I regard him quizzically. “Now what’sthatlook for?”
He just pouts his bottom lip and shakes hishead. “What look?”
“Uncle John-” I raise my eyebrows like I knowhe’s playing me.
“Good Bye, Alana,” he responds lightheartedlyand heads for the door.
“Bye Uncle John.”
“Oh, by the way,” he taps on the door frame.“The job will be waiting for you when you get back,” he says, thendisappears.
I smile. Christmas just came two days earlythis year.
“I feel terrible leaving you,” I tell Ryan asI slip on my jacket.
“It’s only for a few hours, and then you’llbe back in my clutches,” he grabs my hips, digging his fingertipsinto my waist.
“If it were up to me, I’d let you hold me forransom.”
“Hey, your father is rich enough, he couldpay,” Ryan jokes.
Every year my family has Christmas dinner atthe Waldorf Astoria. My uncle and his partners rent out a smallballroom for the entire firm and their families. It’s been atradition for as long as I can remember. Some of my fondestchildhood memories are of Emily and I all dolled up in beautifulChristmas dresses, running around an extravagant ballroom decoratedwith twinkling lights, elegant trees and lavishly wrapped presents.They’re also the nights I remember my mom most vividly. She was sostriking, big blue eyes and long blonde hair just like mine. Andwhen she smiled it felt like an embrace; the love just wrappedaround you.
“Hey?” Ryan rubs my cheek, “Where’d yougo?”
I look up at him, I didn’t even realize I wasdaydreaming. “I was just thinking about my mom.”
“You miss her?”
“Tonight I do.”
“I know how you feel.”
“Then why don’t you go see your mother Ryan?It is Christmas after all.”
Ryan shakes his head, “I’ll call her, I’dmuch rather be alone with your pathetic excuse for a Christmastree.”
“Can you stop hating on the tree?”
“I can’t, it looks like the Grinch stoleChristmas in here.”
I roll my eyes, “What can I say? I’m noMartha Stewart.”
“Clearly not,” he gives me a quick peck onthe mouth and then off I go.
I hop in the cab and stare out the window asit heads toward the Waldorf. I’m dressed in a long, dark blue,formal party dress, with a five point criss-cross back. It’selegant with just a hint of flash. My hair is down and wavy and mymakeup is only slightly dramatic; too over the top and my fatherwill be displeased. And nobody wants that, especially me. I thinkabout Ryan as the lights on the crosswalks flash and people walkby. He’s only seen his mother a handful of times over the last fewyears. Her birthday, a holiday here and there, but for the mostpart he avoids her. He still holds so much resentment. I know whatshe did was wrong, begging him to take Sean’s place, but he has theone thing I would give almost anything for; a mother who’s living,breathing, flesh and blood.
I finally encouraged him to go see herbreaking the -by that time- ten month strike. It wasn’t easy forhim and he came home a mess, but at least it opened up a small lineof communication for them.
I live in the city and I’m the last one of myfamily to arrive, go figure. My uncle John and aunt Caroline,Emily, Alex and my father are all seated around a gorgeously settable in the middle of a small ballroom. Wait staff with whitegloves and silver trays are floating around the room serving horsd'oeuvres and pouring drinks, while Mariah Carey’sAll I Wantfor Christmasplays in the background.
I sit down to four warm smiles and onebrooding face.
“Nice of you to join us, Alana,” my fathersays coolly.
“There was traffic, I’ll leave earlier nexttime,” I say apologetically.
My uncle shoots me a clandestine look, nodoubt thinking that I won’t be seeing my father next Christmas, orany other Christmas, after he finds out I ran off to Vegas with amale stripper.