Everyone will receive a Christmas gift, except me.
It was the longing of Navidad in my fathers’ house in Toledo, Ohio: the same room where I spent the majority of my childhood celebrations, silently hoping for the kind of attention that never seemed to come naturally in our family. The tree shone with golden slats and shiny ornaments, the chimenea crackled with warmth and my mother had the phone perfectly placed to take photos for the social gatherings.
I love Allison Fletcher. I have been working for twenty consecutive years in corporate employment for a regional banking company that operates in various states of the Middle East. My work is stable, demanding and well paid: the type of career that my fathers say they want for me. But in our house, the logs never mattered as much as they were the favorite kid.
This title belongs to my senior brother, Tyler, and to my senior sister, Melissa.
Tyler dropped out of college two times and someone followed, being praised for “being close to so much”, while Melissa developed a glamorous life style that my mother displayed with pride as if she were an old family member.
In return, it was the truth: the hija called who paid her bills, kept her head low and rarely caused problems at family reunions. Be responsible so that all the results will be easy for me to move on to.
During the exchange of gifts this night, I tried to notice something extra. Tyler developed a dear watch and showed it with pride, while Melissa opened a designer bag that made my mother enthusiastically applaud. My father even gave my wife a white bill of money to visit, as it was part of the night’s entertainment.
Once the little boy from me first received a toy package with shiny paper, and everyone gathered to open it.
For the time being, I was sitting on the sofa of the two squares, holding a cup of cocoa that had cooled me, hoping that someone would say my name. My mother followed me, returning, taking photos and passing to the next person until she could look at me.
Once ready, I took a break and looked at the redeemer in the room.
—Ah —I say with desperation—, we forget about you.
The room is in uncomfortable silence. It was the kind of pause that arises when people feel shame, but they don’t want to keep it. My father went back calmly, as one would learn by observing a small experiment. Melissa hid a smile behind her glass of wine, and Tyler smiled like an innocent girl.
I felt that the heat was subduing me to the beak, combined with the old impulse to reign in order to remain important to her and not to inconvenience Nadie.
My mother tilted her head and said lightly:
—No vas a llorar, ¿verdad? It’s just a gift.
Families like mine never fear tears because their feelings matter. Recipe them tastefully because they refuerzan the familiar jerarquía.
Dejé with care taza me on the table in the center and push me off the feet with a serene smile.
—It’s good —say it in your voice—. Of course… I bought something myself.
Melissa raised her eyes. Tyler’s smile disappeared. My father leaned forward with curiosity, clearly without expecting the answer.
He went to the kitchen cabinet and put his right hand in a row of clothes, picking up a small black box that had been hidden somewhere else that same night. Don’t buy it, because you don’t need it.
When you return to the room, press the box on the center table, in front of the Christmas tree. The logo of the tap captured the light of the fire and reflected it softly throughout the room.
I can hear my mother’s laughter.
—What is this? —he asked cautiously.
No reply followed. Instead, slowly lift the tape so that everyone can see the inside.
Inside there was a book of household items, attached to a wallet, together with a document doubled with a blue seal from the country.
My father leaned forward so quickly that his rollers hit the table. Melissa opened her mouth, and Tyler murmured:
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