Chapter 3 - The Gathering at Boxing Day
The morning of December twenty-sixth arrived with a heavy, grey frost that coated the pine trees along the highway. The sky looked like bruised tin, heavy with the threat of snow.
In our house, nobody spoke about the candle. Nobody spoke about the tag.
Zaya came down the stairs wearing a simple green sweater and dark jeans. She had her small red box tucked inside her velvet purse, the long strap slung diagonally across her chest like a shield. She ate her pancakes in quiet, neat bites, her eyes darting between Travis and me.
"Are we still going to Grandma's?" she asked softly, setting her fork down.
I looked at Travis. I wanted him to say no. I wanted him to tell her we were staying home, where it was warm, where nobody would make her feel like a charity case sitting on an ordinary white plate.
"Only if you want to go, Zaya," Travis said, leaning down beside her chair. "If you want to stay home, we stay home. Nobody forces you into that house."
Zaya reached into her purse, her tiny fingers brushing against the red cardboard of the box. She looked at Travis with a solemnity that made my throat tight. "I want to go. I have to give Grandma her present."
The drive back to Lorraine's house felt twice as long as it had the night before.
When we pulled up to the curb, the driveway was already packed with cars. My brother-in-law's truck was there, alongside two luxury SUVs belonging to the extended Miller family. Lorraine's house looked like a postcard—smoke curling from the brick chimney, holiday wreaths hanging from every window, silver reindeer standing guard on the front lawn.
Inside, the house smelled of roasted pork, cloves, and expensive perfume. The living room was a sea of family members. Cousins were sitting on the plush carpet playing with their new electronics, while the adults stood near the fireplace holding crystal glasses of wine.
Lorraine was in her element. She wore a tailored burgundy sweater set and a triple strand of pearls, her silver hair styled to perfection.
When we walked through the door, the room fell into a subtle, uncomfortable hush. The adults knew what had happened the night before. They had seen the candle. They had seen the tag. But in the Miller family, polite silence was the currency used to buy peace.
"Travis! Sarah!" Lorraine called out, her voice bright, practiced, and dripping with performative warmth. "Come in, come in! Put your coats in the hall."
She didn't look at Zaya right away. When her eyes finally drifted down to my daughter, her smile didn't reach her eyes.
"Hello, Zaya," Lorraine said smoothly, giving her a brief, two-second pat on the shoulder. "Go join Maddie and Jonah in the den. They're watching a movie."
Zaya didn't move toward the den. She stood right beside Travis, her hand wrapped tightly around his thumb.
"She'll stay with us, Mom," Travis said, his tone entirely void of emotion.
Lorraine's eyes flashed with a sudden, sharp annoyance, but she quickly smoothed it over with a light laugh. "Suit yourself! Dinner will be served in twenty minutes. I've set the big table for the adults and the older grandchildren."
I walked toward the dining room to drop off a dish I had brought. As I passed the long mahogany dining table, I checked the place cards.
Maddie was seated at the head of the table, next to Lorraine.
Jonah was seated next to his father.
There were eight places set with crystal stemware and gold-rimmed china.
At the very end of the table, squeezed onto a small folding stool right beside the kitchen swinging door, sat a ninth place setting.
It was an ordinary paper plate. Beside it sat a plastic cup.
My blood ran hot and bitter. It wasn't an oversight. It was a deliberate, calculated statement. Lorraine was letting us know that no matter what happened, Zaya would always sit at the edge of her table, eating off paper while the rest of the family ate off gold.
I turned around, intending to call Travis over, but he was already standing in the doorway. He had seen the paper plate.
He didn't yell. He didn't smash the plate. He simply walked over to the main table, picked up Maddie's gold-rimmed place card, moved it down two seats, and placed Zaya's name—written on a piece of clean paper he pulled from his wallet—right in the center of the table, between his own seat and his brother's.
He threw the paper plate straight into the trash can by the kitchen sink.
Lorraine walked into the kitchen just as the plastic bin lid snapped shut. She froze, her eyes darting from the trash can to the newly arranged dining table.
May you like
"Travis," she said, her voice dropping into that icy, dangerous register that used to make the whole family fall in line. "What do you think you're doing?"
"I'm setting the table for my daughter, Mom," Travis said, looking her straight in the eye. "Is there a problem with that?"
