional burst of irritability at this point was understandable.
Her mother was still talking. “You’re lucky to have found a man like him, but you won’t hang on to him if you’re dreamy and romantic. Relationships require application and hard work.”
And that, Skylar thought, was exactly how her parents’ marriage had always seemed to her. Work. More corporate merger than loving union.
Was that really what love was?
She hoped not.
“When is he arriving?”
“Christmas Eve, in time for lunch. He’ll be excellent at this sort of event.”
Event? “It’s Christmas, Mom.”
“I thought you would finally have grown out of romanticizing the holidays.” Her mother sounded impatient. “Your father has given a great deal of thought to the guest list. There are influential people attending. People who will be useful to Richard’s career.”
Not friends or family. People of influence.
“Anyone I know?”
“The list was attached to the email Stephanie sent. I hope you take time to prepare.”
“Preparing” involved absorbing and memorizing pages of notes on each individual. Likes, dislikes, topics to be avoided at all costs.
Even at Christmas it was all about networking.
A wild idea flitted into her mind. Christmas in a cottage on Puffin Island. Log fire, good wine and the company of her friends. She and Richard together without the pressures of the outside world.
It was a dreamy idea.
It was also heresy and it was never going to happen.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t be here, Mom.”
