By Christmas morning, I had trained myself to closely observe small details rather than expecting an explosive public confrontation.
At eight forty seven on December twenty fifth, Gene began handing out wrapped packages with the solemn weight of an officiating judge.
She called the grandchildren forward one by one.
One cousin ripped open paper to reveal a high end tablet.
Another child received the exact same expensive electronics.
The older teenagers opened crisp cards and pulled out thick wads of cash.
The room was filled with happy shouting, torn paper flying across the floor, and adults making warm comments about how much the kids had grown over the year.
Then Gene shifted her attention toward Holly.
Her fake smile faltered for just a fraction of a second.
“Oh, look, it is sweet Holly,” she said.
She reached behind her chair and picked up a thin drugstore gift bag with a crooked bow hanging off the side.
“This is for you, sweetheart,” Gene said, tossing it toward her. “I did not want you to feel totally left out today.”
I felt Brandon’s entire body tense up beside me before Holly even touched the paper bag.
Our daughter accepted the cheap gift with both hands because she was raised to be exceptionally polite and careful with adults.
She removed the white tissue paper very slowly.
Inside sat a cheap four dollar vanilla candle.
If the cheap drugstore candle had been the only offense, I would have forced myself to swallowed my rage for Holly’s sake and confronted Gene privately after dinner.
Children do not expect every single gift to cost a fortune, and Holly was never a greedy child who judged love by price tags.
