Season’s Grievings
The twins trying to kill each other have crashed into the counter and are taking the garland down with them. I hope my shift ends before the destroyed decorations become my problem. The sister is clearly winning; she has her brother in a headlock and has already pulled off his hat to reveal his matching blonde hair.
Their younger brother, the only brunette of the bunch, is screaming at the top of his lungs while his mother is desperately trying to keep him from slumping onto the slushy floor with her one free hand. The cause of his screaming? We don’t have any green skates. I’ve never heard of an ice rink having anything other than black or white skates, but this kid doesn’t care. He wants green ones and is letting anyone within a mile radius know we don’t have them.
I would be annoyed but his crying is drowning out the same twenty Christmas songs that have been on repeat for the entire month of December, so if anything I should be thanking him.
“Just the six skates for an hour then?” I try to move this along, though I’m not sure if it’s for my sanity or the mom’s.
A giggle comes from a fourth kid who looks a little too old to be strapped to his mother’s chest. I can’t blame her for wanting to keep one contained for as long as possible, though. He stares into my soul with big blue eyes while he chomps on a red toy truck he’s trying to stuff into his chubby cheeks. I decide he’s my favorite of the little monsters until he stuffs the truck a little too far into his mouth and spits up all over himself.
“Oh! Gross, Jojo,” the mom says, using a part of his snowsuit to wipe his mouth. She quickly grabs a couple of bills from her wallet and says, “Just keep the change,” before grabbing some of the skates and walking towards the door.
The change turns out to be seventy-three cents but it all adds up, I guess.
The fight breaks apart briefly while the twins grab the last few skates before the sister chases her brother out the door.
Through the window, I see a man, who I’m assuming is their father, lift his head from his phone long enough to snatch up the little girl and place her on the bench between him and a diaper bag. The twin brother bolts right past them and joins a blur of two more weaving through the crowd in what looks to be an intense game of tag.
I am never having kids.
My phone vibrates as I pull it out to check how much time is left in my shift. Swiping to decline another call from my mom, I see there are ten more minutes. Almost there.
My least favorite regulars reach the front of the line. Mr. and Mrs. Clark—they won’t let me call them by their first names—are an elderly couple who frequent the rink three times a week.
From the many, many stories they’ve told me, I know they’re trying to relive their glory days as a champion figure skating pair. They always come with their own skates and matching, skin-tight outfits. It would be cute, if they weren’t so rude. They’re a constant reminder of why growing old with someone just makes you more miserable.
“Just an hour today, Mary,” Mr. Clark says before I have a chance to get any words out.
My name isn’t Mary, but I plaster on a smile and tell them, “Have a great skate.”
Mrs. Clark heads toward the door, and her husband goes to follow her but not before he adds, “You should smile more, sweetheart. Show some Christmas spirit.” He gives the countertop a tap before following after his wife who almost whacks one of the speedy little monsters with the door on her way out.
I frown as soon as he turns his back and glance at my phone again. Right above nine missed texts from my mom, the time says 6:53 p.m. Seven minutes left.
When I look up, another familiar face greets me.
“Eve?”
She looks up from the young girl and dog next to her, and a wide grin takes over her face at the sight of me. “Macy? Oh my god, I didn’t know you worked here! I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever! Did you cut your hair?”
I tuck my bob behind my ears and nod sheepishly. “Yeah, I cut it a couple of months ago. I tried to dye it too, but it’s hard to tell in this lighting.”
She squints a little. “Oh yeah, I can see a little red throughout the brown. I like it!”
“Thanks!” I beam.
Eve was my best friend at the beginning of high school, but we grew apart since we had fewer classes together as we got older. We’ve only seen each other twice since we started college a couple of years ago. It’s easy to lose touch with someone when you no longer live ten minutes from each other.
