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Greta froze, as the wrench clattered against the metal frame and fell to the kitchen floor.
Fuck shit, fuckety shit shit.
Goddamn it!
DIY was not Greta’s thing, it was Carson’s. At a time that wasn’t 1am on Christmas morning, with Carson and Chelsea fast asleep in the next rooms, Greta would have been teasing Carson, giggling together as Carson methodically fixed whatever it was in front of her.
“How could you not have known, Carse? You’re so gay!”
But tonight, the only way this was going to happen was by herself. Greta would rather die than wake Carson for help.
Christmas was Carson’s thing, too. Carson and Chelsea’s.
Greta hated Christmas — Chelsea’s excitement was always too big a reminder of what Greta had never had, and everything Chelsea had lost. She tried, truly. Chelsea would never have known, but Carson was the one who made it special.
Every year, the festival of Christmas started the week after Thanksgiving. Elaborate decorations were put up, Christmas pop albums were played, and even Greta started smiling at Carson’s joy. Chelsea delighted in all of it; the treasure hunts, the gingerbread house decorating, the batches and batches of Christmas cookies.
But this year had been… different.
Not good.
Very bad, actually.
Chelsea had been in a funk, completely refusing to engage. She seemed angry, almost. Like Christmas was betraying her somehow. Carson tried everything. Chatting, discussing, wheedling, bribing.
Nothing.
Greta and Carson had many late night discussions about what was different this year, why her favorite activities no longer seemed to hold any joy. Greta put it down to Chelsea realizing her family was different to everyone else’s, as it had come up in a few awkward discussions. “Why don’t I have a mom and dad?” was a particularly hard conversation to have with an eight year old; thank god for expensive therapists.
Carson wasn’t so sure that was the answer, and got more and more despondent as Chelsea pulled away. The harder Chelsea fought, the harder Carson tried to capture her heart back. Anyone with any experience with kids knows they can smell desperation on you, it never ever works. Greta had found Carson crying a few times this month, as she fought to make Chelsea happy.
It had only been last week when, at a family-friendly Christmas party at Carson’s school, they’d found out what had changed for Chelsea.
Jess had marched over, literally dragging their nephew by the ear, forcing him to apologize for telling Chelsea that Santa wasn’t real at Thanksgiving. The little shit didn’t seem all that sorry, but the timing matched.
At home that evening, Carson ever so gently brought it up with Chelsea. They’d expected a sad child, distraught over the magic of Santa being broken. The answer that had burst out had literally taken Greta’s breath away.
“You LIED to me!! It’s bad to lie, you told me lying means we don’t trust each other and YOU. BOTH. LIED!!”
Carson held a crying Chelsea as she wore herself out to sleep, but neither had any defence. She was right. They’d done it because everyone did it. Because that joy was beautiful. Because someone had done it for them. But was it worth the broken trust, for a kid that despite being surrounded by all the love, had still lost so much?
Carson had withdrawn that day. Greta knew her love never wavered, but her confidence was lost.
And that was why Greta was trying to pull off the impossible, and was secretly trying to put together the bicycle of Chelsea’s dreams. Pink frame, yellow wheels, green handlebars, blue streamers, purple training wheels.
A monstrosity.
But an eight year old’s dream.
Lu had helped Greta source all the parts, as no maker would ever put together that cacophony of color. And Lu had promised, promised, that their instructions were easy to follow.
Greta was tempted to send a very frustrated voice note to Lu, unable to put this shit of a bicycle together, then wake Carson up for help. The instructions were impossible.
No. She needed to make them both happy, and the way to make Carson happy is to make Chelsea happy with a surprise they’d apparently said no to this year.
To bring the magic back.
Fuck!
—————
Carson’s only rule on Christmas morning was that presents couldn’t be opened without the whole family present. Chelsea normally couldn’t control her excitement, so Greta and Carson usually braced themselves for a 5am wake up.
Carson woke up at 4, sad that she wouldn’t be getting that wake up this year. By trying to give Chelsea the happiness of Christmas that she herself loved so much, she’d ruined it in the process.
Carson felt so inept. She knew Chelsea needed stability, she knew that Chelsea had trust and abandonment issues that even Chelsea didn’t understand, didn’t know existed. They’d spent so long trying to find a child therapist suitable for Chelsea, to help her work through issues stemming from a time she didn’t even remember.
And Carson had knowingly broken that.
Greta too, but Christmas was Carson’s thing. She needed to fix this, to show Chelsea that they were trustworthy.
Not long after, there was a sheepish Chelsea standing at the bedroom door. Apparently being lied to wasn’t enough to halt the pull of presents for an eight year old. Carson smiled, relieved, and opened up the covers so Chelsea could slip in for a snuggle as they waited for Greta to wake up. Whispering quietly, Carson felt her heart settle. “I love you, Chels.”
Silence.
“I love you too, Carse.”
It was going to be okay.
Once Greta was awake, Carson made tea then called the others to come to the Christmas tree.
“Greta!!” she whispered, urgently. “I thought we said not yet!”
“We did.” Greta murmured back. “But she needed the magic of a surprise of something she just wants, just because she does.”
Carson smiled, knowing what Greta was doing.
“Thank you, love.”
“Always.”
Chelsea’s squeals started as she spotted the bike, beyond excited that her biggest wish had been fulfilled.
The rest of the modest pile of presents were opened, wrapping paper strewn all over the floor. There was a final envelope under the tree, which Carson handed to Chelsea. Inside it a letter, not long.
Chelsea opened it, and started sounding out the letters, sitting in Carson’s lap.
As she did, Carson looked at Greta, seeing the tears form in her eyes. Reaching out her hand to Greta, she squeezed it and took over for Chelsea.
“… we love you so much, Moo.
We promise to always tell you the truth, even when it’s hard. We can’t promise not to have some things that are secrets, as sometimes adults need to. But we will always tell you the truth.”
Chelsea looked at them both, wisdom far beyond her eight years in her eyes.
“Ok,” she said, decisively.
“Ok?” Greta asked.
“Ok.”
“Merry Christmas, Moo,” Carson whispered, hugging her two favorite people tight.