Snow crunched under Mom’s tires as we pulled into Miss Melissa’s driveway. The last time I had been here, there’d been a For Sale sign in the yard, but they had taken it down. I don’t know why it surprised me; no one would buy a house in mid-December. I wasn’t sure what Miss Melissa would do; I didn’t think she could really afford to live here anymore.
Mom turned to me as she pulled the key out of the engine. “Thanks for coming, Emily.”
“Of course,” I responded. I never had enough to keep me busy over Christmas break. Mom hadn’t let me drive because of the snow, but I supposed that was reasonable: I didn’t have much experience driving—no 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 hadn’t 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.
“Do you mind taking off your shoes? Thank you so much. New carpet and everything. . .”
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. “Ethan, go take that pan from Emily,” she told one of the deadpan children peering through the railing from the living room.
“Oh, I’m good,” I assured her, struggling out of my last snow boot. Mom and I followed her up the stairs and toward the kitchen.
“Hey,” I greeted Hailey and Ethan as we passed them. “Do you remember me from the block party—with my church? There was face-painting and a bouncy house.”
Hailey stared. Ethan nodded vaguely.
“You didn’t have to do this,” Miss Melissa told Mom as she set the tupperwares on the kitchen table. I put the cinnamon rolls down beside them.
“Oh, I know we didn’t,” Mom said brightly. “But it’s Christmas.”
Christmas, to my mother, had always meant good food. We had more Christmas cookies in our house than we had counter space for—every December.
“Mom’s tomato soup is always a favorite,” I said, hoping it would help. I didn’t want Miss Melissa to think we were trying to be good Samaritans. We always brought everyone food—not just single moms.
“Did you get that bedroom painted?” Mom asked.
Miss Melissa laughed self-consciously. “Yes, and now I’m not sure about the color.”
“Can I see it?”
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.
“How old are you guys?” I asked, pleased to have them to myself; they couldn’t get a word in edgewise around their mom.
“Eight and a half,” Ethan said. His tone was careful, like he was hoping eight and a half was old enough.
“I’m six,” Hailey informed me.
“Cool!” I said. “I just turned fifteen.”
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. . . “What’s your favorite part of Christmas?” When they didn’t answer right away, I volunteered, “Mine is cooking with my Mom. And decorating for Christmas. Especially our nativity—it’s always been my job to set it up.”
Hailey frowned. “What’s a nati. . . na. . .”
“It’s where Jesus was born,” Ethan offered promptly. “With Mary and Joseph, and the donkey, and, uh. . .”
“You don’t have one?” I asked.
Ethan shook his head.
“What if we try to make one?” I suggested. “Do 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.”
Ethan grabbed a baby spoon from a drawer, clunked it down in front of me, and ran out of the room—hopefully to get me a tissue. I turned to Hailey. “Do you have a doll? That could be Mary?” 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. “Do you have a box?” I asked him. “A small one—for a manger?”
“Hailey does!” 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 White’s dress, but I was ninety-nine percent sure it was Sleeping Beauty.
“She’s my prettiest one,” Hailey said proudly.
“Can Mary wear a crown?” Ethan asked, as he handed me the box.
I was pretty sure Mary hadn’t. I was also pretty sure Mary hadn’t been blonde, but most nativity scenes ignored ethnicity anyway. “She’s a great Mary,” I said, “as long as she’s brave enough.”
“Brave?” Ethan said skeptically.
“Of course!” I assured him. “God wouldn’t have given her such a special mission if she wasn’t brave.”
I put Baby Jesus in the jewelry-box and carefully sat Mary down on the table beside him. “Now we need Joseph. Do you have any boy dolls, Hailey?”
“No,” she said matter-of-factly. “I don’t like them.”
I wondered if she disliked any doll that wasn’t a Disney princess or if she disliked boys in general. All I asked was, “What else could we use for Joseph?”
“I don’t think we need Joseph,” Ethan said thoughtfully.
My parents had always told me God had known that Jesus needed a Dad too, but I couldn’t say that. My Dad was at work, spending his Saturday there so he could spend Christmas Eve with us. I wondered if Hailey and Ethan’s dad was gambling off all the money he’d 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.
“Can you get some toys to be the shepherds, and bring Jesus gifts?” I asked.
Hailey giggled and darted from the kitchen. Ethan hesitated. “Don’t we need animals too?”
Technically the cow and the donkey were never mentioned in the Bible, and Joseph was. But animals would help the nativity aesthetic. “If you have any,” I told him.
Hailey’s contribution was a small plastic dog and a small plastic present, adorned with a plastic bow and a small white plastic bone.
“That’s not the kind of presents they gave Him,” Ethan said, and Hailey squealed with laughter. “They gave him gold,” her brother protested. “And. . . sheep.”
“You could fit a sheep in there,” I said, laughing. “A small one.”
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 didn’t 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.
“Can they come see Jesus?” he asked. His brown eyes narrowed. “They don’t have a present.”
“Anyone can come see Jesus,” 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. “Let’s leave it up forever!” she said.
Our mothers passed by the kitchen doorway. “Emily, we better go!”
“Coming!” I called. I looked at the table, crowded with containers of food and various toys. “If your Mom says to clean it up, you better clean it up.”
They both frowned at me as I stood up. I hoped I hadn’t caused too much trouble. From the entryway, I heard Miss Melissa tell Mom, “I’m just not sure. She’d keep them weekends too if I picked up more shifts.”
I pulled the candy cane out of my back pocket. “This is for you. I only have one, but I can break it in half.”
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 candy—one for each of us.
