Mrs. Moore felt timid and meek as she followed her husband up the porch steps to her mother-in-law’s apartment where they would be spending their Christmas morning. After frustrating weeks of arguments and a rather righteous tirade, she had finally worked up the gumption to visit a few of the businesses within walking distance of the Lower Park and ask if they were hiring. Nervous but fighting to remain optimistic, she had managed to collect three different applications and made a return home with them to fill each of the forms out.

When she scrounged up a working pen and actually spread the pages out across the kitchen counter to see what she would need to do—her confidence was simply crushed. It was gut-wrenching to discover how defeating the simple questionnaires were, even with how basic the rather clinically-worded forms were to her. Each application wrung Mrs. Moore’s weak spirit through the same trial, one that should have been an obvious hurdle for her naive idea in the first place.

Work experience, Mrs. Moore thought with a hollow feeling. All of them required me to list, IN DETAIL, my past three jobs and fill in information about my employment. The one application asked for my FIVE previous jobs—good heavens, is that even a normal expectation?!

Leaving it all blank felt like she’d be turning in a test without putting any answers on it. It went without saying that whoever was in charge of hiring would chuckle at glancing it over and then toss it right in the trash bin. She wasn’t even bold enough to pen in those scant few modeling jobs her agent had found for her all those many years ago—they would look at her now and laugh her right out of the building. Putting in a simple ‘homemaker’ in to explain her missing work experience felt like just as much of a lie.

Because, I don’t really have anything to show for that, either, Mrs. Moore thought with a numb stare at her husband’s back. Didn’t manage the household, didn’t do much of cooking or cleaning or TAKING CARE of anyone. Before I might have tried to claim that, but over the past year after seeing my daughter ACTUALLY step up and do those things—it’s humbling. It’s humbling, and the fact of the matter is that I DIDN’T do anything of worth, for years and years and years. Why WOULD anyone ever hire me?

Alan had been supportive when he came home and realized how upset she was, and that rankled. She wanted to prove that she could do something, that she could contribute—but at the same time that all too familiar deadening fear also made her just want to hole herself up in the mobile home like she used to and never ever go out. People were going to judge her. Surely the interviewer would talk down to her. Even if she did somehow miraculously manage to get hired, any other employees would despise her as useless trash. Customers would look at her with impatience and disgust. What job was there for her out there? Where could her beaten and battered psyche possibly survive, dealing with people again?

Really don’t know how Tabby does it, Mrs. Moore felt a wash of shame all over again. Imagining being thrust back into a social setting was suffocating, she’d worked herself up into at least one panic attack over it, and she just wasn’t sure if she could actually face it all again.

After they knocked, it was Tabitha who opened the door for them, and the two parents awkwardly greeted her and shuffled inside so that they wouldn’t let out all the heat. It was impossible not to feel the strain between them and her—the subtle surface tension no one wanted to risk breaking by speaking too much or seeming too familiar. Tabitha’s fragile smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, which met their gaze and just as quickly looked away. The way her welcome, come on in, Merry Christmas was delivered might as well have been addressing strangers. The way their daughter then quickly pivoted away from them and withdrew in the direction of the kitchen.

We’re so close to losing her, Mrs. Moore’s anxiety graduated to a directionless sense of urgency all over again. We have to DO something, but—but WHAT? Maybe, maybe we’ve even already lost her.

They’d brought a lot of presents, and Alan had to make another trip back to the truck just to carry them all in. It looked like a lot, and her husband had assured her the boys would all be ‘just tickled pink’ at all the stuff they were getting this year, but she couldn’t help but have her doubts. After all, they’d picked out the toys for their four nephews at the Dollar Tree in Fairfield, on a ten dollar budget. A big bag of generic plastic army soldiers, a pair of brightly-colored squirt guns. A pack of Power Rangers-themed playing cards, and then a package of off-brand Matchbox muscle cars. Several little plastic mazes with a tiny little BB inside, that you turned this way and that to get to the goal, and then a pack of tennis balls with alternating bright green and bright pink colors to play catch with.

She’d picked out a pricey lemongrass and ginger Yankee Candle for Laurie, and then for Tabitha they wound up playing it safe—if a bit impersonal—with a cute little Reese’s gift basket, an expensive Dove lotion, bodywash, and shampoo collection set, and then they put all of their remaining money into a fifty-dollar JC Penney gift card, so that Tabitha could choose things according to her own tastes. Shannon had rationalized all of the picks over and over to death and knew they were probably the smart choices, but at the same time… it felt like there was nothing exciting or meaningful there. Nothing impressive, nothing that would win Tabitha back over.

When she looked up from where she was fussing with the distribution of new presents to the pile under the tree, Tabitha was ushering the four young boys out of the kitchen, and Tabitha didn’t look up from them. It stung more than a little to see the girl so purposefully turning her attention anywhere but in her parent’s direction. It just hurt, in a way Shannon had never imagined it could.

Please, PLEASE Alan can you just not start up another argument this time.

“Can we open now?”

“Yeah, can we open now?”

“Can we start opening presents now?!”

Any attempts to calm the four boys down was momentarily stymied by how hyped up they were—Joshua was running around the table and making a short lap up and down the back hallway, Aiden was practically jumping up and down in place, and Samuel was poised right over the present pile with an enormous grin as if he was about to start snatching things.

“Boys—settle down now, goodness’ sakes,” Grandma Laurie pulled out a chair and heaved herself into it with a heavy sigh. “Find yourself spots to sit. Alan, Shannon dear—you’re welcome to join me here at the table where you won’t have these heathens underfoot.”

“Do I smell cinnamon rolls?” Mr. Moore asked, leading his wife over.

“Gramma said twenty minutes!” Joshua reported. “Hi. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, Joshua.”

“Twenty minutes, so—we havta open presents first,” Aiden said. “We can’t wait twenty minutes.”

“Yeah,” Nicholas joined in. “That’s like—that’s hours from now!”

“Boys,” Tabitha called. “Find a spot to sit, please. I’ll pass out a few at a time.”

The frantic energy and excitement was a very welcome distraction for her, because it meant she could just focus on the children. Her parents were here, everything was—well, copacetic,—and the morning would remain fine so long as everyone stuck to the script. It was Christmas. They all just needed to set aside their differences for one morning and make believe that their relationship wasn’t a big mess.

Easy, right? Tabitha forced a smile as she scanned the presents for names and chose a few nicely-sized ones for each of the boys to distribute. Yeah. Easy. No problem. No problem from MY end.

Tabitha wasn’t sure how rigidly structured other families were for their Christmas morning opening of presents traditions, but the Moore family had always enforced the rule of taking turns to open gifts, one at a time, going around the group in a big circle. It was perhaps a way of artificially extending the presence and impression of the overall event for the kids; the fact of the matter was that there simply weren’t that many presents under the tree. If the boys were given leave to just open them all right away, their entire Christmas morning would be over in two or three minutes at best.

The adults all sat over at the table with their chairs turned to face towards the living room, while Samuel and Nicholas claimed the sofa. Aiden and Joshua were left with carpet space, with the former standing up on his knees and the latter trying to sit with legs crossed Indian-style but rocking back and forth and all but frothing at the mouth to start tearing into the presents. Tabitha herself took the guardian position, resting on the floor between the Christmas tree and everyone else, so that she could better hand things out.

