Chapter 1: You've Got a Bit Chubby, Haven't You?
People oftentimes regarded Grandpa Harold as punctual.
Therefore, when my mother called to let me know he had passed away two nights ago, I could not help but think he’s done it on purpose. The old Grinch had passed precisely when he meant to.
Grandpa Harold was a 95-year-old man who had quietly died in his sleep during a mildly warm December night. Grandma Ruth was by his side. A woman who had not assumed she would literally spend the entirety of her life there.
My father reacted to his own father’s passing in a quite expected manner – he asked how much the entire funeral ordeal would cost him. My mother proceeded to shame him for his lack of empathy and cried for two hours over how much she would miss Grandpa Harold.
She hated his guts up until the moment he died.
My perfect sister Rebecca, with her keen ability to predict awful tragedy, showed up at the doorstep first thing in the morning after Grandpa’s passing. Her children were there, too.
To look at the corpse and ponder mortality, I suppose?
My estranged brother Adam failed to answer the phone call.
And I found out about all of this over the Skype video call with my mother, before she promptly shamed me for never being around.
So, as any well-raised, overly agreeable young woman would do, I booked a flight all the way from Svalbard, which was the northernmost shithole of the world, to be with my family during these difficult times.
We weren’t exactly what those self-help, fantasy books called a functional family.
If functional families were a brand-new car, we were a beat-down, 20-year-old model with a broken radio and air-conditioning that smelled like trash. But what were you going to do? Sell it?
After all, it was still good enough to drive.
As I exited the cab in front of my family home, I couldn’t help but wish this would all go smoothly so I could return to my research on Svalbard, where, if nothing else, actually snowed.
I let out a loud sigh as I looked over the two-story house with stone lions waiting at the entrance of the yard and a brown, tiled path that led to the front door. The facade was peach-coloured and maintained.
The entire place was completely covered in Christmas decorations, including Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer on the roof, moving an inch every hour until it would eventually slide to its death.
There was nothing extravagant or special about the house, not even the excessive, kitsch decorations. On the contrary, it resembled all other houses in the neighbourhood.
“Roberta?” A deep male voice reached me just as I was about to open the metal gates.
I turned around to face a tall man with dimples in his cheeks and a nose slightly red due to the cold. His grey hat covered his brown locks.
Will Davis from high school.
He had round, warm, brown eyes and plump, cracked lips. There was no denying he was handsome. He was one of those men that actually peaked after high school. An aura of warmth and positivity lingered around him. I looked over his coat and realised I was used to Svalbard’s winters. The weather here felt like spring to me.
“Will?” I said, feeling like I missed out on something, “What are you doing here?”
Will took off his gloves and offered a hand, “I spent the last few months talking to your grandfather about his life, gathering information. Oh, this sounded creepy.” A nervous chuckle. “I’m a historian now, I’m writing a book about this town.”
“Oh.” I took his hand. “I hope the old man didn’t die on you before you managed to finish.”
Will seemed slightly confused at first.
He rubbed the back of his neck and let out a short laugh, showing his straight white teeth, “Uh, no, no. I’ve got everything I need. I’m just here to pay my respects.”
“Huh,” My expression remained deadpan, “Someone who’s not here out of obligation.”
Will did not know how to answer. He chuckled nervously and averted his gaze.
I didn’t blame him. My sense of humour wasn’t exactly heartfelt and warm. I wasn’t a very charming person. If one were to ask my mother, she’d say my scientific skepticism got the best of me.
“Uh,” Will chuckled again, “I’ll let you go in first since you’ve just returned.”
“No worries.” I pushed the metal gates open and stepped onto the tiled pathway.
It’s been almost a year since I’ve been home. Last Christmas was a disaster. During spring and summer, I researched the arctic wasteland of Svalbard, surrounded by my favourite creatures – marine animals and scientists too socially awkward to interact with me.
Somehow, I’ve managed to extend my stay by lecturing biology at the University Centre in Svalbard, a job that has been rudely interrupted by my Grandpa’s passing.
And now I was here, the place I least wished to visit, hoping I would be able to return to Svalbard before Christmas.
Will and I walked to the door and I rang the bell like a stranger.
The door opened immediately, revealing my mother on the other side with a permafrost overly-polite smile on her red lip and a warm glint in her deep, brown eyes. She was a short, round woman who constantly wore matching pencil-skirts and blazers, this time pink.
Pink. She was wearing pink.
Her dyed blonde perm was fresh – I supposed she found enough time to do her hair amidst chaos and grief.
“Roberta!” She squealed. “Ah, it’s been so long, years, years! I never see you, you never come to visit your old mother. Ah, what a shame, a shame! Come in, come in.”
I suppressed the eye roll and walked in the warm, cookie-smelling hallway, “Hi, mom.”
“And who is this young man?” Her eyes widened as she looked over the lanky man behind me. “Is he your boyfriend? Oh, please, tell me you’ve finally found a man.”
Will jumped in, saving me, “Hi, Mrs. Rogers, I’m Will, the historian your father-in-law has been talking to for the last few months. I just came to pay my respects, I hope I’m not intruding.”
