she and Ben went out to get drinks. They laughed and had fun, and as they stopped for pizza on the way home from the bar, Isabel a began to think she was wrong to imagine that there was any trouble between them. Later that night, as Ben played with her hair in bed, she let out a happy sigh and he said, “My ex-girlfriend used to make me play with her hair before she fel asleep.” Isabel a pul ed away from him, but his fingers were tangled in her hair and he ended up pul ing out a few strands.
“What?” Ben asked.
“Nothing,” Isabel a said. How could she explain what he did to her? She let him lie there, holding the hair he’d torn out of her head, and think about it.
Christmas at the Mack house was loud and busy. Stuffed reindeer peeked out from the corners, and Scotch tape and snickerdoodles were everywhere. Al of the grown-ups played board games while the kids ran around upstairs. It was safer that way, Isabel a knew. Mack board-game nights weren’t for children.
The night before Christmas Eve, they played Scattegories, and things were already getting messy. Her brother John was mad because he’d brought Cranium to play but had been overruled. “I don’t think we should play anything that involves clay,” Brett said.
“Yeah,” Isabel a said. “It might get physical.”
There were twelve players, so it was impossible to tel if anyone was cheating. Isabel a’s partner, her sister- in-law Meg, chugged appletinis al night and taunted the other teams. “Whooo!” she kept squealing. “Wooohoo! We are going to kick your asses.” Then she held up her hand and made Isabel a give her a high five.
Isabel a’s mother had banned al premade pitchers of drinks after the pomegranate martini incident of Thanksgiving 1998, but someone must have forgotten. When Isabel a had walked into the kitchen that night, she’d seen a big pitcher of unnatural y green liquid. “Appletinis,” Meg had said brightly. “Do you want one?” It was the last complete sentence she said that night. Isabel a’s brother Joseph quietly ignored his appletini-loving wife, leaving Isabel a to high-five her alone.
Brett had barely spoken since he’d tried to submit “whore” in the category of “things that are sticky.” Isabel a’s mother had exclaimed, “Sweet Jesus” and closed her eyes in horror. Never mind that the letter for that round was
Mol y talked about Ben, and Isabel a regretted ever introducing him to her family. “He was so cute with the girls,” Mol y was saying. “Just real y adorable.”
Isabel a saw Caroline run by in a flash of blue, and soon al of the kids were rumbling downstairs from the playroom. Most of them were in costumes, and carrying plastic teacups for reasons they never explained. Scattegories was forgotten. Mol y suggested that al of the kids could sleep in Isabel a’s room, as a treat, but only if Isabel a agreed, of course.
“Can we, Auntie Iz?” they asked her. “Can we sleep in your room?”
Isabel a looked at Mol y, who didn’t look back. “Sure,” Isabel a said. “You can sleep in my room.”
Caroline cheered, then tripped herself on the long blue dress she was wearing and started crying. Isabel a picked her up and held her in her lap.
Caroline had always been her favorite. When she tried to whisper, she talked right into people’s mouths. Last Thanksgiving, when she’d dropped a drumstick on the floor, she’d said, “Fuck it.” And when Mol y had asked her where she’d learned that word, she shrugged and said, “Grandma Kathy.”
“Did you get me a present, Iz?” Caroline asked.
“Caroline, that’s rude,” Missy said. She patted Isabel a’s arm. “Auntie Iz doesn’t need to get us presents.” Missy, stil worried about Isabel a’s possible poverty, treated her like a homeless person that the family had taken in.
Mol y looked over at her girls, and her eyes narrowed at Caroline’s costume. “Is that my bridesmaid dress?” Mol y asked.
“No,” Isabel a said. “That’s my bridesmaid dress.”
Mol y rol ed her eyes up at the ceiling. “You know what I mean. Caroline, where did you get that?”
“In the dress-up chest,” Caroline said.
Mol y turned to Isabel a. “How did that get in there?”
“What else was I supposed to do with it?” Isabel a asked. “Goodwil wouldn’t take it.” Brett laughed from across the room and Mol y narrowed her eyes.
“They were very in at the time,” Mol y said. “You don’t remember, but those dresses were the thing to wear.”
“I’m sure they were,” Isabel a said. “That dress has been in the dress-up chest forever, by the way.” Caroline watched Isabel a and Mol y talk, turning her head as each one spoke.
Isabel a could tel that Mol y wanted to say more, but she turned away and took a sip of her wine. Isabel a took the kids upstairs to get them settled in her room, and she heard Mol y talking in the kitchen. “So, Missy thought that Izzy was poor,” she said. She laughed loudly. “I know! Do you believe it?”
There were so many bodies in Isabel a’s bed that she was afraid it would break. Little kid limbs were everywhere. Four of her nieces were shoved into the bed, and Isabel a kept waking up to feet and hands flying through the air. When she final y fel asleep, she woke up less than an hour later to screaming. Her nephew Connor had been locked in the closet. “You guys,” Isabel a said, but she couldn’t get enough energy to real y yel at them.
Her nephews were blobs of shadows on the floor, and after she rescued Connor, she told them al to be quiet and go to sleep.
In the morning, al of the kids were gone except for Caroline, who sat on the bed talking to her orange teddy