A solemn silence fell as she did so, passing several wrapped gifts out to each of the boys.

“Who starts off this year?” Tabitha asked with a small smile.

“I do!”

“Me! Me!”

“It’s my turn to start this year!”

“Me me me!”

“I think this year… it’s Nicholas,” Grandma Laurie decided.

“YESSSS!” Nicholas shot a fist into the air.

“NO!” Aiden despaired.

“That’s so not fair,” Samuel stared daggers at his brother.

“Hurry up,” Joshua urged. “Hurry up hurry up hurry up!”

“Hold your horses, already!” Nicholas said with a grin as he tore into one of the presents in his little pile. “It’s—oh my God, Wrestlemania. I got—”

“Who’d you get?!” Aiden demanded, rising up onto his feet with impatience so he could try to see the packaging his brother was examining.

“I got Shawn Michaels!” Nicholas boasted, holding the box up for everyone to see for a moment.

Tabitha caught a glimpse of a rather brawny action figure with long sculpted hair for a moment, before Nicholas dropped his prize back down into his lap and started ripping a seam between the cardback and the plastic bubble.

“Damn, nice,” Samuel nodded in appreciation.

“Yeah,” Joshua said.

“Wrestling?” Mr. Moore guessed.

“Is he a good one?” Tabitha asked. “I think I only know the super famous ones, like Dwayne Johnson.”

“Dwayne Johnson?” Samuel gave her a skeptical look. “You mean The Rock?”

“The Rock, yeah,” Tabitha smiled. “I know him, and I know John Cena, and I know David Bautista.”

The boys exchanged confused glances with each other, which resulted in Joshua giving them a shrug, Aiden shaking his head in exasperation, and Nicholas letting out a laugh and turning his attention back to the action figure in front of him.

“Uhh, yeah I dunno if those last two are real wrestlers,” Samuel had the patience to educate her. “I’ve never heard of them. We’re talking wrestling like—Goldberg, Stone Cold Steve Austin. Shaun Michaels.”

“The Undertaker,” Aiden added with a scoff. “Triple H. Sting. Booker T. The Rock is real, yeah, but those other two aren’t even real wrestlers.”

“Hmm, is that so?” Tabitha’s eyes twinkled. “I think it’s your turn next, Aiden.”

“Finally!” Aiden shredded apart the wrapping paper of his next present with glee. “I got—it’s Batman. Knight Force Ninjas Deluxe Power Kick Batman!”

“Whoaaa,” Joshua’s mouth fell open. “Let me see!”

“Lemme see, lemme see!” Nicholas demanded. “We can’t even see it!”

“Another action figure?” Tabitha guessed.

“Yeah,” Aiden said. “‘Cept way cooler—look he’s got like, battle damage and everything. You can see his suit’s torn on his shoulder and then there on his leg, like he’s been fighting. He looks so cool. So cool.”

“Nice,” Nicholas grudgingly admitted, looking from it back down towards his Shaun Michaels figure.

“‘Knight Force… Ninjas Deluxe?’” Mrs. Moore enunciated it out loud with a frown.

“They have to differentiate the various collections of figures somehow or other,” Tabitha let out a laugh. “Is this from one of the movies, or the comics?”

“Uhh, the show, I think,” Aiden answered. “The cartoon. From the way the style looks, with the really square chin. Batman the animated series. It’s really good.”

“Yeah, it’s really good,” Samuel nodded. “Me next?”

“Go for it!” Tabitha said.

When Samuel opened his pick—yet another action figure—it turned out to be an exceptionally beefy Han Solo, so ridiculously swole that Tabitha had to let out enough laugh when she was shown, because the toy bore almost no resemblance to actor Harrison Ford. This figure was a bit smaller than the ones Samuel’s brothers had just opened, but came with a swiveling gunners chair to the front of which attached a neat faux window outline in the shape of one of those Star Wars style cockpits.

Much to the envy of the other boys, this Han Solo gunnery chair thing fired four missiles, little plastic sticks that shot out of some hidden spring mechanism one by one when the gear at the back of the plastic gunnery seat was turned. Tabitha was perhaps the least impressed, but then again she had no idea what sort of imaginary play rules her cousins operated by when they did their thing with their action figures.

It’s interesting how clever each of the figure designs are, Tabitha mused to herself as the boys continued to take turns opening their toys. They’re all so different, yet each one revealed has really blown away the boys with that, I don’t know—that COOL FACTOR. Muscular and masculine, ready to burst into action and adventure. To fight off the bad guys and save the day. They’re all part of these big huge franchise brands, too—you can see their elementary-schooler eyes just light up with recognition and, and I guess pull them into the dream, the story, bring to mind all of the television or cartoons or whatnot these things are from. It’s a little magical.

“Godzilla all terrain attack vehicle!” Joshua crowed, holding his new treasure up high with both hands. “It’s got—it’s got like, it fires mortar bombs from the back. And, it comes with the guy!”

“Guy?” Aiden asked. “What guy?”

“Uhhh, it says it comes with Godzilla Force Nick. I think he’s from the movie?”

Wouldn’t it be something if GOBLIN PRINCESS really took off and got big someday? Tabitha daydreamed as she watched on with a small smile. Instead of Harry Potter just completely dominating the young adult fiction sphere. Were there Harry Potter toys? I’m sure there must have been. What would toys from my story look like? A plucky little action figure protagonist? A set of her close goblin friends? The evil magi?

When they got to the very tail end of their presents, Tabitha distributed the ones that were from her—a little wrapped ball for each of them she delivered with a mischievous smile and a toss. More than anything Joshua was confused when he caught his—because the little thing was too small, and too light. There was no way a Tamagotchi would fit in here, even if it was already opened. It was almost as if—Joshua unwrapped the ball, revealing that it was in fact, just a capsule toy like you could get from the vending machines at the front of Food Lion.

Joshua’s heart fell at the sight.

Inside the clear plastic ball it was plain to see that there was just some folded slip of paper. Almost like the little fortunes you could get from fortune cookies. The weight of disappointment completely crushed his hopes at getting something cool from Tabitha. Surely she wasn’t this out of touch with what real kids actually wanted, right? Was this some gift idea that some girly teen fashion magazine brainwashed her into thinking deep and meaningful?! What even was it, a poem for Christmas, or something? It was as bad as getting a Christmas card from the grown ups without even any money in it.

Perhaps worst of all, this had happened before! Last Easter, grandma Laurie had taken them to an easter egg hunt one of the local churches was hosting. Half of the eggs didn’t even have M & M’s or jellybeans in them—they had Bible verses, written on folded slips of paper. Just like this. Joshua watched as Aiden tried and failed to get his capsule open with his fingernails, a problem Joshua shared. The things were hard to get open.

“It’s just a piece of paper,” Aiden gave up on prying it open and sent a look towards Tabitha that was somewhere between a scoff and a smirk.

“I… can’t even open it,” Joshua admitted with a grimacing smile. I’m not sure I even want to?

