Chapter 2 - The Gift Bag No One Opened
The nurse came in to check my monitor while my phone kept vibrating across the tray table.
“You okay?” she asked.
I looked at Tyler sitting at the end of my bed, still clutching the handles of that crumpled paper bag.
“No,” I said. “But I’m leaving.”
The nurse warned me the doctor wanted another round of observation. I signed the discharge papers anyway. My fever had broken. My hands were steady. And whatever weakness remained in my body was nothing compared to the strength that arrived when I saw my son trying not to understand rejection.
I pulled on my coat over the hospital blouse, kept the wristband on, and took Tyler’s hand.
“We’re making one stop,” I told him.
When we reached my parents’ house, the driveway was packed.
Nick’s SUV was there.
My father’s truck was there.
Nick’s in-laws were there too.
So much for “only family.”
Tyler carried the untouched gift bag as we walked to the door. His fingers were red from the cold. Mine were still bruised from the IV tape. For one second, I almost turned around—not because I was afraid of my parents, but because I hated bringing my son back to the place that had hurt him.
Then I remembered the phone calls.
Not one had been for Tyler.
I knocked.
My mother opened the door wearing the automatic smile she saved for guests. It vanished when she saw us.
“What are you doing here?”
“Getting an answer.”
She tried to block the entrance.
I stepped past her.
The living room was covered in torn wrapping paper. Dessert plates sat on every table. Children laughed in the den. My father came from the kitchen with a drink in his hand, irritated that I had interrupted the celebration. Nick appeared behind him wearing a new watch.
The same brother whose rent I had been paying stood in front of me with a watch that cost more than Tyler’s entire Christmas.
I looked at my mother.
“Why did you send my son away?”
For one second, shame crossed her face.
Then Nick folded his arms, and she seemed to borrow courage from him.
“We didn’t want tension today,” she said. “Nick’s children already feel like Tyler gets special treatment because you have more money.”
I stared at her.
“So you punished a ten-year-old for bringing gifts?”
Nick gave a short laugh.
“Don’t make this dramatic. He’ll get over it.”
Tyler’s fingers tightened around the paper handles.
No one told Nick to stop.
My father looked at the floor. Nick’s wife watched from the hallway. Her parents stood beside the tree pretending not to listen.
My mother lowered her voice.
“This holiday was supposed to be peaceful. You always make everything about what you’ve done for us.”
“I haven’t mentioned the money once.”
“You just canceled the rent,” Nick snapped.
There it was.
Not family.
Not Christmas.
May you like
Not Tyler.
Rent.