“Not at all, not at all.” My mother grinned from ear to ear. “Have you met Roberta? She’s a lovely woman, not at first, but most definitely once you get to know her. You should give him your number, Robbie-”
“Mother.” I warned through my teeth while I took off my coat.
I glanced at the mirror while my mom chatted with Will. My tired, brown hair and my dull eyes stared back at me, proving that I looked exactly how I felt. Despite being only twenty eight, the trip to my hometown aged me up to at least thirty five. I sighed, unable to even look at my boring grey sweater and my jeans.
“Will, please, join us at the table. We were just reminiscing. Grandpa Harold was a lovely man, he will be greatly missed.” My mother murmured.
“I heard you say once that the only reason he’s still alive is because Satan doesn’t want to pay for his housing.” I noted.
“Roberta! Shame on you!” My mother’s eyes widened. “I have never said such an awful thing.”
“Right.” I mumbled as we headed for the living room.
Christmas decorations assaulted my eyes the moment I walked in. Everything was Christmassy here. The stockings above the lit chimney, fake presents under a fake Christmas tree, the smell of cookies in the air.
Grandma Ruth slept on the sofa and my mother quite violently shook her awake. She was a frail tiny old woman with grey hair and a mean pout on her pale lip. Her once blue eyes were now dim and tired. The large black jumper ate her tiny figure up.
“Grandma Ruth!” My mother shouted. “Look who’s here, your granddaughter.”
“I saw the one with the children yesterday.” Grandma Ruth said.
“No, no, the other one.” Mom let out an awkward chuckle. “The one who went to the north to play with the polar bears.”
I sighed and looked at Will, who offered a sympathetic smile.
“Ah,” Grandma let out apathetically, “The other one.”
“Hi, Grandma.” I waved, feeling totally out of place. “It’s me, Roberta.”
She was already dozing off again.
“It’s so good to see you, Robbie.” My mother looked over me with only a slightly judgemental look in her eyes. “You’ve got a bit chubby, haven’t you? Have you been eating nothing but fast food? Look at your thighs, young lady! If you want to find a good man, you will have to get back in shape.”
“Mother, please.” I sighed. “I’m happy the way I am.”
“Of course, of course.” Mom nodded. “But just imagine how happy you’d be if you had a few babies. Children are a miracle, Robbie. And nothing makes a woman happier than when she becomes a mother-”
“Where’s dad?” I cut her off, not in the mood to discuss this in front of a stranger.
“Oh, he’s in the garage, drinking beer and neglecting me.” Mother hissed and walked through the kitchen door, disappearing out of sight.
I turned to Will, “I’m sorry about this.”
He simply grinned, “That’s alright. You only have one family, right?”
“Precisely.” I smiled, finding myself fixing my awful, cold-stricken hair.
“Roberta.” A strong male voice reached from the door. “It’s good to see you.”
My father was a rough man, without an ounce of sophistication or elegance. His demeanour screamed ‘order, dominance and crying is for women and children.’ His brown mustache shivered as he blew his annoyance through the nose. I assumed he was once an attractive man, but time had taken its toll, taking the hair off his head and planting it on his back.
“Hi, dad.” I approached, smiling.
He offered me a hand.
“And who is this?” His mildly disappointed glance travelled towards Will.
“Hello Mr. Rogers.” Will came closer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m the historian your father has been talking to a couple of months before he passed away.”
“A historian.” My father murmured, unimpressed. “Another waste of a man.”
“Dad!”
Will chuckled, “Uh...”
“Don’t mind him.” I sighed.
“Roberta, you will be staying here, won’t you?” My mother ignored dad. “The guest room is ready.”
“Actually, I thought I might stay in a hotel-”
“Nonsense!” Mother exclaimed. “We will all be staying in this house until New Year’s, that’s what your grandfather had wished.”
Alarms went off in my head.
“New Year’s?” My eyes widened. “But Grandpa’s funeral is in two days! Mom, I have to get back to my research-”
Mother’s eyes narrowed and filled with cold warning, “Roberta. You will be staying here until New Year’s and that is final.”
This woman had an unnerving ability to make me feel like I was once again a four-year-old.
“Mom, my work is very important and-”
“No.”
“But-”
“Arnold?”
“You’ve heard your mother, Roberta.” My dad mumbled. “I do not like it any more than you do, but the entire family is to stay here until New Year’s.”
“But why?” And with the whining, I felt like a teenager.
Grandma Ruth opened her eyes, “It was your grandfather’s last wish, for his family to spend these holidays together.”
“Rebecca and her wonderful little nuggets will come tomorrow.” My mom smiled. “You’ll have time to bond with your sister. And Adam is coming, too.”
“I thought you said Adam didn’t answer your call.” I remembered.
“I sent him an email.” My mother shrugged. “Told him I have ovarian cancer.”
“Mother!”
“Your grandfather’s final wish!” Grandma Ruth raised her finger. “Now, eat your cookies, child.”
My mother scurried back to the kitchen to bring fresh-baked cookies and my father disappeared back into the garage.
I grunted and leaned against the wall, my head beginning to pound after merely ten minutes in this house.
It seemed that, just as I suspected, Grandpa Harold had died precisely when he meant to, just in time to ruin everyone’s Christmas.