“Are they hard to get open?” Tabitha asked with an expectant look. “Here—I can get it for you.”

Nicholas had already managed to get his open and was holding the slip of paper up to read it with a frown, and with a frustrated sound and a pop Samuel opened his as well. With a sheepish grin Joshua handed his capsule to Tabitha, while Aiden had already lost interest— the brother set his capsule aside unopened and turned his attention back towards the Batman figure in front of him.

Can Tabitha even get it with her one hand in a cast? Joshua wondered.

Rather than picking at the plastic lid with her fingernails or trying to twist it off, Tabitha took the vending machine ball in her good hand and squeezed it. When the mouth of the little container deformed in the strength of her grip the lid popped off on its own, and Tabitha promptly passed the open toy capsule back to Joshua. He then dug the slip inside out with his fingertip and was just about to see what it said—when Nicholas bolted upright from his sitting position on the couch and then made a beeline for the bathroom.

“Hah,” Aiden laughed. “When you gotta go, you gotta go!”

Smiling and shaking his head, Joshua finally unfolded the slip to read:

Merry Christmas Joshua! Your REAL present is next to the TV in grandma’s room.

My REAL present? Joshua felt a surge of excitement replace the disappointment and he looked back towards Tabitha in disbelief. This wasn’t it?!

She beamed an especially beautiful smile at him and nodded her head in the direction of the back hallway.

Still stupidly holding the paper slip in both hands as if it would personally lead him, Joshua struggled to his feet and stepped over the strewn mess of crumpled gift paper that had surrounded him. Samuel had already dropped off of the sofa and into a crouch and was scooping aside the trash pile of his own that had collected at his feet—Joshua watched with a sense of urgency as Sam reached beneath the sofa and pulled out another wrapped box that had been hidden there. One whose Christmas wrapping paper didn’t match any of the familiar ones the Moores used!

“What the—” Aiden exclaimed at seeing Samuel pull a present out of nowhere. “No fair! Where’d that come from?!”

“Aww, Aiden,” Joshua could hear the playful pout in Tabitha’s voice as he dashed down the back hallway. “You didn’t open your Christmas present from me!”

She went and hid our REAL presents! Joshua thought with a grin.

He caught a fleeting glimpse of Nicholas tearing open a present through the open bathroom door as he passed by, but there was no time to stop and see. The apartment wasn’t that big, and he thundered into grandma Laurie’s room in the back and all but scrambled for the TV where the four brothers usually played Nintendo 64. There it was—a box-shaped present for him, nestled in just beside the television set.

When he grabbed it up it was heavier than expected, so it shouldn’t be a VHS tape, or even an action figure. Action figures didn’t weigh all that much themselves, and most of their packaging was always a clear plastic bubble that was mostly empty air. Eager fingers found the taped seam at the end and he tore and ripped the wrapping apart, to reveal—

“No way,” Joshua’s eyes went wide and he felt his chest seize with tension at the sheer disbelief of it all.

The picture on the box in his hand depicted a lime-green Gameboy Color. She’d gotten them a Gameboy Color. This was a brand new Gameboy Color. Gameboy. Color.

It’s a GAMEBOY COLOR, Joshua reiterated in his mind, so thrilled he could almost burst. SHE GOT US A FRIGGIN’ GAMEBOY COLOR!!!

“Guys!” Joshua couldn’t help but shout. “Guys, Guys!!”

He hugged the beloved box against his chest so that there was absolutely no chance he would accidentally drop or damage it, scampering back down the hall. His thoughts were whirling, because an entire new game system was way way way better than the Tamagotchi he had been expecting. With this, they wouldn’t be forced to share just one Nintendo 64 between the four of them anymore! Some of them could play the N64, while some could play the Gameboy! Sure, there was always still gonna be someone left out, but this way at least—

“Ohmigod,” Nicholas blurted out, stepping out of the bathroom.

His brother looked shell-shocked, he was holding up his own box, and when Joshua laid eyes on it he was stunned into silence as well. Another Gameboy Color, the one Nicholas cradled in his hands being blue instead of green. They each froze as they stared at each other’s boxes in astonishment, because it wasn’t even believable. Was this some sort of prank? The boxes looked real, and it had a certain heft to it that indicated the contents inside were genuine. Tabitha buying them Gameboys, plural, was crazy, though—it felt like for a moment all of Joshua’s thought processes had short-circuited and reason and logic had just jumped out the window.

Is this—is this real?! Joshua was too flabbergasted to speak.

Technically speaking, although they all shared the Nintendo 64, it wasn’t even theirs. It was their dad’s. With two Gameboys they could—they could—he couldn’t even imagine it. Max in his second-grade class had brought his Gameboy to school and instantly attracted the full awe and jealousy of every single kid there! Mrs. Cunningham had to temporarily confiscate it, because it stole the attention of the entire classroom! An entire handheld video game system, that could fit in the palm of your hands!

Alternating between too numb to speak and too blown away not to scream and shout in triumph, Joshua followed Nicholas as he hurried out to the living room to show everyone. Before they could even reveal the huge surprise though, both of them staggered to a stop at the sight of Samuel holding his own Gameboy Color box—this one was red!

“Oh my God oh my God oh my God!!” Joshua blurted out.

“Aiden, hurry!” Tabitha teased. “Or, everyone’ll have one but you!”

Having never looked more alarmed in his entire life, Aiden darted past them in a panic now with a tiny slip of paper in his hand—late in the hunt for his own present.

“What’s all this?” Mr. Moore asked with a faintly disapproving look. “What’d you boys get?”

“We got—we got Gameboy Colors?” Samuel breathed out, obviously just as incredulous as Joshua and Nicholas were.

“One for each of you, so that you won’t have to share,” Tabitha revealed with a proud smile.

“That’s… a bit much,” Mr. Moore frowned.

“I put in batteries for you guys, and I also put a game cartridge in each one,” Tabitha continued as if she hadn’t heard her father. “Samuel and Aiden have Pokemon Red, Nicholas and Joshua have Pokemon Blue. There’s two link cables, so that you’ll be able to battle against each other and trade Pokemon.”

“Well, my word,” Grandma Laurie shook her head with a smile.

“Grandma—I bought a big pack of double-A batteries for them, it’s still half full,” Tabitha said. “In a few days or however long it takes, you make sure that replacement batteries are only for boys who’ve been on their best behavior.”

“We got Pokemon?!” Nicholas exclaimed, quickly flipping the Gameboy Color box around so that he could untab the closure and open it.

“Isn’t all that expensive?” Mrs. Moore fretted, looking back and forth across the boys.

“Guys—guys!?” Aiden jolted out of the back hallway, holding a fourth box—this one depicting a yellow Gameboy Color.

“They won’t actually have real color like they should,” Tabitha sighed. “We’ll see about that in the future. Couldn’t quite afford to get you all Pokemon Yellow, but ‘Licia, ‘Lena and I should each have that one, and then you boys’ll have Red and Blue, and that way we’ll be able to trade across the versions and actually collect every single Pokemon! I’m so excited to be able to play with you guys!”

