Figgy Pudding

You struggle to wake up on Christmas morning. You want to stay in bed, in your Christmas pajamas, covered up in several layers of blankets as if you were lasagna. You feel safe and away from the fear under the sheets. There is something about this Christmas that seems…off. Almost as if Santa was a harbinger of an upcoming mental breakdown. 

You blame part of your mood and current lack of energy on the fact you were up late bouncing from store to store, waiting in long lines with your fellow procrastinators, trying to purchase whatever rejected gift ideas were left as last-minute presents. It was easy to lose the holiday spirit when dealing with overworked employees, frazzled customers, and a parking lot full of drivers whose behavior would have made Ebenezer Scrooge blush. 

Yet, this is unlike you. You usually start your shopping on Black Friday and are done by Cyber Monday. You spend a weekend watching Hallmark Christmas movies as you meticulously wrap each present as if you were Joanna Gaines. This year, not even “Hot Frosty” tempted you. 

Seeing the pile of naked presents in the corner forces you out of bed. You rush to stuff all the gifts in bags that do not match in size. You crumple a single tissue and toss it in each bag so that it barely hides the present. Everyone is so self-absorbed in their own problems that you doubt they will notice that the gifts look like Grandma wrapped them after she got run over by a reindeer. 

You change into the sweater you wore last year; the one emblazoned with “Gangster Wrapper” above a picture of Santa dabbing. You look at the mangled gift bags and look for a more accurate sweater. You pull out one adorned with Christmas trees, candy canes, and snowflakes. Printed on the sweater were three words, “Go Elf Yourself.” Perfect.

You place reindeer antlers on your head and go to a mirror. Despite the Christmas getup, there is nothing merry nor bright about your appearance. You wear a smile faker than the Christmas tree you would have bought had you been in the spirit. It will have to do. 

“We Wish You a Merry Christmas” plays on the radio as you start the car. You are about to turn off the music when you hear the line about figgy pudding. “Isn’t that life?” you muse. “We want good tidings, but all we get is figgy pudding, a dessert no one likes.” The song resonates with your current state of mind. As the warm, baritone voice of Bing Crosby fades and is replaced by the icy, soprano voice of Mariah Carey, you quickly turn off the radio and enjoy the silent night. 

Your sister gives you a perfunctory greeting as you head to the Christmas tree to put away the gifts. You stare at the string of lights, they seem dimmer, more muted than normal. You could swear that the lights are blinking in Morse code, warning you of the dangers to come. 

Your sister offers you eggnog, but you tell her you’re abstaining from all holiday spirits. You head to the couch in a feeble attempt to sit alone until dinner. People approach you, trying to engage in small talk that would make an elf seem large. You wonder if your family can also feel how wrong the holiday has been. Maybe they, too, are simply playing a part in this year’s Christmas pageant. 

Can they tell you are pretending, too?

The calls to gather around the dinner table indicate that the evening is halfway over. You head over and look at the feast your sister spent hours working on. Within minutes, the meal worthy of being on the cover of Bon Appetit would be decimated. It seems wrong to you that such hard work, such beauty, can be fleeting. Does no one else see the injustice?

While the food looked delicious, the taste was lacking. Typically, your sister’s cooking was flavorful and executed to perfection. Now, the turkey is dry, the mashed potatoes lumpy, the rolls undercooked, and the green bean casserole has as much flavor as it has creativity. 

You look around and see everyone enjoying the meal. You assume it is because it is easier to swallow the seasoning of lies than the blandness of reality. 

Worse still, everyone around you appears to be having a good time: laughing, reminiscing, and being overall merry. There is no way they all are acting. How could they not feel that something is off? You feel like you are losing the last few tethers you had to reality. There was something different, something sinister about this Christmas, and no one seemed to notice or care about it besides you. 

When it came time to unwrapping gifts, you wanted to wrap yourself in your blankets back at home. You watch as family members go through the motions: 

Motion 1: Open gift. 

Motion 2: Unconvincingly say you love it.  

Motion 3: Conclude with a toothless thank you. 

Motion 4: Forgot about the last gift and move on to the next.

Everything seems scripted and unauthentic. They only seem to care about the gift rather than the giver. You wonder if maybe it isn’t just Christmas that appears off, but rather, you finally see the holiday for what it is: a celebration of capitalism. 

You tell everyone you need to leave early because you have to be at work at an ungodly time tomorrow. You say your goodbyes and head to your car.

“Wait,” you hear your sister yell. 

You stop and turn to face her. She is shivering as she has forgotten her jacket. She asks, “How you holding up?”

You say the same thing you have said to everyone who has asked that question, “I’m alright. Hanging in there.”

Your sister refuses to accept that answer. “You really think I don’t know you well enough to tell when you’re lying. Now, really… how are you?”

You feel the tears you have been running away from begin to run free. “It’s been hard,” you say. Now, you cannot stop the tears from coming. “She always loved Christmas. It was her favorite holiday.” 

Your sister envelops you in her arms. Even without the jacket, she emanates warmth. You rest your weary head on her shoulders. The grief that you have been feeling the past few weeks is still there, but so is love. Her hugs are exactly like you remember.