Snow crunched under Momâs tires as we pulled into Miss Melissaâs driveway. The last time I had been here, thereâd been a For Sale sign in the yard, but they had taken it down. I donât know why it surprised me; no one would buy a house in mid-December. I wasnât sure what Miss Melissa would do; I didnât think she could really afford to live here anymore.
Mom turned to me as she pulled the key out of the engine. âThanks for coming, Emily.â
âOf course,â I responded. I never had enough to keep me busy over Christmas break. Mom hadnât let me drive because of the snow, but I supposed that was reasonable: I didnât have much experience drivingâno thanks to winter birthdays.
The snow crunched under our feet as we climbed out of the van, slamming and opening doors. Mom balanced the tupperwares of soup on her arm and I grabbed the pan of cinnamon rolls and we started for the door. The front steps hadnât been shoveled or salted, and we climbed them slowly. Miss Melissa had the door open before we could knock, taking containers from Mom and telling us to come in out of the cold.
âDo you mind taking off your shoes? Thank you so much. New carpet and everything. . .â
The split entry felt claustrophobic at first, like split entries always did (especially in winter). My fingers were chilled, even from the short walk from the car. Miss Melissa hovered at the top of the stairs, cradling the soup. âEthan, go take that pan from Emily,â she told one of the deadpan children peering through the railing from the living room.
âOh, Iâm good,â I assured her, struggling out of my last snow boot. Mom and I followed her up the stairs and toward the kitchen.
âHey,â I greeted Hailey and Ethan as we passed them. âDo you remember me from the block partyâwith my church? There was face-painting and a bouncy house.â
Hailey stared. Ethan nodded vaguely.
âYou didnât have to do this,â Miss Melissa told Mom as she set the tupperwares on the kitchen table. I put the cinnamon rolls down beside them.
âOh, I know we didnât,â Mom said brightly. âBut itâs Christmas.â
Christmas, to my mother, had always meant good food. We had more Christmas cookies in our house than we had counter space forâevery December.
âMomâs tomato soup is always a favorite,â I said, hoping it would help. I didnât want Miss Melissa to think we were trying to be good Samaritans. We always brought everyone foodânot just single moms.
âDid you get that bedroom painted?â Mom asked.
Miss Melissa laughed self-consciously. âYes, and now Iâm not sure about the color.â
âCan I see it?â
Mom followed Miss Melissa down the hallway, leaving the kids in the kitchen with me. They watched closely as I sat down on a kitchen chair.
âHow old are you guys?â I asked, pleased to have them to myself; they couldnât get a word in edgewise around their mom.
âEight and a half,â Ethan said. His tone was careful, like he was hoping eight and a half was old enough.
âIâm six,â Hailey informed me.
âCool!â I said. âI just turned fifteen.â
I stuffed my hands in my coat pockets and realized I still had a candy cane in one of them, under my mittens. The pocket-sized kind. I wished I had two, so I could give them Hailey and Ethan. I heard Mom saying something very earnestly from down the hallway. What else could I ask the kids. . . âWhatâs your favorite part of Christmas?â When they didnât answer right away, I volunteered, âMine is cooking with my Mom. And decorating for Christmas. Especially our nativityâitâs always been my job to set it up.â
Hailey frowned. âWhatâs a nati. . . na. . .â
âItâs where Jesus was born,â Ethan offered promptly. âWith Mary and Joseph, and the donkey, and, uh. . .â
âYou donât have one?â I asked.
Ethan shook his head.
âWhat if we try to make one?â I suggested. âDo you have dolls, Hailey? Toy figures? We’d need a baby. . . I can make one, if you can get me a Kleenex. And. . . And a spoon? A small one.â
Ethan grabbed a baby spoon from a drawer, clunked it down in front of me, and ran out of the roomâhopefully to get me a tissue. I turned to Hailey. âDo you have a doll? That could be Mary?â She looked around the room thoughtfully, then nodded with sudden confidence and scampered off.
