But she did not join us.
Over the following week, little things happened.
A handmade ornament disappeared.
I found it in a storage box.
Renee said it must have fallen.
A framed Christmas photograph of Mom disappeared from the mantel.
Renee said she had moved it because the new garland looked crowded.
Dad put it back.
Renee did not argue.
Then she began talking about Christmas Eve dinner.
She wanted her church friends over.
Her sister.
Two coworkers.
Nearly twenty people.
Grandma Pearl asked:
“Is this Christmas or convention?”
Renee laughed.
“More people means more joy.”
Grandma replied:
“Depends on people.”
I tried not to laugh.
Renee did not.
Christmas week arrived.
Dad’s company had a major emergency project at a medical office complex.
A transformer had failed.
He worked late three nights in a row.
That left Renee in charge.
The first bad moment came Monday.
I was hanging a small wooden ornament Mom had made on the old tree.
Renee walked by carrying table linens.
“You're still adding things?”
“Yes.”
“It's getting crowded.”
“It always is.”
She looked at the tree.
“I don't understand why every single object has to go up.”
“Because that's how Mom did it.”
There.
I saw the reaction.
Fast.
A tightening near her mouth.
Then gone.
“Right.”
She walked away.
Tuesday, she asked whether I could move the old tree into the basement before her church group arrived.
“No.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“I don't want to.”
“Amara.”
“Dad said we could have both.”
“Yes.”
“But this tree does not match the rest of room.”
“It’s Christmas.”
She smiled in that careful way adults smile when they are trying not to show anger to a child.
“Sometimes compromise matters.”
“We already compromised.”
I pointed toward her tree.
“You have one.”
Her eyes sharpened.
Then Malik came downstairs.
The conversation ended.
Wednesday, Grandma Pearl called.
“Your father says you're coming Saturday.”
“Yes.”
“Bring your overnight bag.”
“Why?”
“Because I intend to feed you until January.”
I laughed.
Then told her about the tree.
Not as complaint.
Just conversation.
Grandma became quiet.
“She wants you to move Camille’s ornaments?”
“The tree.”
“Same thing.”
“Not really.”