“Tabitha—” Joshua already wanted to cry as the realization really dawned on him.

These weren’t presents from a vague and probably not real entity like Santa Claus. They obviously weren’t from their parents, and grandma Laurie looked just as surprised to see the appearance of four Gameboy Colors. Aunt Shannon’s confusion and uncle Alan’s pursed lips also told him that they hadn’t bought these. These were completely from Tabitha. It was one thing to know these were the presents Tabby had gotten them, and then another to really realize it.

“Seems like a bit much,” Mr. Moore said in a careful tone, as if choosing his words so as not to sound too critical while in front of everyone.

Joshua immediately hugged the box even more tightly against himself, as if that stupid adult might convince them to take it away from him.

“Couldn’t they have, y’know, just gotten one and then shared it between them?”

“They’ve done that with everything their whole lives,” Tabitha countered in a calm voice. “This time, for once they won’t have to.”

It’s mine, like ACTUALLY mine, Joshua felt floored all over again. I won’t have to share it. I won’t even have to SHOW THEM. It’s just for me. This, right here. Is MY Gameboy.

The entire concept was so astonishing that he felt his eyes water as he admired the package depicting the Gameboy. Growing up in extreme close proximity with three other brothers always wound up making all of the toys communal property. Sure, each of them had gotten ‘their own’ figures and stuff for Christmas, but that tended to just mean they got to play with it first. Sole possession of stuff like that might linger on for a week or two at the very most, before it all simply became everyone’s toys.

But now, this gorgeous lime green Gameboy Color was his. His, and his alone. He could write his name on it in permanent marker. The file on the game could have his name typed into it with the selector. Instead of all of them being stuck with whatever goofy thing the kid who happened to be holding the controller put in, before anyone could stop him. This was all his. A Pokemon game, even—he could catch his own pocket monsters that would be all his, while knowing his brothers were off doing the same with their own monsters.

None of them would bug him for it. He wouldn’t have to wait his turn to use it. His brothers wouldn’t even envy him or covet the device or try to steal it from him, because each of them had their own! It was brand new, and was a game he’d always longed for after seeing the commercials on TV and all the kids at school who collected the Pokemon stuff. Maybe he would get lucky and find a super awesome monster like a Charizard! The giant flame dragon thing. Or, a cool spooky evil ghost one, like a Gengar. The boys caught the cartoon show every now and then, but none of them knew the story well and none of them had ever dared to imagine they would get the games for themselves like this.

“So… did I do good?” Tabitha asked, actually sounding a little nervous. “Do you like them?”

“Good?!” Samuel exclaimed.

“This is the best present I’ve ever gotten in my entire life,” Joshua told her. “The best ever!”

“Whoooaa…” Nicholas had managed to unbox his and held up the actual game system in his hands.

A light blue one, pristine and perfect in every way, the dark blue Pokemon game already slotted into the back. Nicholas turned it on, and as one all of the boys crashed into each other, crowding in close in an attempt to see the screen. A pixel GAMEBOY logo swam across the screen in a vivid rainbow of colors, little speakers sounding out with the coin sound they remembered from Mario. A few developer logos went by, and then the Pokemon music played—each of them were glued to the spot as they watched an animated cinematic of a Gengar fighting a Jigglypuff. No one even dared to breathe, they were so mesmerized.

“Ohmigod ohmigod—”

“So freakin’ cool!”

“Is Red the same as Blue?!”

“So cool. Awesome.”

“Holy crap. Holy crap. Holy—”

“This is so amazinggg—”

“Hit enter. I mean, press A—”

“Go open your own!”

“Oh yeah! Hah, duh.”

“We each have our own Gameboys!!”

“Boys, boys,” Grandma Laurie chided them. “I think your cousin deserves some thank yous and maybe a big hug?”

Alan Moore still felt a bit stunned as he watched his nephews throwing themselves into hyperactive fits over the Gameboys. Everything had been going so nice, this morning. Close family coming together to celebrate the coming of Christ, the scent of his mother’s amazing cinnamon rolls she made every Christmas just hanging in the air and working up their appetites. Toys for the boys to get excited for, sure, but that wasn’t what the occasion was supposed to be about. It was a time for family.

Now, it was as if the long arm of these other families, these meddlesome interlopers had reached on over to ‘correct’ their honest and simple notions. With brand new, expensive-as-all-hells Gameboy Color systems, to boot. Boys that age had no business playing around with that kind of expensive electronics, it was ludicrous. They should be running around outside, or learning to build things, to work with their hands. Treehouse forts, digging ditches and dams and what have you down by that creek past the playground. Not staring themselves cross-eyed hunched over those handheld video game things.

It didn’t sit right with him.

Eighty dollars, EACH! Mr. Moore thought, feeling his smile grow strained. Probably cost an arm and a leg more, ‘cause you know it’s always BATTERIES SOLD SEPARATELY, then the l’il game cartridges you have to buy off on their own, and all that jazz. It’s absolutely ludicrous! What are those boys supposed to say when one of ‘em inevitably drops the darn thing and busts it into itty-bitty pieces? How’re they supposed to be able to pay for ‘em back to the WILLIAMS, or the MACINTIRES—or whoever’n the hell thought to themselves that these were okay things to give to boys this age?

Alan wasn’t stupid—he knew exactly how much the stupid contraptions cost, because he’d been up and down that Walmart electronics aisle in the wake of his wife, searching everything up and down for something special for Tabitha. How could he forget that the things cost eighty dollars—that kinda price was completely insane. For a quarter of that price you could buy a Tiger Handheld electronic game, and they were basically the same thing!

No, them Tiger ones were even better, because they had the game thingamajig itself built right into the darn thing, so you can’t lose it, and you don’t have to buy it separately! What an absolute scam! The Gameboy folk should be ashamed of themselves, parents should really put their foot down ‘bout this kinda thing, talk to their kids about so they don’t get suckered into these rackets or fooled by all the flashy television commercials that’re always runnin’.

What was most galling was that these other families—whichever ones they were—had thought it acceptable to interfere in their Christmas in this way. All of the perfectly acceptable toys the boys’d had beaming smiles about just minutes ago were already forgotten. Just like that! Like drones or zombies or something, the boys were now completely enthralled in staring down at the little screens. Oblivious to the outside world, to their own Christmas morning, to their own family. It was unheard of!

And now yeah, now I’ve gotta be THE BAD GUY, I’ve gotta be the one sensible adult who knows better than to let them keep the damn things, Mr. Moore thought with a heavy sigh.

It was hard to say the gifts were even good-intentioned, no matter which way he tried to spin it. One of those other mothers had surely known what the were up to when they picked out pricey presents, the likes of which the Moores—or any sensible family wouldn’t waste hard-earned money on. He wanted to say these nephews of his had good heads on their shoulders, and knew better than to get sucked into video games, or obsessed like some people did. Maybe these other families were just too used to buying the affection of those around them, falling all the way into that awful mindset.

Then again, who knows? Mr. Moore gently shook his head. Hell, I’m sure I’m just overthinkin’ it all. I’ve had too much of this nonsense on my mind. I think what we’ll have to do, is—

“Man,” Joshua muttered, wholly entranced by the Gameboy Color in his hands. “I bet every Christmas woulda been this good if mom wasn’t spending all the money on drugs.”

