Christmas Eve

The Santa Train was only the beginning of the holiday season. While it felt like a major event at the time, it was really just a practice run. After all, the only people outside of our nuclear family who saw Allie in her holiday outfit were Santa, the Elf, and some strangers on a train. The big event is Christmas Eve.

This is the event we look forward to all year. Extended family comes together for our traditional Italian-American Feast of the Seven Fishes and a cutthroat game of gift-swapping Pollyanna. This tradition has been going on for as long as any of us can remember, well over 60 years. While numbers have fluctuated over the years, we usually have about 50-60 attend.

Normally something that I look forward to, I’m feeling nervous about this one. Allie has her holiday outfit on and seems a bit sheepish as we make our way to the event. My mind is churning through a variety of scenarios that we may or may not experience when we arrive. Allie looks adorable, that’s undeniable. But what she’s wearing is far from traditional, and I am not one to stray far from tradition and expectation. The closer we get, the more anxiety builds in my chest. In my heart, I know this is a safe place where we will be surrounded by family who love us. My mind is another story.

I know mom has already warned her sisters. It will help that they are prepared. I focus on that thought as we climb out of the car and grab gifts to bring in. Allie asks to be held, so I sling her on my hip and push open the front door.

We arrive a few minutes early, so there aren’t many people there yet. The aunts see us come in and hurry over to greet us. I’m relieved that the bandage has been ripped off and that they are making a fuss over how cute Maddie and Allie look. Allie is being shy, but is quickly coaxed away from me with promises of gifts and cookies. I breathe a sigh of relief and head over to the appetizer table to grab some zeppole. Jim heads to the bar to get me a glass of wine.

Appetizer time is when most of the socializing happens. We all wander around the house snacking, sipping, and chit-chatting about the events of the past year. The more family that arrives, the more on edge I feel. I try to think of a canned response to give when Allie is brought up. Turns out I need it before I’m halfway through my first glass of wine.

“I hardly recognized Allie! Where did she get that outfit?”

“Oh yeah, I let her pick out her outfit this year. I guess she wasn’t feeling the frilly stuff like Maddie. I just let her wear what she wanted, and that’s what she picked.”

This exchange happens about 3 or 4 times with various family members. When I give my canned response, I mostly get some nods with, “Oh, well, okay” in return. I smile and hope that I don’t look as uncomfortable as I feel.

Soon enough, it’s dinner time and we are directed toward our assigned seats. The kids are placed around a small table in the corner of the room and my seat is across the room. I sneak a glance toward their table to make sure they are doing okay. Allie has finally relaxed and is having fun with her cousins.

After dinner, the food is cleared and the tables are rearranged to set up for the Pollyanna. We check out the dessert table and take a seat on the couch until the game begins. The kids are running around, sneaking cookies, and ducking into a bedroom that doubles as their fort. I look around the room and see my great aunts looking at Allie and discussing something quietly. I take a sip of wine and look away. I’m probably overthinking things, but I can feel my face grow red from discomfort.

I hear my aunt announce from the other room, “Okay, everyone get a number! We are ready to begin.”

As always, the Pollyanna is a lot of fun. Everyone is so focused on keeping track of the gifts they want to steal that there’s no time for chit-chat. An hour goes by in the blink of an eye. On Mom’s turn, she steals a bottle of Fireball from one of the cousins. Since it’s the second steal, it is officially hers. She cracks it open and pours shots for whoever wants one. Laughter rings throughout the house as we play the game and enjoy each other’s goofiness.

When the game is over, the extended family starts leaving. We stay behind with the aunts and uncles to exchange gifts for the godparents and the kids. It’s all going well until it’s Allie’s turn to open her gifts. She opens box after box of gorgeous outfits and accessories. They are all gifts that her sister Maddie would love. Her face drops and she tries to be gracious. My stomach is in knots. I’m grateful for the thoughtful gifts and feel terrible that Allie doesn’t like them. I’m not sure why, but I’m more worried about hurting my aunts’ feelings than worrying about how Allie is feeling with receiving the gifts. I whisper to Allie that it’s going to be okay, that we will exchange the clothes for something she will like. Her face stays sullen.

“You won’t find any dresses in this box,” my aunt says as she hands Allie another gift.

Allie looks at her curiously and rips off the wrapping paper. Inside the box are boys clothes. Allie looks at her with the biggest smile in the world. I’m happy that Allie is happy, but I’m feeling conflicted. It feels like this holiday season is a crossroads for Allie, and we seem to be heading down the road less traveled.