Chapter 2 - The Flying Monkeys
By eight o’clock that evening, the illusion of quiet was thoroughly shattered.
Lily was asleep in her crib down the hall, having eaten a full bowl of oatmeal and sweet potato puree before drifting off without a single fuss. Evan had opened a bottle of cabernet, and the fireplace was crackling. I finally turned my phone back on, bracing myself for the impact.
The screen lit up with twenty-seven missed calls and fifty-four text messages.
There was a separate family group chat labeled *Holiday Logistics* that had erupted into a battleground while we were driving home.
*Mark (3:45 PM): Claire, are you home? Just want to make sure you guys made it safe. For what it’s worth, Jenna and I think Mom was way out of line.*
*Mom (4:12 PM): I cannot believe my own daughter would create such a spectacle on Christmas Day. Over a simple expression of motherly concern! A grandmother has a right to worry about her flesh and blood!*
*Aunt Denise (4:30 PM): Carol, you crossed a line. It wasn't the time or the place.*
*Mom (4:35 PM): Oh, so now I’m the villain because Claire has post-partum paranoia? Everything I do is scrutinized! I slaved over that turkey for three days! Arthur has a migraine from the screaming!*
*Dad (4:55 PM): Claire, answer your phone. You need to apologize to your mother so we can salvage dinner.*
I stared at my father’s message. *You need to apologize.*
It was the golden rule of the Hastings household: it didn't matter who lit the fire, but it was always Claire’s job to apologize for the smoke. For as long as I could remember, Arthur Hastings had operated as Carol’s personal diplomat, cleanup crew, and shield. Whenever Carol exploded or dropped one of her calculated, cruel assessments, Dad would shuffle behind her, begging everyone to “just keep the peace” because “you know how your mother gets when she’s stressed.”
Evan leaned against the kitchen island, a glass of wine in his hand, reading over my shoulder. “Look at that,” he said, tapping the screen. “Classic DARVO. Deny, Attack, and Reverse Victim and Offender. She insulted your preemie, and now she’s a martyr dying on a hill of green bean casserole.”
“My dad wants me to apologize,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. “He actually typed those words.”
“Don't you dare,” Evan said, his tone leveling out into something absolute. “If you text him back, you give them an inch. They don’t get an inch anymore.”
Before I could reply, my phone vibrated in my palm. The screen showed an incoming FaceTime call from Jenna, my brother’s wife.
I tapped accept.
Jenna’s face appeared immediately. She was sitting in her parked minivan, clearly seeking refuge from the chaos inside Carol’s house. Her dark hair was pulled into a messy knot, and she was wearing a thick winter coat.
“Tell me you’re home and drinking,” Jenna said without preamble.
“Both,” I said, letting out a breath. “Where are you?”
“Down the block from your mother’s house. Mark took the kids to the playground just to get them out of that toxic radiation zone. Claire, I am so damn proud of you.”
I blinked, taken aback. “You are?”
“Are you kidding me?” Jenna shifted in her seat, her eyes wide with lingering adrenaline. “I have spent six years watching that woman dictate every breath this family takes. When she said that about Lily’s head, my stomach turned. Mark was kicking my ankle under the table trying to keep me from lunging across the rug. And then you just... you took Lily, you gathered your things, and you left. It was magnificent.”
“She called me dramatic,” I whispered.
“She’s terrified,” Jenna scoffed. “She’s terrified because her favorite punching bag just grew teeth. The minute you walked out that door, she tried to laugh it off, but nobody joined in. Denise literally set her plate down and said she had an upset stomach. Mark wouldn't look at her. That’s why she’s losing her mind right now. You broke the script.”
“My dad told me I need to apologize to her.”
Jenna snorted, a sharp, angry sound. “Arthur is an accomplice, Claire. I love the man, but he’s an enabler of the highest order. He doesn't want you to apologize because you’re wrong; he wants you to apologize so Carol will stop screaming at him. Don’t do it. If you back down now, she will spend the next eighteen years telling Lily she’s too short, too quiet, or too fat.”
That hit me like cold water.
I looked through the open doorway toward the hall leading to Lily’s nursery. Jenna was right. If I caved, I wasn’t just sacrificing my own dignity; I was throwing Lily into the gears of the very machine that had crushed me for thirty years.
“I’m not backing down,” I said.
“Good,” Jenna said, smiling fiercely. “Oh, and one more thing. Check your private messages. Nana Ruth wanted me to tell you that she took a taxi home early.”
“Nana left?”
“She told Carol to her face that she had the manners of a stray dog and walked out into the snow,” Jenna said with undisguised glee. “Check your texts. I have to go rescue Mark before the kids freeze. Call me tomorrow.”
The screen went dark.
I tapped over to my direct messages. Sure enough, there was a message from my eighty-one-year-old grandmother, sent an hour ago.
*Nana Ruth: Claire, darling. You were the only sane person in that house today. Lily is perfection. Do not let that mother of yours rewrite this. Come see me on Tuesday for tea. Just you and the baby.*
I showed the screen to Evan. For the first time all day, a genuine smile touched my face.
“See?” Evan bumped his shoulder against mine. “The cavalry is on your side.”
“Not all of them,” I murmured, looking back at the missed calls from my father.
Suddenly, the screen changed again. A new text popped up, not in the group chat, but from an unknown number.
*I know you think you’ve won something today, Claire. But family does not abandon family on Christmas. You are breaking your father’s heart, and if anything happens to his blood pressure tonight, that is on your hands. We will be coming over tomorrow morning to clear the air. Be ready.*
It was Carol, using my father’s backup iPad number.
Evan read it, took the phone from my hand, and hit block.
May you like
“She thinks this is a negotiation,” Evan said coldly. “Let her show up. She’s going to find out what a closed door feels like.”
***