What followed was a moment of stunned, aghast silence as everyone turned to stare at him.

“Joshua!” Grandma Laurie exclaimed.

“Joshua—I don’t ever wanna hear you talk about your own mother that way,” Mr. Moore’s voice rose in volume until it sounded threatening.

“Honey—” Mrs. Moore attempted to interject. “I’m sure he—”

“She’s your own mother!” Mr. Moore exploded. “Things’re bad enough like they are, we don’t need you goin’ ‘round repeatin’ whatever malarkey nonsense you’ve heard other people say.”

“Alan—” Mrs. Moore tried again, but her husband pressed on heedless of interruption.

“They don’t know your momma, they don’t know this family, and honest to God, they don’t even know what they’re talking about,” Mr. Moore said. “They think everyone an’ anyone who happens to live in a trailer court must all just be lowlifes and junkies, they have absolutely no Christian considera—”

“Dad—could I speak to you privately for a moment?” Tabitha asked, feeling her body still as simmering anger rose up within her. “Please?”

“Privately?” Mr. Moore said, raising his eyebrows at her apparent challenge. “Why? Why privately, honey? There somethin’ you’re too ashamed to say here in front of the boys?”

“Ashamed? No,” Tabitha hugged her arms across herself tightly for protection as the situation seemed to spiral completely out of her control. “I have—I have nothing to be ashamed of! I was hoping to. To be able to reason with you, without some kind of… big, confrontational argument—something that might undermine your authority as a parent.”

“Tabitha,” Mr. Moore chuckled ruefully, shaking his head. “I am a parent, I’m the adult here, and there ain’t nothin’ in the world’s gonna take that away or ‘undermine it’ or make that any different. I just am a parent—I do have the authority and say so.”

Oh, really? Then—why have I gone to live with another family?

Tabitha opened her mouth to say just that, but barely—just barely—managed to restrain herself, snapping her lips closed and biting them into a bitter line. Those were words that, once spoken, she was not going to be able to take back. She was tempted to voice out those thoughts, anyways—because they were the truth. No, maybe she wasn’t so tempted because the words were the truth. She wanted to say it because she was furious, and she knew those words would hurt him.

“Oh. Okay,” Tabitha finally said.

“I’m a parent,” Mr. Moore continued, shaking his head. “Your Grandma Laurie’s a parent. Danny and Lisa—they’re parents, it means they deserve to be treated with some respect, no matter what. No matter what kind of random trouble comes our way, it’s important for us to stick together. To support one another. We’re family, for Christ’s sakes!”

Anguish and embarrassment were roiling in tandem just beneath Tabitha’s skin, rebuttals to each of his statements whipped across her mind too fast to grasp onto, and she had no earthly idea what expression she was making anymore, so—she left. Tabitha walked past the sofa where Nicholas and Samuel were peeking up from behind their Gameboy Colors, grabbed her coat, and walked out the door. She closed the door carefully behind her, mentally reeling.

The cold stung her face, but she didn’t feel tears. The dreary deadness of winter outside was dismal, but she wasn’t even seeing it. Still too flustered to properly put on her coat, Tabitha instead hugged it tight against herself as she paced over to the edge of the porch with no real destination in mind.

Just walk away. Yeah. Just walk away. Yeah. Walking away here is maybe the most mature thing I’ve done in my whole life, Tabitha wanted to decide. Or, maybe it’s stupid? I don’t know, I really, honestly don’t know. Maybe sparing him a few cruel words was the real cruelty, when he really, REALLY needs to fucking hear them. No, I’m being mature. I’M GROWN THE FUCK UP.

She knew she was too close to the issue to pull it apart and analyze what her best course of action would have been. Just like she was familiar enough with herself to know attempting analysis—if you could even call it that, she would just be running the situation over and over again in her head, wheels spinning in place and getting nowhere—was going to happen regardless.

I should have said it, maybe, Tabitha wanted to cry, but nothing was properly coming out. She turned the other way, anxiously searching down the empty street with no clue as to what she was looking for.

I should have said it, but not—but not in that way, not right then in that moment, not out of HATE. Not out of spite. Not just to hurt him. That would have been… terrible. I don’t think I would have ever been okay with that or been able to live with that. So. Walking away, just fucking—walking away, that was the smart thing to do. Right? He wasn’t going to actually LISTEN to what I was saying anyways, so I, the fucking adult in this situation, just, I just. Disengaged. I disengaged! That was the mature thing to do there. It’s stupid to try arguing with someone, when you know they’re not even listening. Right? If—

The door opened, and Tabitha braced herself as her mother clomped out onto the porch, still struggling her way into a puffy parka.

“Well don’t look at me, I’m on your side!” Mrs. Moore huffed at Tabitha. “He’s a goddamned fool.”

The woman fumbled trying to slam the door shut behind her and eventually got her arm the rest of the way through the sleeve and pushed it closed. The fact that Tabitha’s mother was willing to stomp out and join her in the cold was incredibly touching, and the defensive facade Tabitha had attempted to muster fell away. She tried to give her mom a smile and a laugh, but what came out was instead a choked hiccup intake of breath that sounded more like a sob.

“You’re okay, you’re okay—he’s just, Tabitha hon, he’s an idiot,” Mrs. Moore hurried over and wrapped her daughter in a quick hug. “Let’s get you into your coat, alright? Get you into your coat. It’s freezing out here!”

So, Tabitha’s stoic expression crumbled. Those very welcome tears finally arrived, Tabitha broke down crying, and she allowed herself to feel intensely vulnerable as her increasingly flustered mother tried to dress her in the jacket. As childish as it sounded, Tabitha was just tired of thinking things through and being mature, and in that moment she wished she really had gone and simply went off on her stupid, bull-headed father—just thrown a total tantrum. It was exhausting trying to be the level-headed one all the time, because then where was she to vent out all of her feelings?

Once properly situated into her coat, Tabitha clung to the warmth of her mother against the frigid Christmas air, feeling wretched but at least not feeling alone.

“Boys—why don’t you take your game boys and play in your room for a bit, alright?” Grandma Laurie ordered in a stern tone.

She wasn’t angry at them, but she was indeed feeling mighty cross, and the four boys could tell. They jumped up and were practically elbowing each other out of the way in a scramble for the hallway to escape. The strange chiptune video game music blared to life for a few seconds as one of them accidentally thumbed a little volume wheel, and with a hush of exchanged whispers and hisses at each other they closed the bedroom door behind them.

“Alan,” Grandma Laurie put her fingertips to her temples in consternation. “What do you think you’re doing?!”

“Mom…” Mr. Moore shook his head. “C’mon, I just knew we were gonna wind up fightin’. Just knew right from the get go she was gonna be lookin’ for anyway and anywhat here she could poke in and challenge the—”

“Alan,” Grandma Laurie reprimanded. “She just wanted to speak with you about it. Can she not just speak with you privately?! What’s the matter with that?”

