The cold felt like pins stabbing into my skin. At first it stung, and then everything went numb.
Through the frosted pane, the living room glowed with soft, warm light. My mom was serving pie to my cousin. Her
movements were gentle, her face lit with a smile.
My uncle raised his glass and made a toast. Everyone laughed. My mom laughed too, looking younger than I’d seen her in
years.
They all looked so happy.
Time dragged. The holiday specials on TV cycled, one after another.
My mom got up and brought out a plate of fruit from the kitchen. When she walked past the balcony, her eyes met
mine for a beat.
Her expression was blank, emptied out. Then she smiled and set the fruit down on the coffee table.
“Everyone, save room for dessert. It’s pecan.”
I started shaking. My teeth chattered.
I was so cold I started to feel warm anyway. The warmth seemed to rise from somewhere deep inside me.
A memory surfaced. It was Christmas Eve, and I was five. Back when my dad was still alive.
I’d knocked over the hot cocoa my mom had just poured. It burned my hand and I started crying.
My mom raised her hand, but my dad scooped me up and pulled me against his chest. “It’s Christmas Eve. She didn’t
mean to. Don’t scare her.”
He carried me to the sink and held my hand under cold water. Then he blew on it softly.
“Don’t cry, Florence. Daddy’s got you.”
His hand was so big and warm. It wrapped all the way around mine.
That was the last time anyone protected me like that. Then my dad got sick. And then he died
My mom held me while she cried. She said it was just the two of us now We had to be strong and show them so people would take us seriously.
I wrapped my arms around her neck and promised myself I’d be good. I’d make her proud
When did it change? When did being good enough turn into perfect? When did making her proud mean letting her use
me?
In seventh grade, the girl who sat next to me accused me of stealing her pen. My mom marched into the classroom and forced me to apologize in front of everyone, even though she knew I didn’t do it.
Chapter 4.
Senior year. I had a high fever and went to class anyway. I fainted at my desk.
They took me to the hospital. When I woke up and saw her sitting there, I thought she’d be worried about me.
Instead she said. “Do you know how many people were watching? You couldn’t just tough it out? You’re too fragile. How are you going to handle real life?”
Every time, she said it was for my own good, for our own good.
And every time, I believed her. I thought if I just tried hard enough, she’d finally see me. She’d be proud of me. She’d be like other moms and tell me I was doing fine.
Now I understood, she never would. She didn’t love me. She didn’t care.
That was okay. I wasn’t cold anymore. Nothing hurt. I couldn’t feel a thing.
Church bells rang in the distance. The TV host’s voice came through the glass, muffled and far away.
“It’s officially midnight!”
“Merry Christmas!”
Everyone in the living room stood up. They turned to the TV and started counting.
My mom stood too, grinning.
My cousin jumped up and down. The relatives raised their glasses.
“Merry Christmas!”
My vision blurred. Everything went white and started to spin.
To family!”
I heard cheers and clinking glasses. Laughter.
Sparklers flared outside. Light flashed through the glass and lit up my face.
My eyes closed. I felt myself tip forward. My forehead touched the cold glass.
It made a soft thunk.
The balcony door flew open. My cousin stood there holding a firecracker, grinning
“Florence, your mom said to warm you up. Watch this!
But he froze. His face went white. Fle pointed at me and started screaming
“Florence… Florence isn’t moving she looks like… she looks dead!”
