Page 56 of Ladybirds

When she pulls in, there are no Christmas lights on the house, but she can see a tree through the front window. Sara can’t remember the last time he brought a tree into the house, let alone decorated one, but the sight of it in the corner of the living room offers a thread of much needed hope. She grasps it, willing it to be a sign that the holiday with her father will offer more joy than heartache.

Even if things go badly, she tries to console herself with the fact that it’s only two days—one night. She’ll be back in her own home before Christmas Day is fully over. And, should things get too heated, there’s nothing but her own stubbornness keeping her from taking her car and leaving.

Seth, unfortunately, doesn’t seem to share her cautious optimism. “I still fail to understand why you’re putting yourself through this.”

Sara puts the car in park, turns off the engine, and makes a show of putting things in her purse—just in case her father happens to be watching from the window. “I don’t need you to understand,” she hisses. “I need you to be supportive.”

Arms crossed over his chest, he tosses her a dirty look. “I’m merely reminding you that your last visit ended with you barreling down that sad excuse for a highway at nearly double the speed limit. I am nothing but supportive.”

“Things are going to go better this time.”

“How could you possibly know that?” His expression is skeptical, but there’s a thread of curiosity that makes the words sound more like an honest question than a hypothetical one.

She nods towards the front window, hand pulling the door handle. “He put up a tree.”

“How on earth does that—”

She shuts the door in his face, biting back a smile at the glare it earns her.

Now that she’s out of the car, she can hear Belle barking from inside; the high pitched whine that she always does when she gets overexcited. The moment Sara opens the front door, the spaniel is a flurry at her feet—tongue licking at her hands and so full of energy she practically vibrates. Sara reaches down to pet her, but she’s distracted by the changes in the rest of the room. There are a dozen little differences—the tidiness, the warm smell of a ham in the oven in place of sharp liquor, but it’s the pressed button-down shirt and the tentative smile her father wears that makes her wonder if she’s hallucinating.

“Hey, how was the drive?”

It takes her a moment to find her bearings. In her hand, the door knob is cold—a sharp contrast to the hot tongue licking at her fingers. “Um, good. Missed the traffic.” It’s an overused joke—outside of Des Moine there is no traffic. Gently, she shuts the door behind her, readjusting the strap of her purse. “The, uh, place looks nice. I like the tree.”

Belle whines, demanding her attention, and Sara crouches down to give her the enthusiastic hello the dog is obviously begging for. Her hands bury themselves under the soft fur behind her ears. “And you look just lovely, Miss Belle!”

The dog flops over, belly up, and Sara scratches her stomach dutifully. It’s a good distraction—an excuse to avoid meeting her father’s stare and the sudden presence she can feel at her back.

“Well,” Seth says, surprise underlying his sarcasm. “Perhaps there’s hope for a Christmas miracle, after all.”

Dinner isn’t what she expects.

The food isn’t half as good as what Oma used to cook up—the ham is dry, the potatoes lumpy—but she can taste her father’s effort in every bite. When he offers her a drink, the only thing in a glass bottle is apple cider.

She can’t remember the last dinner they shared sober. If it weren’t for the stash of whiskey she found hiding behind the salad bowl, she would almost have hope that it could last.

From the head of the table, her father clears his throat. “So, what’s Jen doing these days?”

Sara’s hands pause in cutting her slice of ham, remembering the conversation that triggered their last argument. From his spot, draped over the plaid couch in the living room, Seth scoffs. Her first instinct is to be wary, to prepare herself for another round of disappointment, but her father’s expression is earnest—anxious even—and she suspects he wants this dinner to go well as much as she does.

“She’s been pretty busy… she’s taking a trip to China in a few months. She’s really excited about it,” she offers, careful not to disclose that the reason she’s been busy is actually because of wedding planning and that the trip to her home country is doubling as her honeymoon.

Roy nods, taking a drink of cider before returning to his utensils. “Her wedding’s coming up soon, yeah?”

Sara stiffens, warnings going off like sirens in her skull. Through the noise, she hears Seth curse. She swallows, looking down at her plate—her hand gripping her fork so tightly, her knuckles are nearly as white as the paper plates. “Yeah, February.”

“Odd month for a wedding, isn’t it?”

“She wanted it during Chinese New Year.”

She waits for the blowup, but when she risks a glance, he seems more awkward than angry.

“I’m, uh, sure it will be pretty. Jen’s always had an eye for that stuff.”

Sara blinks. “Um, yeah. Yeah, she has.”

Another nod, and he fidgets with his fork. “And the groom’s a nice enough fellow?”

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