The Mare

Paul

I couldn’t believe Ginger wanted to have the kid up for Christmas. It was clearly inappropriate, and I wanted—needed—quiet during the holiday. I didn’t think I’d have to argue about it though. I expected the mother to unequivocally lower the boom — how could she not, when Ginger was trying to take her child away on the most important holiday of the year. Meanwhile, I was occupied with tension at school: a thesis student had threatened to kill herself; a colleague, a sad person who’d been kicked out of his house for having an affair, which then promptly ended, was camping out in his office, even eating there and sleeping on the floor. I would’ve liked to have had him for Christmas Eve.

But one day when Edie was visiting, I went out to do an errand and came back to find her talking with Ginger about Velvet. I recognized my wife’s tone before I even understood her words; it was that fevered, too-quick voice she always used when talking about the girl. The next thing I saw was that Edie was responding. It took me a second to react to this; out of loyalty to her mother, Edie was barely polite to Ginger most of the time. Before I’d left for my errand, that’s how it was. Now she was seemingly enthralled with my wife. I thought, Oh Christ — and that’s when my daughter turned to me and said, “You’re having the Fresh Air girl up for Christmas? Can I hang out with her?”

“Sure,” I said, “if her mom lets her come stay with us on the most important holiday of the year, which I doubt.”

“I’m not talking about actual Christmas Day,” said Ginger. “I’m asking about the day after.”

I said, “I still doubt it.” But I was wrong.