Advent
24 December 2017
I wake up when Donald comes into my room with the phone in his hand. It's your mother, he says. She just wants to say Happy Christmas to you. Very quickly. I take the phone and press it against my ear and wait for a long time before she speaks. Donald stands there watching.
Listen, says Mum. Then she goes quiet again. I... I'm sorry about everything. I don't know. Wasn't thinking straight. Um.
I tell her it's okay. It feels weird. Not like normal. Normally when Mum calls she has so much to say. All these words tumbling out, getting on top of other words. This is like when Maisie puts me on the phone to her friends from the church so that they can wish me a happy birthday.
I ask her when I'll see her next. I'm not sure, she says. Probably a while. We will though. But... I just need to sort things out first. I tell her I don't want to go away with her again because it'll be just like before. She doesn't say anything. Eventually I tell her Happy Christmas and give the phone back to Donald.
After he's gone I lie down and pull the covers over me. I feel funny in my stomach. Queasy. I can't stop thinking of all the times I've been with Mum when she's been sick or stuck in bed or manic or scary. They're all I can think of. I can't think of a single time when she's been herself.
Eventually my stomach unclenches. I get out of bed and get the tie and the wooden spoon out of the bag and unroll the wrapping paper and wrap them up and write on the little paper tags. They come out messy, but it's fine. The wrapping paper's only there to be taken off.
Donald comes back up and sits on the end of my bed. He doesn't say anything. Just sits there. I sit on the bed too. Eventually he picks up the advent calendar off the shelf and says, Oh, hey, you haven't eaten all your chocolates. You're saving them up? Going to eat them all at once?
I haven't eaten the days I was with Mum yet. I was saving them, I think. Not so I could have them all at once. Just saving them. But I don't want them now. Not all of them. The chocolate tastes weird anyway. I tell Donald that I wanted to share them. We take turns peeling open the doors and eating the chocolates one by one. They're all different shapes. Santa. A sleigh. A snowflake. A hat. And on the inside of the doors are little sayings. The last chocolate I eat is from today. Christmas eve. On the back of the door are the words What are you wishing for now?
The End