“He’s gone all week,” Kendall whispers so quietly it takes me a moment for her words to make sense.

My mom parks in the driveway, and my fist clenches around the handle of my purse. My eyes cloud with tears as I try to avert my attention from our house and Max’s and the memories that slip free from the jar I’ve only ever managed to have a weak seal on.

Kendall and Jameson had spent a weekend at the house in San Diego last Christmas for some time together, which after Max and I experienced the luxury, I was both envious and understanding of. Max and I had spent the weekend home with our families. My mom, Savannah, Mindi, Jenny, and all of my nieces spent most of our time in the kitchen, baking cookies for the entire neighborhood while Max and my dad adorned the outside of our houses and the Janes’ with miles of Christmas lights.

They came inside as we were finishing filling tins to be dispersed, both wearing a giant grin.

“We’re all done!” my dad announced proudly.

We stopped in the midst of the packaging and slid on shoes and coats, and followed them outside where dusk was settling in.

Lights have always been my favorite part of Christmas. The shimmer and glow they produce seems to always make everything brighter and prettier. Looking at the three houses made my face feel as bright as the lights before me. All of us girls cheered as my nieces ran around in circles, chasing each other and singing “Jingle Bells.”

“I think this might be my favorite part of Christmas too,” Max whispered, wrapping his arms around my shoulders and pulling my back against his chest.

Over the next week of winter break, it seemed every day my dad returned home with a new lawn ornament or light fixture to add.

This year, all three houses look naked in comparison. Mom has hung a wreath on our front door, but that’s the extent for the outside. The other two have a few more decorations, but nothing like last year.

“Ace!” I’ve never hated the sound of my own name more. “It’s nice to have you home! Let me get your bag!” Steven says, opening the back of my mom’s SUV.

As we climb the driveway, so do my nerves. Stepping inside of what’s been my home for the last twenty-one years of my life makes every muscle in my body constrict. So many things are the same, and yet nothing is the same.

Details are gone. Our house has always been really clean, but it now looks almost clinical, unlived in, cold. I force my lungs to release the breath I’ve been holding for too long and pat my thigh when Zeus doesn’t appear from the den.

“Zeus isn’t here.” My mom’s words make my head whip around, and my eyes to grow wide with accusation and pain.

“He’s okay!” Kendall cries instantly, catching my reaction. She takes a few steps closer to me and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “Zeus is okay,” she repeats.

“Where is he, then?”

“He lives with Max now, honey,” my mom assures me.

The fact bounces around in my head, threatening to crack my carefully constructed wall that’s falling too quickly. I avoid asking why Max and go straight to “Why?”

“Steven’s allergic.” I have to clench my teeth to not respond to this news because all of the words racing through my mind right now are hateful and mean, and I’m not sure if it will help or hinder me in rebuilding my defenses. My mother’s tense stance tells me she knows this is dangerous territory. Her words come much calmer than her reflective body language, ushering us to the kitchen.

Stiff conversation follows suit, making me grateful for my sisters, because they not only allow me to try to gather myself and my bearings, they also keep conversation pointed toward topics that keep our mother busy. Their familiar voices are a soft comfort as I work to focus my thoughts and energy, reminding myself I will only be here for three and a half more days.

The rest of my family arrives with the late afternoon. There’s an awkward trepidation surrounding each of them before they approach me, and although it makes me feel slightly guilty, I’m a little grateful for it as well. It allows me to soak into a familiar level of numbness that only seems to briefly break when Jameson arrives. His familiar smile falters when he sees me, but he replaces it quickly and pulls me into a hug.

Chicken pot pie is our family’s traditional Christmas Eve dinner, and although I was glad to not have a traditional meal on Thanksgiving with Fitz’s family, I’m even more glad to have the comforting aroma and taste of my mom’s chicken pot pie.

“Ace, do you want some more bread?” Savannah asks, lifting the bread basket and tilting it in my direction. I think I’ve already had this same question posed to me nine other times.

“I’m good thanks.”

“How about some more fried apples?” my mom asks, doing as Savannah had and reaching for the bowl in front of her.

I try to think of a polite way to tell them all to stop bothering me about eating when a glint catches my eye with my mom’s movement. My hand snatches hers and before I realize what I’m doing, I’m gripping her hand too tightly. Bile rises in my throat, forcing me to swallow painfully.

“We were going to tell you all tonight,” she begins. Her hand grows rigid and she attempts to slip her fingers from my hold. I squeeze tighter. “We wanted you to all find out together.”

“What in the hell is wrong with you?” I shout, dropping her hand and retracting mine because I don’t want to touch her. I don’t even want to look at her. I shove my chair back and stand up, not caring what the others are doing in reaction.

“Harper Jo, sit down,” my mom orders, her voice louder than I’ve heard it in years, possibly ever.

I keep walking.

Her quick footsteps follow me. I know that it’s her because of the sound of her heels. My mom has always worn shoes to dinner, and ninety percent of her shoe closet consists of high heels, and right now this fact annoys the hell out of me.

I turn to face her when I reach the kitchen. My mouth opens, preparing to let loose on the anger fueling me, but she beats me to it. “You get back in there this instant! You do not get to judge me, young lady. This is my house, and in my house you respect me. Now get back in there and eat something. You look horrible.” Her tone inflicts a pain that I want to return.

“It hasn’t even been a year!” The volume of my accusation hurts my own ears. “Did you ever even love him?”

Her face contorts, changing from shock to anger to something that looks nearly wicked. “That’s quite the question coming from you, when you packed your bags and left everyone without looking over your shoulder.”

“I hate you right now.” My voice comes out balanced and heat races through me. I was never the rebellious teenager. In all of my life, I never did scream these same words at my mom like I’d heard Mindi, Jenny, Kendall, and even Savannah do on different occasions. But right now, all I feel toward her is hatred that blinds me from any other emotion.

“I’m not so fond of you lately either, kiddo.”

“Then why in the hell did you make such a big deal about me coming home?”

“It was a mistake.” Her light blue eyes look glacial as she stares directly into mine without a hint of regret or remorse.

“I guess you can add it to your list, behind getting engaged within seven months of your husband dying.” My words are far quieter this time. I don’t have the energy to scream them at her like I want to. I use the small amount of what is left to turn before she can respond and head out to the backyard.

My pain feels like a living, breathing thing, consuming me inch by inch as her words play over in my head. My mom’s getting married. The heat that had filled me seconds ago fades, replaced by an icy chill. As I look into the pool that once only held fun and an escape, my body begins to sway. I want to escape again. I want to escape from everything.