“This is my cousin, Hallie.” She gestures to the girl next to her and adds, “The one I was always babysitting.” Hallie looks to be around ten years old and has her dark hair in braided pigtails. She is zipped into a purple puffer jacket. “And this is Angel.” The dog’s white tail wags at the sound of her name, but my smile falters a bit. She’s wearing a pink “service dog in training” vest.
“It’s so nice to meet you both,” I manage.
“You too!” Hallie hands me some crumpled bills. “A size four for an hour please, Macy!” She puts some coins from her pocket in the tip jar.
“You got it,” I reply and select the least smelly pair of skates I can find.
“Have a wonderful time,” I say when I return with the skates.
“Hey, text me! Maybe we can hang out over break,” Eve says.
“I’d love that.” That cheers me up a bit.
“Bye!” Hallie shouts.
I wave to her. I wonder if Eve’s family still does their cookie tradition. They used to bake a different kind every day of the week leading up to Christmas in honor of her dad who used to be a chef. If they still keep the same schedule then tonight they’d be making cutout cookies, my favorite.
My family has never been big on holiday traditions because my parents have been divorced since I was young. I think that’s why I enjoyed going to Eve’s house so much. Her house always felt like Christmas to me. Now, I can barely find the motivation to decorate my own apartment or even buy Christmas cookies. It’s just not the same. Especially after last Christmas.
A pair of black skates slam down in front of me and instantly stink up the counter. They’re not being returned though. They belong to one of the hockey players who frequents the rink, John.
“Do you know if the hot chocolate stand sells alcohol?” he asks. I assume he’s trying to act cool for his date next to him.
“I’m not sure. You could go check the menu.”
His date lightly puts her skates on the counter, and unfortunately they also reek. I quickly grab the spray from under the counter and hold the skates as far away from me as I can.
“Whatever,” John mumbles and drags his date away.
When I stand up from putting the skates back on the shelf, I freeze at the voice I hear.
“Macy?”
“Mom?” Even with gloves, a scarf, a hat, and earmuffs, she’s shivering. “How do you not freeze working here?”
I tug on the white turtleneck I’ve layered under my blue Canalside sweatshirt and ignore her question. “Why are you here?”
“You haven’t been answering my texts, angel.” She raises her eyebrows as if expecting an explanation.
“I’m working,” I say, somehow managing to keep my voice calm.
“Macy, don’t be mean. I came to see if you were coming over for Christmas tomorrow.”
For a minute I wonder if she’s forgotten last Christmas. The memories kept me up for months, the penguin on her mug haunting my sleepless nights. The shards of both our mugs are long gone, shattered on her kitchen floor and swept away.
The next day, she texted me apologizing, but not for the alcohol in her mug. She couldn’t find the same mugs at Big Lots again, she said. I never cared about those mugs; I cared that she relapsed.
I still avoid going to bars with my friends even though I turned twenty-one this past semester. I can’t stand the smell of beer, and I’m afraid the sticky floor will remind me of her kitchen that night.
“Will you actually be sober this time?” I whisper and my voice shakes. I didn’t expect to have this conversation for the first time in public, but if she insists.
She lowers her voice. “I haven’t had a drink since Christmas, angel. I promise. You know my job made it hard for me to get help. I’m so sorry I let you down.”
I make eye contact for the first time since she walked up. “I’m twenty-one. I don’t have to spend Christmas with you anymore.”
She lets out a sharp sigh. “I just want to spend the holidays with my baby girl. Is that too much for a mother to ask? After everything I’ve done for you?”
“I’m not your baby girl.” I hold eye contact until she breaks it.
“You know,” she starts, “you really hurt me when you say things like that. My parents were never there for me like I am for you. I have presents for you, I got stuff to make you breakfast—”
“I’m not coming.”
She takes a breath. “I’m trying so hard to fight this disease. Please just do this one thing for me. I promise I won’t drink.”
“You said that last year.”
She huffs, shaking her head, “Well, have fun at your father’s then. You always like to spend more time with him, anyway.”
