Chapter 5 - THE TRAYS WENT BACK OUT
Christmas morning at our hotel was better than it had any right to be.
I drove to a twenty-four-hour store before the kids woke and bought a tiny artificial tree.
Noah decorated it with hotel coffee packets and sugar wrappers.
Lily made a star from the cardboard sleeve around a paper cup.
It was objectively terrible.
I loved it.
We opened the presents that had been in my trunk.
Ordered pancakes.
Called their father in Colorado.
Watched cartoons.
Nobody told Lily she was taking up too much space.
Nobody told Noah his tone was wrong.
Around noon, my phone began vibrating again.
At Margaret’s house, the catering company had arrived before receiving the final updated dispatch list.
The driver spoke with the supervisor.
Then the trays were wheeled back out.
Amanda apparently ran into the driveway demanding they leave the food.
They would not.
The order had been canceled by the purchaser.
Me.
Next came the shuttle.
It arrived because the holiday schedule had been printed earlier, then departed after the company confirmed my cancellation.
That was when relatives started asking real questions.
Who had booked it?
Why could Amanda not simply reinstate it?
Why was every reservation under Claire Bennett?
Then somebody tried the lodge.
Canceled.
The room block had been released.
By then, holiday demand had filled most of the property.
Amanda called me twenty-six times.
Margaret fourteen.
I did not answer.
On the twenty-seventh call, Amanda left a voicemail.
“You are humiliating Mom in front of everybody.”
Interesting.
Two days earlier, nobody seemed concerned about humiliation when Lily stood beside a sleeping bag in her winter coat.
Then came a second voicemail.
“You promised to pay for Christmas.”
No.
I promised to host people who behaved like family.
There had been no contract requiring me to finance contempt.
By midafternoon, Amanda had driven to two grocery stores looking for enough food to feed everyone.
Most holiday catering options were unavailable.
She ended up ordering pizza.
According to Aunt Carol, it was perfectly good pizza.
That made me happy.
Not because I wanted them miserable.
Because it proved Christmas had not been destroyed.
They still had food.
Family.
Heat.
Presents.
Everything essential.
May you like
What disappeared was luxury.
And luxury was apparently the only part Amanda considered catastrophic.
