Heat Wave

The Christmas we all spent together. The one the first year they were together, before they were married, before they moved to Kauai. The hotel was in the final stages of takeover and Logan was spending more and more time in Hawaii, but we were all together for the holidays.

In reality, Christmas was held at my parents’ house. It always was. My mother always went way out—and by that, I mean she hired the same decorator every year to make our home look like a Christmas wonderland. Then the news channels and newspaper reporters would come by and do a yearly special on our place. Christmas in my family wasn’t really about family—it was about showing off.

And Janice, our decorator, was a fixture around the holidays, popping in a few times a week between Thanksgiving and Christmas Day to add some touches. From the time my mom entered politics, when I was around seven years old, Christmas has always been the largest event of the year. But even as a kid, I could tell something was off. I was the envy of children at school and yet I envied after their tales of Christmas Eve when one of their parents dressed up as Santa, or the ritual of leaving out milk and cookies, or the next morning, ripping into their presents. I always got far more than them, sometimes as many as one hundred presents, which looking back now, was a disgusting waste of wealth. I would have rather gotten one or two gifts that had meaning and love behind them. Some parents underestimate how simple kids really are—love, unconditional and ongoing, is really all we need.

So with that in mind, Christmas was always a cold, joyless time.

In my dream, it was no different. Janice was there, as were my parents, Logan, Juliet, and myself. But instead of being in their house, it was held at my apartment. All of us were crammed in around my tiny kitchen table that Janice had decorated with fake snow. All of us were covered in it, white streaks down our faces. There was a Christmas tree in the corner but it was a palm tree, its fronds stretching out over the ceiling.

But even though the setting was different, everything else was the same.

My father, with his pinched nose and stern mouth, his grey suits and burgundy ties (always the same, my mother wouldn’t let him try another color), barely said two words, my mother dominating most of the conversation. Her face was doing that weird thing where sometimes she looked like Juliet and sometimes she looked like herself, always interchanging, but the conversation was word for word.

I know because I’ve never forgotten it.

Juliet asked for my father to pass her the bottle of red wine, wanting to top off her glass.

“No, darling,” my mother had said with that politician’s smile. “One glass is your limit these days.”

“Why?” I asked. Juliet loved wine.

Juliet and Logan exchanged a glance. My mother gave me a placating smile. “Because your sister is going to be married in the spring. As soon as it’s official, I expect they’ll be trying for a child. The last thing we want is a tainted child in this family. Juliet’s diet will be very strict. Mothers have to start months in advance to rid their bodies of all impurities.”

None of this was surprising to me. I had figured that they’d start having kids after getting married. Even so, there was something in my mother’s tone, some kind of pride that hinted that the conversation wasn’t over.

And it wasn’t.

“Oh,” I’d said and motioned for the bottle. If she wasn’t drinking it, I was going to.

As my father passed it over, my mother eyed it with disdain. “You know, Veronica,” my mother said, brushing back her blonde bangs from her face, “it would be nice if you followed in your sister’s footsteps. Found a man. Started getting things lined up. Your future. You’re not getting any younger. Your sister is already pressing her luck.”

The whole table went silent. What she said was never news to me. There’d always been talk about me trying to measure up to Juliet, to become just like her. But this was the first she’d mentioned it on such a personal level and in front of everyone, including Logan.

I busied myself with the wine while I thought of what to say. Something light to throw the whole conversation away. “Well, we can’t all be Juliet.” I even gave my sister a wink, to let her know I didn’t mean any harm by it.

And Juliet laughed. “No, you certainly can’t,” she said and she looked to my mother with a look of wry disbelief. “Mom, you know Veronica is going to end up one of those crazy cat ladies when she grows up. She has zero time for men.”

That startled me. “Cat lady? I don’t even like cats.”

“Oh relax,” Juliet said with a wicked laugh. “You’re always overreacting to everything I say. You should learn to take a joke. Maybe you won’t have a bunch of cats, but if you keep going at this rate, it’s just going to be you surrounded by plates of food. I’m all for taking your career seriously, but after a while you should probably start exploring your options.”