A Loomy Christmas

I decided to go homemade for Christmas gifts this year and accepted too late that that is a terrible idea, because never in my life have I completed a craft successfully. I tried knitting and that was a nightmare so I tried crocheting and ended up somehow being even worse at that. I heard that loom knitting was easier than regular knitting or crocheting so I got myself a kit and made some hats. They were functional hats, but they were ridden with holes. And I didn't even know what I did wrong. Stitched too loosely?

"I don't know why I even bothered," I tell my boyfriend. "I should throw these all away."

"They are fine, Hannah," my boyfriend, Daniel, told me. "Your family is not going to expect perfection." 

"They are loom knit hats made with cheap yarn, if the stitching isn’t perfect, what is the point?” 

 "The point is that you put a lot of effort and time into making something for the people you love." 

I take a deep breath. "That's true. At least Trish doesn't fuck with yarn. She'll have wonderful gifts picked out for everyone, but nothing will be DIY. Maybe a drawing or two, but that’s it."

Daniel smiles that heartstopping smile of his. "Hannah, it's going to be a great Christmas. Just relax."

This conversation goes through my head when I wake up on Christmas morning at my grandmother's house, my sad hats in boxes wrapped beautifully by Daniel and awaiting everyone under the tree. My throat is itchy, the telltale sign that I've got a cold coming on. Great. 

"Good morning Hannah, would you like some coffee?" my grandmother says when I step into the kitchen in my candy cane pajamas. 

"Yes please," I say, pouring myself a cup from the Mr. Coffee pot by the sink.  

My mother and Trish are cutting fruit for a fruit salad, both looking happy as a cat on a new blanket.

 "Hannah, your PJs are adorable," Trish exclaims.

I take a sip of coffee. "How do you have this much energy this early in the morning?"

"It's Christmas dear," my mother says by way of explanation. "Don't you feel the magic?"

"The only magic in this room is caffeine, and honestly that's not enough right now," I say. 

 “You'll cheer up when you see your presents!" Trish assures me.

"I’m sure I will."

I walk from the crowded kitchen to the dining room and just as I'm about to pull out a chair for myself, I feel something plushy under my foot that lets out a squeaky sound. A gingerbread man toy that belongs to Trish's dog, Zeus. And just like that, I slide backwards, landing on my ass and spilling hot coffee all over my pajamas and my grandmother's floor. 

"Son of a bitch!" I yell.

"Watch it, Liam might hear you!" Trish says.

 Liam is my four-year-old nephew. It's clear where my sister's priorities lie.

"Are you burnt?" my mother asks, dropping to the floor to inspect me. I am burnt, mildly. Just what I needed.

Daniel bursts into the kitchen. "What happened?" he says, rushing over to me. 

"I stepped on Trish's dog's stupid toy," I say. 

"Hey, that wasn't my fault or Zeus's!" Trish says. 

"Let's get you cleaned up," Daniel says, leading me away. 

"I'll clean what's on the floor," he says to my family as he leads me to the bathroom.

 "I can clean my own mess,” I protest.

Daniel strips me of the candy cane PJs and runs cold water over my red, inflamed skin. I let him baby me because why not. He gets me a change of clothes, and we walk back into the kitchen to find my mom cleaning the coffee spill.

“You okay Hannah?” my now awake brother-in-law, Stephen, says. 

“I’m fine. Let’s move on with the festivities, shall we?” 

After a quick breakfast of fruit salad and Pillsbury orange rolls, we gather in the living room for the opening of presents. Squeezed next to me on the couch, Daniel places his hand on my thigh reassuringly. 

 Aunt Rachel is the one who controls the distribution of gifts on Christmas, but she is also the one who sleeps the latest. This is probably due to the fact that she stays up late on Christmas Eve, doing her wrapping last minute and meticulously sorting each person's gifts into a pile. A few minutes after the rest of us get settled, she walks into the living room with her mug of coffee and announces she’s ready to get started. At least she probably missed the commotion I caused, knowing how heavy of a sleeper she is. 

Aunt Rachel allows no more than two gifts to be opened at a time. This ensures that gift opening will be as drawn out as possible, and whoever is opening at any given time will be stared at by the rest of the family, their reaction scrutinized. 

The first two people selected for gift opening are me and Trish. Aunt Rachel chooses our gifts for each other. Trish’s gift to me is of course meticulously wrapped in beautiful snowflake paper. I open it and it’s a cowl, a red and purple one with flawless stitching. 

“Do you like it? I made it myself,” Trish says.

"It's pretty," I manage to get out. "I didn't know you were into knitting."

"I just took it up this year. I kept it a secret from everyone because I wanted all of you to be surprised by your handmade gifts."

Trish says all this as she's unwrapping my present. She lifts the hat up where everyone can see it in all its flawed, holey glory. 

