Chapter Text
Manny was gone, and time marched on relentlessly.
Luz started school just scant weeks after the funeral. (Camila had notified the principal and teacher, but no one seemed to know what to do with the sad little girl whose inner light seemed dimmed.)
Soon it was Halloween, and Camila blinked back tears as she handed candy to the trick-or-treater dressed in a Cosmic Frontier costume. (Luz had cut her own trick-or-treating short, preferring to curl up on the couch and watch some horror film she was undoubtedly too young for. Camila felt too tired to argue.)
All Souls' Day was rough, but at least there was some kinship in grieving and remembering with people all around the world. They brought flowers and candles to the (still pretty fresh) grave. (She saw sympathy in the eyes of others who came to visit their own loved ones — she was the youngest widow by decades and there were no other children.)
Thanksgiving seemed like a cruel joke — there was precious little to be thankful for — so Camila declined the well-meaning invitations she received from friends and coworkers. Instead, she grabbed their old car camping kit with the essentials — tent, footprint, rainfly, mattress pads (luckily they'd splurged on thicker ones with a high R rating), warm sleeping bags, Coleman stove, mess kits, and Igloo cooler — and they set off for the nearest open campground. The weather stayed mild and they were greeted by a flock of wild turkeys as they made pancakes in the morning. (She remembered the days when Manny was still healthy and they would take little Luz on family camping trips. They'd always intended to eventually introduce Luz to backpacking, but then Manny got sick and those dreams died years before he did.)
The Christmas decorations and music were relentless when they got back to civilization, and Camila didn't know if it would be better to ignore it all or embrace the distraction.
She decided to try the latter.
***
There was finally a faint dusting of snow on the ground ahead of the annual Gravesfield Holiday Parade and Christmas tree lighting. As per usual, Camila underestimated how long it would take to get herself and Luz out of the house, so she wound up circling around the side streets of downtown for a while before ultimately giving up and finding a further off place to park.
Luz trudged along quietly during their (unexpectedly long) trek, and for the first time as a parent, Camila wished she'd hear an "Are we there yet?" or some other complaint.
"Are you warm enough, mija?"
"Sí, Mamá." Luz turned up one side of her mouth and spun around to show off her fuzzy, polar bear ear-ed parka, but her heart didn't seem to be in it.
Camila frowned. "Are you sure?"
"Yes, mom," and now Camila could hear a (reassuring) tinge of annoyance.
Her lips twitched and she wrapped an arm around her daughter. Luz tolerated it for about a block before shrugging her off.
All the prime parade-viewing spots were taken by the time they got there, but they managed to carve out a little space underneath that creepy colonizer monument.
No one said anything as they made room for the latecomers, but Camila could feel the judgmental looks from other parents whose children hadn't missed the first few floats. She held her head high and tried to ignore them.
"Oh, look at those little girls in those cute uniforms and reindeer ears!" Camila hoped her daughter couldn't tell how much of her cheerfulness was forced. "That's a Girl Scout troop, right? Maybe we should sign you up."
Luz shrugged and Camila pursed her lips in thought.
They'd been so busy with Manny and his countless appointments when they first moved to Gravesfield that things like extracurriculars and getting to know neighbors had been largely neglected. That had made sense at the time — they were already being stretched so thin and wanted to maximize their time as a family of three — but Camila wondered if Luz was now suffering because of it.
Well, at least they were here now. Maybe this could be a fresh start. (From the moment they met, Camila had never wanted a fresh start without Manny by her side.)
She had no idea there were so many vintage cars in Gravesfield, and they all seemed to be cruising down the parade route, absolutely covered in bright lights, shiny tinsel garlands, and antlers.
More festively-dressed strangers — apparently members of other local organizations she’d never heard of — passed by and waved. Somehow this made Camila feel even less a part of the community.
Luz perked up a little at the high school marching band playing a lively Christmas medley — some of the teens had put fairy lights on their instruments and were synchronizing spins while (mostly) staying in formation. Still, that faint ghost of excitement was short-lived.
Santa was the grand finale, but Luz remained indifferent. Did her daughter no longer believe in Christmas magic? (True, eight was a little borderline, but she always got so completely engrossed in her fantasy stories that Camila thought she'd believe a little longer.)
Camila’s eyes began to prick, but she held back the tears and shepherded Luz to the giant Christmas tree, following the rest of the crowd.
They joined in the countdown — five, four, three, two, one — and for a moment, Camila couldn't help but feel a little thrill at the colorful lights that came from the darkness. It wasn't quite happiness — that was a bit of a stretch — but maybe…hope?
Children’s voices began to perform carols — It's Beginning To Look A Lot Like Christmas, Jingle Bell Rock, Silver Bells…and Silent Night.
That had been one of Manny’s signature staples when he performed carols on the guitar — he’d sing snippets in as many languages as he could. Silent Night. Stille Nacht. Douce nuit. Cicha noc. Jouluyö, Juhlayö.
Noche de paz.
“I think I liked Papá's version better,” Luz said softly when the choir finished.
Camila could only nod and wrap Luz in a hug.
"Let's go home, Mom."
***
Luz came home from her grief therapy group with a pamphlet: Holidays Can Be Hard for Families Who Have Experienced a Loss.
“No kidding,” Camila muttered.