“Get out,” I say, my voice cracking, “I’m working.”
She just looks at me with her brows furrowed and her tongue poking her cheek and says, “Merry Christmas. I love you,” before walking out.
I can’t see the customers who are waiting in line behind her because my vision blurs.
Before I even get a chance to wipe a tear, a shriek comes from the wall of windows. “SANTA!”
My manager, Alan, walks up next to me munching on a plate of cookies. His white beard looks exactly like you would imagine Santa’s. It doesn’t help that he is literally dressed as Santa. He told me once that the kids kept mistaking him for Santa so often that he just started dressing up around the holidays.
The siblings from earlier have their faces pressed up against the glass. Their mom looks relieved they’re all frozen in place, even for a second.
Alan ignores them and pats my shoulder. “Sorry I’m late, kid.” Some cookie crumbs fall out of his mouth.
My shift’s over?
“The rascals outside wouldn’t stop jumping on me. You can head out now.” If he notices my tears, he doesn’t give any indication.
I nod in a trance.
I walk to the back, grabbing my coat and bag from their hook. Alan shouts after me asking if I can fix the garland before I go, but I’m already out the door. Christmas is almost over anyway. Those kids probably did him a favor by taking it down early.
The frigid air makes the tears falling down my cheeks feel like icicles on my face. I walk past the porta-potties and the Adirondack chairs to the bridge that overlooks the rink. Beneath the string lights, I glimpse the Clarks spinning slightly out of sync and more hockey players showing off by speeding past little kids.
The Skyway casts shadows overhead as I walk until I’m met with an empty Canalside before me and the sounds of the rink are just distant noise. The Buffalo River is frozen and quiet; the grain elevators reflect green and red on the ice.
I avoid the lawn that’s wet with snow and brush off a bench close to the river. My tears are now just stains on my cheeks that I can’t seem to wipe off, but they return the minute I sit down.
All of the pain and loneliness of the past year pours out of me at once. I was hoping I could just avoid Christmas this year and ignore all the memories that it brings up, but of course, my mother had other plans.
It’s not long before footsteps approach from my right. Eve, Hallie, and Angel come to a halt when they spot me. Eve bends down, whispering something to Hallie. She nods and guides Angel to the rails on the water’s edge, out of earshot. Eve hesitantly sits next to me and offers up a festive tupperware container. “Cookie?”
I shake my head, not in the mood for chocolate chips right now.
For a while, we just sit in silence, but her presence is like a warm blanket after a day of sledding.
“My mom showed up,” I say, sniffling.
Eve was there for me when I first realized my mom was an alcoholic. I didn’t want to complain to her about my mom when she only had one parent left, but she insisted that I could always lean on her.
“How are you feeling?” She places a gentle hand on my knee.
As if my mom can hear us, my phone dings with a text from her.
Everything I’ve kept bottled up in the past year comes rushing out of me at that moment. I tell Eve what happened a year ago and then what my mom did today. I even tell her about the countless times I’ve asked my mom to not contact me this year and how she constantly ignored it
“She’s my mom, you know? I feel like a part of me will always need her, but I also feel like I never really had her.”
Eve turns her body towards mine and grabs my hands, making me look at her, “You can grieve for someone who’s still alive, Macy.”
In a way, she validates all of my feelings in that one sentence.
I start sobbing again, burying my head in Eve’s shoulder as she strokes my hair. Relief and sadness glide down my cheeks.
We stay like that for a minute before I hear a bark and Angel hops up on the bench next to me. She starts licking up my tears and somehow, I find it in me to laugh.
Hallie comes running after her and sighs, catching her breath. “She might not graduate service dog school, but she’d be a great therapy dog one day.”
We all smile and I grab a cookie from Eve, as Angel bounds off into the blanket of snow.
Amanda Puchalski is in her last semester as an English major at the University at Buffalo. In her free time she enjoys reading, spending time with her friends, and attending concerts.