"I took up knitting this year too," I say pathetically. "Loom knitting. Which is easier than traditional knitting, and yet, as you can see, I still fucked it up."

"Are you kidding Hannah, this looks great!" Trish says. 

"Yeah honey, it looks like a fine hat to me,"  Grandma says. 

"There's some stitches that were too loose and now there's holes," I say. "But whatever, let's move on.”

“Wait, there’s more to it!” Trish yells. 

I remove more tissue paper to uncover a small card that appears to be, big surprise, homemade. On the front is a cardinal perched on the branch of a snow covered tree. Hand drawn by Trish. I open it to find a message written in beautiful cursive. 

“My dear big sister, I know you aren’t one for cheesy messages, so I’ll keep this one short. I love you, and it’s hard to see you be so hard on yourself. You say you suck at everything, but you don’t. I’ve always envied your dry wit and the way you don’t forget a face or a name, pretty much ever. Keep your chin up and know you are valued. Merry Christmas.” 

All I can muster is a tiny smile and a, “thanks.” I don’t know how I’ll sit through the rest of this. 

Next up my mom and grandmother open together. My mom's gift is a skillet that my aunt is very proud of herself for getting her, and my grandmother's gift is my stupid hat for her, one more flawed than Trish's. Gifts after gifts are opened, and every single one Trish made is perfect. There's mittens for my mom, scarves for my grandmother and aunt, a basket for her husband to store his tools. There's an elephant toy for my nephew. All of it seems like shit that would sell quickly on Etsy. And there’s the cards with their individualized messages. I want to be grateful for my own gifts but the feeling of gratitude doesn't come. 

The second it’s all over, I announce that I’m going outside to smoke. 

“But you’re doing so well with quitting. It’s been thirteen days,” Daniel says. “And I didn’t know you even brought cigarettes with you. I didn’t know you even had a pack to bring.”

“Yeah, well, you never know when they might come in handy,” I say. 

Before I can look at the disappointment on everybody’s faces any longer, I head outside and embrace the biting air. I savor my cigarette. Later I will hate myself for it, but right now it is the best goddamn cigarette I have ever had. 

***

A few hours later, we finally sit down for our big meal. I brought the rolls and I do most of the cleanup after. This is because I can’t be trusted with cooking. Everything tastes great, because everyone else is great at cooking and baking. There’s my mom’s mashed potatoes and Grandma’s pecan pie and Trish’s coconut cake and Daniel’s green bean casserole and Aunt Rachel’s sweet potato casserole. Stephen is a master of seemingly all meats.

Once the meal and cleanup is over, there are hours of board games. I go to the bedroom Daniel and I slept in and read. Luckily I have to work tomorrow so Daniel and I can’t spend another night. I say thank you again for the gifts to everyone and get through the goodbyes as quickly as possible. The one hour drive back to our place is mostly silent. I dig out our lone bottle of tequila and drink as soon as we get home. 

“We should talk,” Daniel says.

“What do you mean we should talk?” 

“Well, your behavior today was pretty shitty.”

“My behavior? What am I, your child?” 

Daniel sighs. “Hannah, your perfectionism is exhausting.”

I don’t know what to say so I just drink more. 

"I keep hoping you'll give yourself some grace," Daniel continues. "Let up, just a little bit. Not compare yourself to other people so much, especially your sister." 

"I'm sure you are bothered by my comparisons because when you compare yourself to other people, you always come out on top. You don't know what it's like to be so bad at everything." 

Daniel looks at the floor and shakes his head, then looks back up at me. "I love you," he says. "I really do. But I can't deal with this. It's too much. I hope you can learn to accept yourself one day, but I can't help you do it."

"Are you breaking up with me on fucking Christmas?" 

"Yeah," he says, eyes filling with tears. "I am. I'll go to Paul's house tonight, and we can sort everything else out later.” 

Daniel packs his overnight bag and leaves. I drink and drink and drink. I drink until I pass out, not wanting to know what tomorrow holds. 

*** 

When I wake up, I’m at Grandma’s again. My throat is still itchy, but I’m not congested. The cold should have progressed. I shake Daniel awake. 

“Daniel, what are we doing here again? We left, and you broke up with me.”

Daniel rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks at me with confusion. 

“Did you have a weird dream or something?” 

I’ve never felt more confused. 

“Maybe I just need some coffee,” I say, and stumble to the kitchen. I notice the gingerbread toy I tripped over yesterday laying in the same place. I won’t make that mistake again. 

Everyone is standing or sitting in the same position they were yesterday morning. Mom and Trish are working on fruit salad. Trish compliments my pajamas again.

“You told me that yesterday,” I say. “What day is it?”

Everyone exchanges “has she lost it?” glances. 