***
Luz sat at the table in the break room at her mom's vet’s office, doodling on the side of her homework sheet. She was trying to sketch some of Mamá's patients from memory, but was having trouble capturing the black kitten’s expression.
“Luz?” her mom called out from the corridor, and she jumped guiltily. Technically, she was supposed to be writing sentences with her spelling words.
Mamá reached the doorway, and gave her a tired smile. (It didn't reach her eyes. None of her smiles did these days, and nothing Luz could say or do could change that.)
“Carmen told me Santa will be at the mall this weekend,” Mom began. “Isn't that exciting?”
Luz shrugged. Maybe for some people.
“The clinic’s closed — maybe we could go see him? Take a picture?” Mamá’s smile grew bigger, but Luz could tell it still wasn't real. “I heard there’ll be free hot cocoa!”
“It’ll probably make me sick.” Most brands weren't lactose free, and more than just Luz’s tongue had been burned before when she tried to risk it anyway.
“Right.” Mamá swallowed. “Well, maybe we could have apple cider instead.”
“Nah.”
“Nah no apple cider, or nah no seeing Santa?”
“No Santa.”
Her mom opened her mouth before closing it and nodding. “Ok, we don't have to.” Somehow, Mamá managed to look even sadder.
Luz felt a little guilty — they had even managed to go see Santa last year when Dad was sick — but she just couldn't imagine being around a bunch of happy kids looking forward to getting their Christmas wishes.
Even with magic, Santa couldn't get her what she wanted this year.
(She was pretty sure, at least. Santa didn't seem like a necromancer from one of her books.)
***
Before — everything was separated into Before and After — Manny and Camila tried to go all out for Christmas for Luz. Their home had been a joyful mashup of Dominican, Puerto Rican, and American traditions.
This year, Camila managed to put up an evergreen wreath, and that was mostly because it was near the checkout at the grocery store. (So much for trying to distract Luz with some holiday spirit.)
She knew exactly where the boxes upon boxes of decorations were in the basement. Objectively, they wouldn't be hard to bring upstairs.
Except Camila couldn't make herself go past the boxes upon boxes of Manny’s things.
(His sister Luisa had been the one to put his clothes in storage after the funeral — Camila had been utterly frozen, unable to remove them from their shared closet but also unable to keep herself from breaking down crying into one of his shirts every morning.)
With each passing day, Camila felt like a failure of a mother, and she hoped that Luz wouldn't be too disappointed by a more minimalist Christmas.
(Maybe next year would be better.)
***
Luz wasn't terribly worried when they didn't get a tree the first weekend of December. The holiday parade was a lot, and besides, they usually waited a bit so that their tree would last into the New Year.
Then the second weekend passed, and Mom still hadn't said anything about driving to a tree farm or “cheating” and getting a tree from the hardware store parking lot like they did last year when Papá wasn't up for cutting down a tree.
Did she forget? Mamá could be a little scatterbrained sometimes, and Dad wasn't around to help her remember.
Maybe Luz had to step up.
“Mamá?”
“Yes, mija?” Her mom’s eyes looked suspiciously red — from exhaustion? from crying? — but she held out her arms and Luz snuggled in for a hug.
“I was wondering when we were going to get our tree.”
“Oh.”
Luz looked up.
“A patient at the clinic — well, the owner of a patient at the clinic, technically — gave me a lovely small potted pine tree and I thought that could be our tree this year?” There was a small crease between Mom’s eyebrows. “Is that ok?”
No, not really. But adding to her mom's stress would be worse.
Luz did her best to sound cheerful. “Sí, Mamá. That sounds like a great idea.”
***
Even the relatively lightweight star topper made the little pine tree droop, and the “ornaments” it came with felt cheap and disposable.
***
“¿Hola? Camila? Are you there?”
Camila let out a deep breath before answering her sister-in-law. (Former sister-in-law? She wasn't sure if she was supposed to make some sort of caveat now.)
“Sí, Luisa. ¿Cómo estás?” They spoke slightly different flavors of Spanish, but it was always nice to talk to someone who blended the same two languages she did — Camila didn't have to worry about whether the English or Spanish would reach her tongue first. (Something inside her chest clenched at that thought — it had been something that she and Manny had bonded over in vet school.)
“Not great. And I imagine that you're not great either.”
“No, no I am not,” Camila said, and didn't bother to try to hide the wobble in her voice. There was no need to put on a brave front. Not when Luisa was grieving her younger brother just as much as Camila was grieving her spouse. “I'm sorry I haven't called…”
“It’s ok, it's ok, I get it. I haven't exactly called much either.” Luisa effortlessly pivoted from reassuring to all business. “Look, I know it's extremely last minute, but Mamá and I are going a little crazy in New York so we're flying out to Puerto Rico to see the rest of the family. We’d love it if you and Luz could join us.”
Camila blinked. “But that’s…”
“In less than a week. I know. Take a little time to think about it, but not too long. I’ll forward you our travel details.”
“Ok?”
“Tú eres familia, Camila. Don't be a stranger.”
“I won't.”
Camila stared at her phone for a few minutes after hanging up, but then shook her head and started researching. She gulped a little at the price of last minute holiday tickets, but ultimately pulled the trigger.
Her bank account probably wouldn't be happy, but maybe her daughter would be.