“No, she wasn’t,” Mr. Moore shook his head. “She wasn’t wantin’ to speak with me off on our own—not really. She was wanting to be able to get me aside so she could, you know, twist all the words around and get me confused about what I’m talking about, when I know I’m not confused about what I’m talking about. You know how smart she is, I’m sure you’ve seen how clever she is with, with putting her words around and rearranging whatever topic it is so that she always seems to come out right, ‘bout anything and everything.”

“Because it’s just completely impossible that she is right, is that it?” Grandma Laurie put both of her hands on the kitchen counter. “There’s just no way that you’re wrong, and she’s right?”

“I’m her father,” Mr. Moore said. “She needs to respect that, an’ she needs to respect that her uncle Danny and aunt Lisa—they’re parents, too. Speakin’ the way she does about them, it’s unheard of.”

“Alan, if you want to push her away, just keep doin’ what you’re doin’,” Grandma Laurie gave him a contemplative look. “Hell, it’s working. I sure hope that’s what you want, because it’s working.”

“Oh, c’mon—she lost her temper and stormed off, you saw it,” Mr. Moore gestured towards the door. “She could’ve spoke her piece about whatever’n it was with smart nonsense she was gonna try to, to corner me with, but she didn’t—because it was gonna have to be be all of us out here hearin’ it.”

“Is that what that looked like to you?” Grandma Laurie shook her head. “‘Cause to me, it looked like she’s starting to give up on you.”

“Give up on me?” Mr. Moore asked. “Mom—c’mon now, she’s fourteen years old. I know what’s going on. She’s at that age, she’s gonna throw a fit sometimes and fuss about this or that. She doesn’t—”

“Alan. Listen to me. She’s starting to give up on you.”

“Way to go, turds for brains,” Aiden muttered under his breath.

“Shut up,” Joshua fumed at him. “Dickwad.”

Long past the intro cinematics and start of the game, Joshua was using the D-pad to navigate his little sprite character around exploring Pallet town and pressing the A button on everything he could find. Sometimes his efforts returned a dialogue prompt describing something, sometimes it did nothing. There was a little pixel representation of a personal computer in the player’s room, and going through it had rewarded him with a Potion that could apparently be used to heal his Bulbasaur.

The video game graphics of course were unimpressive compared to anything on their dad’s Nintendo 64, but this was miniaturized into an entire game console and display that fit in his hands. One that was his, completely his to own, one he didn’t have to share with anyone else. A little world all to himself he could drop down into and pretend in, a simple premise of pet monsters and a call to adventure that filled him with endless fascination and excitement.

“You shut up,” Aiden called. “Ignoramus. Hope you get in trouble. Hope they take away your Gameboy.”

“I didn’t even say anything wrong,” Joshua argued. “So what if I said stuff about mom? It was all the truth anyways. And—Tabitha’s the one that gave us these Gameboys, you ungrateful philistine!”

“Yeah, right,” Aiden rolled his eyes. “Retard. She’s barely even older than we are, and she doesn’t even have a job. So what if ‘she gave them to us,’ her parents were the ones that actually paid for them. Duh.”

“So, what?” Joshua growled. “She still was the one who gave them to us, she at least picked them out. Without her we’d’ve probably all gotten socks and sweaters from them for Christmas. So, still counts, fart fetus.”

“It doesn’t even really count, puke-stain-paramecium brain-dick-membrane.”

“Uncultured swine.”

“You’re such a disease.”

“Your mom’s a disease.”

“Your mom’s a disease, you diaper cheese.”

“Guys, shut up,” Nicholas murmured. “Play your stupid games already.”

“He started it.”

“Joshua’s the one who went and made everyone start fighting.”

“So, what? They were basically already fighting anyways.”

“Hope they take your Gameboy away.”

“Hope they take your Gameboy away.”

“Guys, shut up.”

Samuel was barely even visible from his next up on the top bunk bed, but he simply dialed the volume of his Pokemon Red up the whole way, drowning out the hushed back-and-forth argument between his brothers in battle music. A few moments later, Nicholas followed suit and the Pokecenter theme resounded from the opposite top bunk. Not ones to be left out, Joshua and Aiden made one last face at each other and cranked theirs up as well, adding two discordant plays of the Pallet town theme music to the noise in their room.

“Whatever,” Joshua scowled. “S’not my fault mom does drugs.”

When the door opened and Mr. Moore stepped out to join them on the porch, Tabitha couldn’t help but stiffen in her mother’s arms. His presence felt like an invasion of the rare special moment they were having here, and as he closed the door behind him and stepped right over into Mrs. Moore’s glare, Tabitha struggled not to resent him for everything. Everything. To blame him not just for his bullheadedness over the Lisa issue, but for everything. For not being more proactive about his wife’s social anxiety. For not interfering when Tabitha revealed she was being bullied. For their life at the bottom, where she had grown up in poverty and thought herself inferior to everyone else throughout her formative years.

She knew that wasn’t fair. Or at least—not entirely fair. Tabitha simply wasn’t feeling fair; she was upset, and right now she wanted to take it all out on her father. Every time she tried to be mature and reasonable, it seemed to only make her more and more unhappy. Tabitha felt like being childish, and for a difficult instant it was as if a tantrum was just going to explode out of her. Gritting her teeth and holding it all in made her want to cry again.

“S’cold out here,” Mr. Moore observed.

“Alan—” Mrs. Moore warned, stepping between them as if to shield her daughter from his nonsense.

“Hey, she wanted to talk!” He held up his hands. “She wanted to talk to me privately ‘bout all this, so—well, here I am. I’m here to listen’ to what all she’s got to say. If she—”

“I think that ship has sailed,” Mrs. Moore cut him off with a scowl. “Why don’t you—”

“No,” Tabitha spoke up. “We do need to talk.”

Both of her parents paused and turned to regard her, and for a long moment nobody spoke. It was a cold and quiet Christmas morning, so there were no cars passing by, no children running amuck across the neighborhood here for once. Just overcast skies, wet lawns, and a silently feuding family standing on an apartment porch.

“Mom—can you give us a few minutes?” Tabitha asked. “To talk.”

Shannon Moore’s face scrunched up, telling them both just what she thought of that idea, but after looking back and forth between them and letting out a displeased huff, the woman relented. She gave Tabitha’s shoulders another squeeze, and then slowly shuffled past Mr. Moore, glaring daggers at him as she opened the door and went back inside. The silence continued on in her absence for almost a full minute, with Mr. Moore waiting for Tabitha to say what she needed to say.

“Dad—” Tabitha blew out a sigh, wondering if she should even bother. “How much do you know about Lisa’s criminal record?”

“Honey… your aunt Lisa hasn’t had her court date yet,” Mr. Moore explained in a patient voice. “She’s not a ‘criminal,’ or anything like that, definitely not ‘til she’s been tried by a jury of her peers in a court of law.”

“Okay?” Tabitha let out a small laugh of mirth. “That’s not what I asked, though, is it?”

“Hmm?”

“You’re saying—” Tabitha hugged her arms tightly against herself and stared across the porch at her father. “What you’re saying is, she hasn’t been convicted of any of the crimes she was arrested for in the early hours of November twenty-sixth of this year. Is that right?”

