Free The 13th Gift by Joanne Huist Smith Page A

pink insulation, and the sole heating duct didn’t warm the space
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    When Nick came along, and eventually Megan, Rick and I talked about our need to finish the basement, but my husband was working fifty-five hours a week, and he wasn’t motivated to take on a major remodel. When Megan turned four and I returned to Wright State University to complete my undergraduate degree, Rick wanted a project of his own. He drew up plans for a rec room for all our children and a bedroom for our eldest so he wouldn’t have to share bunk beds with his kid brother. While I attended class, Rick put the kids to bed and then worked on the basement, hanging drywall, laying carpet, painting. When Ben finally moved downstairs, Nick suggested that he switch rooms with Megan to take ownership of the smallest bedroom
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    Less to clean was his reasoning
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    So we painted the larger bedroom cotton-candy pink and the smaller one neon lime green, colors Rick let the kids select
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    Our middle child has always been our science-and-technology geek, so his dad hand-painted the constellations on Nick’s bedroom ceiling using a template and glow-in-the-dark paint. The painstaking process had taken Rick weeks to complete, because he insisted the sky map be accurate and done to scale. Once the map was completed, father and son stargazed from the comfort of Nick’s bed until the constellations vanished into the darkened ceiling
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    “It may be the smallest room, but it’s going to be special,” Rick had said
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    I can’t imagine Nick in any other bedroom
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    My brain vaults across all the reasons why the move to thebasement isn’t a good idea for Nick, and I stick the landing on a big one.
    “Have you mentioned this to your brother?”
    Nick shakes his head reluctantly. “No.”
    “I didn’t think so.”
    My two younger children have mostly ceded the basement rec room to their older brother since their dad’s death, avoiding clashes with Ben and his buddies, who have claimed the space for themselves. I don’t want Nick to start a territory war, but on the other hand, the proximity of their rooms could help strengthen Nick’s relationship with his big brother. I am torn.
    “After the first of the year, Nick. We can talk about it.”
    True to his nature, Nick persists.
    “It’s all I want for Christmas, Mom. A new room. It’s all I want.”
    I hand him the platter, minus the toaster pastry.
    “I get it, Nick. I’m not saying, no. I’m saying not right now.”
    Nick plops the platter on the kitchen counter, and it spins like an off-balance top. We both pounce to keep it from falling, but it slips and crashes to the floor. Nick’s face is ashen as he immediately begins picking up the pieces.
    “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m so sorry.”
    I don’t hear the apology. The words of the women in the store this morning are ricocheting around in my brain: “the family is falling apart, falling apart, falling apart.”
    Their hurtful words intertwine with the message on Rick’s note: “Christmas will be special.”
    The tears I’ve been hiding for two months come rushing out of me.
    “Everything is broken. We’re broken.”
    My outburst sends Nick fleeing to his room—his small, green, constellation-ceilinged room. I sit on the floor, picking up the pieces through blurred vision, and I cut my finger on a shard.
    I sit on the floor, thinking, while I watch the blood drip from my finger onto the pieces of the plate. I woke up this morning feeling like I might be able to get through the day in one piece, yet I had let myself get derailed by the women in the grocery store. But if Megan can believe that we aren’t broken, if Nick can find a way to move forward, then I can, too. Rick had wanted this Christmas to be special, and I am the one here to make his wish come true. When the blood clots, I stand, wash my hands, and then wrap a bandage around the cut.
    “Do what you can,” I tell myself.
    The mess on the kitchen floor is a quick cleanup.
    With new