“It’s Christmas honey,” Mom says. “Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine,” I mutter, pouring myself the cup of coffee. I walk toward the dining room table and crash into Daniel as he enters the room from the hallway. Coffee is on me and on Daniel and all over the floor. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I say. 

“Watch it, Liam might hear you!” Trish says again. I ignore her.

“Babe, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” I ask Daniel. 

“It does burn a little, but I’m fine. Are you okay?” 

“Not really, because this already happened yesterday.” 

“You spilled coffee on both of us yesterday?” 

“Well not on both of us, only me, and it happened differently. But yesterday was Christmas, and I wore these pajamas, and I spilled the coffee, and I had the same itch in my throat that should be a full blown cold by now.” 

With a concerned expression, Daniel whisks me away and into the bathroom. 

“Did you hit your head or something?” he says. “You keep saying this day already happened.” 

“Trust me, I’m no less confused than you are. Maybe I’m dreaming right now. Let’s hope I wake up before I have to see each of Trish’s perfectly knitted gifts get opened.” 

“I thought Trish didn’t knit?”

“She does now, you’ll see.”

We go out in our fresh clothes, and once again, Mom is cleaning up my mess. I don’t wake up before opening presents, and I don’t wake up during. When I pull out the cowl Trish made me, I make eye contact with Daniel and he looks almost scared. Instead of watching the whole ordeal again, I excuse myself for a cigarette at this point. 

The meal unfolds just like yesterday, and so does the playing of games. What’s different is that Daniel doesn’t wait until we get home to break up with me. He tells me he’s concerned for me as soon as we get in the car, and that he can’t believe I smoked instead of watching everyone open presents. He gives me the same spiel as yesterday, then breaks up with me about a half hour from home. That’s when it gets silent in the car. At home I get drunk alone again and hope for the end of this nightmare. 

***

I wake up and it’s Christmas again. And then again. And again. And again. There are some variations of events, but the big things keep happening. The spilled coffee. Trish’s presents and my reaction. The breakup. I wonder if I’ve died and gone to hell. 

On Christmas number six, I immediately change out of my pajamas, grab my things, and storm into the kitchen and let everything out. I’m stuck on this day, so I figure I might as well. 

“Listen up everyone,” I say. “I’m letting you know that I’m opting out of Christmas this year. I tried loom knitting and made you all shitty hats that will be hopelessly upstaged by Trish’s perfect, needle knitted individualized gifts, and I don’t want to stick around to watch that. Thanks so much sis, for finding yet another thing to be better than me at. You must be so proud of yourself. Say, how long did it take you to come up with things you supposedly envy me for?”

I lock eyes with Trish and she looks like I’ve just threatened her life. 

“How did–how did you know what I got for everyone?”

“Because none of this shit is new. So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go home and get drunk. One of you can bring Daniel home. He’s just going to break up with me anyway.”

Grandma starts crying, and Mom calls after me, but I get out of there as soon as I can. In the car, I blast music that is decidedly not Christmas music. This doesn’t work to distract from my emotions though, and I find myself violently sobbing. 

“Please, please let me move past this day,” I plead to the universe. I drink myself to oblivion again. 

***

When I wake up and it’s Christmas again, I decide to do what they do in the movies and play nice. It’s my last hope. 

“Good morning Hannah, would you like some coffee?” Grandma says when I enter the kitchen. 

“Yes, that sounds great, Grandma.” 

“Hannah, your PJs are adorable!” Trish says. 

“Thank you, I got them on sale at Target last week,” I say. 

As soon as I’ve got my coffee, I take a seat at the table where Mom and Trish are cutting fruit and grab a knife and a banana to help them. No coffee gets spilled. 

When I open my present from Trish, I make sure to tell her how beautiful the cowl is and how deeply I appreciate the kind words in the card. 

“I don’t have your talent for all things arts and crafts,” I say as she runs her hands over the hat I made her. “And I’ll be honest, I am jealous. But I love that you took the time and effort to make something really nice for each of us, and with a gorgeous card too. I hope the hat I made is good enough to wear, but if not, just know that I tried. I love you Trish.” 

“Awwww, Hannah!” she says, pulling me in for a hug. 

I stay for the rest of the gift opening, and I don’t smoke afterward. I play exactly one game, and no one seems upset when I go and read. This time, I don’t rush my goodbyes. 

“Well that was a pretty solid Christmas,” Daniel says on the drive home. 

“It was,” I agree. 

At home, I drink mulled wine with Daniel instead of tequila by myself. I fall asleep in his arms, and I wake up early in my own bed, struggling to breath out of my nose. I grab a tissue from the nightstand and blow. 

I’ve never been this happy to wake up with a stuffy nose, and I suspect I never will be again.