“That’s right, hon,” Mr. Moore appeared somewhat relieved. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”

“So—my question remains,” Tabitha continued to stare. “Are you aware of aunt Lisa’s criminal record?”

“I don’t get what you mean,” Mr. Moore shrugged. “If you’re talkin’ ‘bout the arrest, it’s gonna—”

“No. Not just arrests,” Tabitha shook her head but didn’t break eye contact. “Convictions. Are you aware of aunt Lisa’s prior drug convictions?”

“What are you talking about?” Mr. Moore asked.

“Her history of drug abuse, arrests, and convictions prior to meeting us on Thanksgiving?” Tabitha prompted. “Possession as well as misdemeanor theft, I think it was. I mean, hah—dad. Even if she were to miraculously wiggle out of the charges for this time... she’s for sure not keeping custody of the kids. That’s just not happening. Period.”

“Tabitha—who’s telling you all this?” Mr. Moore’s frown deepened. “If for one second you believe—”

“Stop—just, stop,” Tabitha smacked her good hand against the porch railing. “I’m not being misled or brainwashed or persuaded by these other families. I—dad, I seriously need you to wake up. To wake the fuck up. Aunt Lisa isn’t this harmless, well-meaning, country gal. She’s a drug addict, a threat to her family, and the only way we can help her right now is to have her face the legal consequences of everything she’s done.”

“If you’re talkin’ ‘bout—” Mr. Moore paused. “If you’re talkin’ ‘bout back when her and your uncle were gettin’ into pot, then—”

“No, I’m not talking about marijuana, dad,” an edge of frustration appeared in Tabitha’s voice. “I’m talking about heroin, I’m talking about serious fucking opiate addiction. Hard drugs, heroin, drugs, the kind that freely rewire Lisa’s brain to prioritize getting her next fix over the other things that should have mattered in her life. Like, ‘Family.’ Like, her kids. Her fucking future. Dad, just… please.

“Wake up. Because—because, I can’t do this with you anymore,” Tabitha blew out a long breath that turned to vapor in the air. “Ask Springton P.D. about her criminal record. I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Williams will talk with you about it, if you want. If you don’t or won’t believe them—Lisa’s information is public record, you can contact the Kentucky Administrative Office of the Courts, in Frankfort. By mail, or in person.

“I’m sure it was really—I’m sure it was something, that you just, that you just believed in her, no matter what,” Tabitha shook her head in dismay. “That you saw, uh I guess, that the whole world was just ganging up on poor Lisa and kicking her while she was down, that she needed someone willing to stand up for her, needed someone in her corner. I recognize that this is bigger than just a Lisa issue with you, that you’re seeing this as some larger us versus them thing, where I guess it’s all those people that are just, just looking down on Lisa, judging her strictly because of her apparent social class.

“They must not even know what they’re fucking talking about, right?” Tabitha let out a bitter laugh. “Nevermind that this is a poor semi-rural Kentucky town in the middle of nowhere, and you’d need to take out a ruler and squint real hard to find the distance in social class between ‘us and them.’ The Williams family are barely upper middle class at best, the Macintires, the Brooks, the Seelbaughs—firmly middle class. Grandma Laurie—as far as I know, her and grandpa were right there in middle class when it came to income. You have a solid blue collar job, and if mom worked, if we were a dual income household, we Moores, this immediate family, would not be in poverty. At all.”

“Tabby honey—” Mr. Moore tried to squeeze a word in.

“—and, as for them not understanding?!” Tabitha continued her tirade, speaking over him. “These other families just not understanding? Dad, Mrs. Macintire lost her brother to substance abuse. These are cop families, they have an intimate understanding of people like Lisa that you, honestly, lack. Can we just—can we just not have this conversation, not until you’ve at least looked into things? Looked at her criminal record?

“Whatever bullshit sob-stories Lisa was feeding you, whatever stubborn beliefs or prayers or whatever it is that’s been making you act this way—just. Dad, please. Wake up. Wake up, because we’re in serious fucking trouble. We’ve got four boys here that don’t have a mother or father raising them—and no, it’s not something you can just leave for grandma Laurie to deal with indefinitely, she’s supposed to be enjoying her retirement, she’s struggling to manage them as it is! I’m going to do what I can for them, but oh wow, I’m still just fourteen years old. Apparently. Let alone the fact that we apparently have ANOTHER child on the way, and, oh yeah—mom’s doing better but she still needs actual help, actual legitimate therapy that’s way beyond my ability to provide to her.

“So—so, you need to please just get your fucking act together and stop fighting me on the stupid Lisa bullshit. Please? It’s insane. I can’t—I can’t do this. I can’t carry this family, we’re not going to make it on just your income and grandma Laurie’s pension, I have, I have medical bills still from all this other stupid bullshit already, it’s going to eat into the settlement money, and just trying to pull us up out of this deep hole we’re in is going to wipe out the rest in no time flat. Joshua, Aiden, Nicholas, Samuel—they all need to see a dentist soon, and if any of them need braces—I don’t even want to think about what it all might cost! You need to get your head checked for brain tumors, mom was skirting dangerously close to diabetes for years and years, I’m, I’m going back to school after winter break and I, and I—I have no idea what kind of mess that’s even going to be. I just—I can’t even imagine.”

“Honey, hon hon hon—it’s gonna be okay,” Mr. Moore crossed the distance between them and pulled her up into a hug. “S’all gonna be okay, you hear me? I never even thought—well, Tabby, none of this stuff is anything you should ever be worrying about. Okay?”

“If I don’t—then, who will?” Tabitha asked. “No, seriously. I’m seriously asking that. If I don’t figure all of this out, who is going to? You?”

“Everything’s gonna work out,” Mr. Moore promised. “None of that all’s even anythin’ a girl your age should be stressin’ her head over, alright?”

“Then—then, give me something to work with,” Tabitha cried. “Dad. Something, anything. Something actionable. Not just praying and hoping for the best—all of this isn’t something we’re gonna just leave for Jesus to take the wheel, okay? Tell me you have a plan for the boys. Show me you’re getting mom psychiatric help for her anxiety. Prove to me, that, that you’re done defending aunt Lisa from the consequences of her own fucking actions.”

“You’re swearin’ an awful lot nowadays,” Mr. Moore remarked with a sigh. “You realize.”

“Uh, yeah, I—” Tabitha sniffled from within his arms. “Gee, I wonder why? Maybe I feel the right expletives help convey the gravity of what I’m trying to say, here? Maybe they help indicate how fucking done with all of this I am? How the weight of all of this bullshit has me constantly on the edge of some kind of nervous breakdown day after day after day. I just want—I just wanted to grow up. Just wanted a normal fucking childhood, to go through and have my teenage years.”

“I just—Tabitha hon, I didn’t want you tryin’ to grow up this fast,” Mr. Moore admitted.

“Then—please, then do something,” Tabitha pleaded, fighting her way free of his embrace as tears began to overwhelm her all over again. “Then, start fucking helping me! I need, no, we need you to proactively work towards making each of these situations better. Not shrug and hope for the best. Not wait and see. Not tell me that everything’s gonna work out or be fine. Certainly not pointlessly fight me on the Lisa bullshit. This is it, dad. This is your wake up call—please, fucking wake up. This is the call to action, this is the hero’s call to action that you can not refuse to keep hearing.