Ethan returned with a Kleenex wadded in his fist. I wrapped it around the spoon to make a swaddled baby. âDo you have a box?â I asked him. âA small oneâfor a manger?â
âHailey does!â And he dashed out again.
He returned with a purple jewelry-box, trailed by Hailey, who was cradling a Barbie doll. The doll was wearing Snow Whiteâs dress, but I was ninety-nine percent sure it was Sleeping Beauty.
âSheâs my prettiest one,â Hailey said proudly.
âCan Mary wear a crown?â Ethan asked, as he handed me the box.
I was pretty sure Mary hadnât. I was also pretty sure Mary hadnât been blonde, but most nativity scenes ignored ethnicity anyway. âSheâs a great Mary,â I said, âas long as sheâs brave enough.â
âBrave?â Ethan said skeptically.
âOf course!â I assured him. âGod wouldnât have given her such a special mission if she wasnât brave.â
I put Baby Jesus in the jewelry-box and carefully sat Mary down on the table beside him. âNow we need Joseph. Do you have any boy dolls, Hailey?â
âNo,â she said matter-of-factly. âI donât like them.â
I wondered if she disliked any doll that wasnât a Disney princess or if she disliked boys in general. All I asked was, âWhat else could we use for Joseph?â
âI donât think we need Joseph,â Ethan said thoughtfully.
My parents had always told me God had known that Jesus needed a Dad too, but I couldnât say that. My Dad was at work, spending his Saturday there so he could spend Christmas Eve with us. I wondered if Hailey and Ethanâs dad was gambling off all the money heâd taken with him, or if he had used it to go to the Bahamas and was living it up free and single, or if he had another wife and kids by now.
I let Joseph go.
âCan you get some toys to be the shepherds, and bring Jesus gifts?â I asked.
Hailey giggled and darted from the kitchen. Ethan hesitated. âDonât we need animals too?â
Technically the cow and the donkey were never mentioned in the Bible, and Joseph was. But animals would help the nativity aesthetic. âIf you have any,â I told him.
Haileyâs contribution was a small plastic dog and a small plastic present, adorned with a plastic bow and a small white plastic bone.
âThatâs not the kind of presents they gave Him,â Ethan said, and Hailey squealed with laughter. âThey gave him gold,â her brother protested. âAnd. . . sheep.â
âYou could fit a sheep in there,â I said, laughing. âA small one.â
Hailey shrieked with delight and snatched her dog off the table, knocking Mary over in her haste. Ethan righted her and added a felt horse, whose glass eyes were scuffed and creepy. It didnât look like an animal that Sleeping Snow White Beauty would be caught dead on, but it was probably the closest thing we had to a donkey. Ethan showed me a handful of faded army men.
âCan they come see Jesus?â he asked. His brown eyes narrowed. âThey donât have a present.â
âAnyone can come see Jesus,â I said quickly. I helped him line the soldiers up behind Mary, who sat with her long legs stretched out on the table in front of her. All three of us surveyed our nativity scene. It seemed appropriately eclectic. Anyone can come see Jesus. Hailey put the dog back beside the jewelry-box manger. âLetâs leave it up forever!â she said.
Our mothers passed by the kitchen doorway. âEmily, we better go!â
âComing!â I called. I looked at the table, crowded with containers of food and various toys. âIf your Mom says to clean it up, you better clean it up.â
They both frowned at me as I stood up. I hoped I hadnât caused too much trouble. From the entryway, I heard Miss Melissa tell Mom, âIâm just not sure. Sheâd keep them weekends too if I picked up more shifts.â
I pulled the candy cane out of my back pocket. âThis is for you. I only have one, but I can break it in half.â
Ethan took it from me. Before I could protest, he broke off the crooked part, and then cracked the stick in half. When he tore the plastic open, three uneven pieces and some candy-crumbs fell into his hand. He gave Hailey the biggest piece, put one in his own mouth, and offered the hooked one to me.
Three jagged pieces of candyâone for each of us.