Your mother called you three days before Christmas Eve to tell you not to come home.
Not because of snow.
Not because someone was sick.
Not because there was an emergency.
Because your pregnant sister “didn’t want drama.”
You were twenty-seven years old, living alone in a tiny apartment in Chicago, with your suitcase open on the bed and a half-wrapped stack of gifts beside it. You had already bought your train ticket to Milwaukee. You had picked out dinosaur pajamas for your nephews, a soft blue scarf for your mother, and an expensive bottle of whiskey for your father because you still believed, somehow, that effort could buy you a place at the table.
When your mom’s name lit up your phone, you answered with hope in your voice.
“Hi, Mom. I’m almost done packing.”
There was no warmth on the other end.
Just her dry, impatient voice.
“Mariana, it’s better if you don’t come this year. Valeria is emotional because of the pregnancy, and she doesn’t want drama.”
You froze with a sweater folded between your hands.
“Drama?” you asked. “Mom, I haven’t even spoken to Valeria in months.”
“Exactly,” she said. “And we’d like to keep it that way. You know how you get.”
“How I get?”
“You make things tense.”
Your fingers tightened around the sweater.
“The only thing I did last year was ask why she didn’t invite me to my nephew’s baptism.”
“And there it is,” your mother snapped. “Always making everything about you.”
You looked out the window at the Christmas lights glowing across the street. Every apartment seemed warm. Every window seemed to belong to someone who had somewhere to go.
“I already bought my ticket,” you whispered.
“Then change it,” she said. “Your sister needs peace.”
Then she hung up.
You called your father next, because some foolish part of you still believed he might choose you once.
“Dad,” you said when he answered, “did you know Mom told me not to come?”
Silence.
In the background, you heard the television.
“Your mother mentioned something.”
“Are you okay with it?”
More silence.
“Dad, am I really such a problem?”
He sighed.
That sigh hurt more than yelling would have.
