Friends and Strangers - J. Courtney Sullivan Page 0,88

rule, Elisabeth and Andrew kept images of Gil off the Internet, for reasons of privacy and pedophiles and other dangers they didn’t know about but knew enough to fear. Faye had never understood this. Andrew had to threaten not to send her any photos if she shared even one on social media.

But the photo of Gil in the Santa hat was so irresistibly cute. The day after the art show, unable to help herself, Elisabeth posted it to Facebook.

Soon after, her mother posted the same shot to her own page, with the words Best Christmas present this family ever got! As if she’d been there when the picture was taken, or had anything whatsoever to do with it, when she had not yet met her grandchild and he was seven months old.

Two days later, she announced over email that she was going to Aspen alone for the holidays.

Festive! Elisabeth wrote back. Have fun.

Within twenty minutes, her father called and asked if he could come spend Christmas with them at the new house. Her parents no longer spoke to each other, but they remained in a mind-meld. They often asked her the same question at the same moment over text, or emailed the same video clip from the previous night’s episode of 60 Minutes.

Elisabeth told her father yes, though she had been planning to avoid her family. They did not normally get together for the holidays. They lived across the country, which provided an excellent excuse. Before she got married, Elisabeth spent Thanksgiving and Christmas in the city, with friends. Half the people she knew there might as well have been orphans. But she suspected that marriage and children would draw her parents back to her. Which was one reason why neither had ever appealed much.

“We can’t wait to see the baby,” her father said before they hung up the phone.

“We?”

“Me and Gloria.”

“Why is she coming? Not that she isn’t welcome. But—doesn’t she want to spend Christmas with her own kids?”

“Not particularly.”

A week passed. Her mother wrote to say she was having second thoughts about Aspen.

It’s time for me to meet my grandson already.

Elisabeth hesitated before responding. She wanted to know what was behind the change of heart. Probably her mother had realized all her friends would be with their grandchildren, and she didn’t want to be the odd man out. Or maybe she had somehow intuited that Elisabeth’s father was coming.

Despite everything, an ancient childhood urge to protect her mother crept in.

Elisabeth called her father and explained the situation.

“So I’m thinking Gloria probably shouldn’t come,” she said.

“Why not?”

“Because, as I just told you, Mom will be here.”

“Your mother won’t mind having Gloria around.”

“I think she might.”

“She’s a big girl. She’ll deal.”

After they hung up, she texted her mother: You’re totally welcome, but just so you know: Dad will be here…he’s bringing his girlfriend. I’m sorry, I couldn’t talk him out of it, you know how he is…

It annoyed her to be in between them yet again. Especially because she didn’t really want either of them to come.

Her mother replied immediately: I look forward to seeing them both.

Her mother, who once threw a plate of chicken at her father’s head during dinner when he chewed too loudly; who told Elisabeth the day she turned sixteen that she had never loved her husband, had only married him for his looks and his money.

Fine, but I’m not going to tolerate anything but perfect behavior from everyone. This is Gil’s first Christmas.

Elisabeth was trying to sound tough.

Scout’s honor, her mother wrote back.

For once in her life, she felt that she was in control of her family. A grandchild was currency. Something they wanted, which only she possessed.

Still, she sent her sister, Charlotte, an email with the subject line: YOU ARE COMING TO MY HOUSE FOR CHRISTMAS. In the body, Elisabeth wrote: Mom and Dad will both be here. I need moral support. This is not optional. She added a smiley face so as not to sound too demanding. But within minutes, she sent a follow-up: P.S. I’m dead serious. Do not even attempt to pretend this went to your spam folder.

It was the least Charlotte could do after everything Elisabeth had done for her.

By dinnertime, she hadn’t replied.

Elisabeth thought of every SOS her sister had sent over the past few years, expecting an immediate response. She had always delivered.

She was irritable while they ate and, afterward, watching TV. Annoyed about her family’s intrusion into their life, and even more so