“All of those years ago, my mother—Shannon Delain—called upon you to rescue her, and you did. Sort of. You could have done a better job, and yes, I AM the one that’s in a position to criticize. Listen to me, please. Wake up and do something, or you will lose this fucking family. We’re in serious trouble unless you can do something about it. I’m doing what I can, yeah, but every bit of your slack that I pick up will make me despise you, because every bit of that is a bit of trust that’s broken that can never be repaired—every bit of that erodes my perspective that um, my belief that you are the parent, that you can take care of things and handle this, that this all, that this—this—”

The rest of her sentence devolved into sobs, and Tabitha lost herself to hysterical tears. Her father stepped in again with a comforting embrace, and there was even a split-second of turmoil where she was torn between beating her fists against him or jerking back away from him. The moment passed with a mixture of relief and regret, and she simply hunched her shoulders and cried.

She’d let out the long rant that had been stifled up in her chest for these past weeks, all of those words had wormed free of her control and were spoken out loud. It wasn’t as cathartic a release as she hoped, and there was even a sense of loss to it all. Even more than the confusing tangle of family ties she had hoped to reinvent, past all the practiced arguments and seething condemnation Tabitha held for her father’s stubbornness, she was realizing she was not an adult anymore.

I’m just—NOT, Tabitha’s throat hitched and she let out another small wail as Mr. Moore held her. I’m not. I’m not. I’m really, really not.

The idea had been turned over in her mind before and examined from so many angles, but now she simply had to accept that she was not secretly a sixty-year-old woman. She wasn’t a wise woman in the guise of a pretty young thing. It had been a difficult thing to gauge when she could chalk up this or that to being emotionally stunted in her prior lifetime, or brush things off as misunderstandings or assumptions from her past life that were overturned.

But, no, Tabitha’s face scrunched up and the wet tears made a mess. No. When I think about it—when I REALLY stop and think about it. I have the maturity of a fourteen year old girl. My maturity, my reasoning, control over my emotions—these have all significantly regressed. Obviously.

Tabitha had to wonder if this was something like experiencing brain damage, and having to learn to live with reduced mental facilities. All while still remembering better times, when that had not been the case.

Each and every time, every argument, every confrontation here in this new life—I DRASTICALLY overestimated how competent I was going to be, how put together I was going to be through it all. I WAS mentally an adult back in my previous life, and I kept REMINDING MYSELF that I was STILL mentally an adult; when really, I’m just… NOT.

There had been so many different ways she had tried to interpret her bizarre circumstances, and most of the time she had leaned towards grown up software attempting to run its system now on teenage hardware. But, that only accounted for some of the conflicts. Really, when she searched back through the cognitive dissonance of everything that had happened in the past half year, the issues were stark.

The whole trying to use proper diction thing, Tabitha sniffled. How, how awful and CRINGE is that? And, it still happens! Even here in this ramble I just dropped on my dad it kind of was still happening! Like my language center has been scrambled up with adult memories. Then, there’s how shortsighted and single-minded my whole getting in shape plan was, how I just jumped right into that with tunnel vision and put everything else to the wayside. My weird obsessive compulsion with trying to have the magical makeover montage and impress and be the cool popular kid with friends—OF COURSE that was going to blow up in my face, looking back on it now. All of it, ALL OF IT screams to me that I had all along regressed to my body’s age with my mind and my emotions.

It could often seem like she was mature for her age. She knew that all children developed at different rates for an uncountable number of reasons and factors. The memories of that other future that played out did become an enormous obvious factor, she was certain of it. But, she was, right now, still a fourteen year old girl, and that was simply difficult to accept.

And, and BECAUSE I’m a fourteen year old girl, at any time in the coming months I’m sure to change my stance on ALL OF THAT, Tabitha tried to let out a bitter laugh, but it came out as an awkward hiccup.

I’m sure the next time a whole bunch of stuff happens, I’ll just convince myself that no, ACTUALLY maybe I am secretly an adult all along. ACTUALLY, I am savvy, and sensible, and have it all put together. And, I’ll just keep smugly thinking that, until THIS happens again and all of it falls apart and I have another breakdown, AGAIN. I’m so, SO tired of feeling crazy like this. Feeling like, like such an absolute basket case. I don’t want to know how the future goes anymore. I’m tired of feeling guilty for when I have an unearned advantage, and then I also don’t want to feel responsible for fixing anything anymore. Fixing EVERYTHING. All of these stupid problems I don’t even want to be aware of. I’m honestly just—I’m just sick and tired of it all.

Tabitha allowed her father to meekly guide her back inside the apartment, and she washed her face and sat at the table with that familiar vacant, hollow feeling that lingered on each time she went through yet another transformative personal revelation. That these big personal realizations happened so frequently, yet had such little lasting impact on her, only seemed to confirm that she was definitely, absolutely, and unequivocally a stupid melodramatic teenage girl who constantly thought herself much more intelligent than she actually was.

Awkward conversation carried on between the real adults at the table without Tabitha’s attention or participation, with yet again even more uncomfortable topics about what was going on with the family avoided like they were the plague. She couldn’t even find it in herself to blame them. Cinnamon rolls were dispensed on plates, and the kitchen and living room became a flurry of activity as the boys each rushed out of their room, Gameboys clutched possessively in hand, to try to monopolize more of the rolls.

Tabitha burnt her lip on too-hot melting cinnamon roll icing, because obviously she would—she was just a stupid teenage girl, and of course that’s what would happen.

Mrs. Moore sat close to her and watched her carefully, kept her company throughout the rest of their Christmas gathering, even when Tabitha was in no mood to talk. Tabitha appreciated it, she resented it a little, she felt awkward and guilty and also felt like the two of them needed to talk. They were past due for some long conversations, about so many things, but each and every one of the topics seemed to dance tauntingly just out of reach when Tabitha grasped for them.

I think… I really think I preferred feeling nothing at all, Tabitha thought as she stared at her plate. Feeling dumb and childish is just… really unpleasant. But, I’m just a moody teenage girl, so it doesn’t even matter, right? In a matter of hours I’ll fall into some different mental state and be some completely different person. I should probably be on stabilizers, or something. I wonder if nineteen-ninety-eight has the right kind of medications to fix some of what’s wrong with me?

The rest of their Christmas brunch passed by her in a blur while she suppressed every emerging insight and new thought with a cruel round of second-guessing and self-deprecating mockery. Tabitha went through the motions of thanking her grandmother for everything, she gave awkward half-hugs and knelt down to accept a crashing pileup group hug from the boys that was a little embarrassing. Mrs. Macintire was called, and before she knew it she was bundling herself up again and collecting the Christmas presents that were hers—she barely remembered opening them, and scarcely had made time to think about them at all.

It would have been impossible for Tabitha to recognize her father’s silence, the deepening frown he now wore, or how unusually pensive the simple man was. She missed registering any of those things, and was out the door and trudging to Sandra’s Acura with her things before there was any chance to notice them.