Route 7 Review - Page 172

like Windex and Pine-sol, not Christmas. His store-bought tree was small, and none of the decorations were home-made. It’s all so wrong. Why does it have to be this way? Christmas morning arrived, and I didn’t even want to get out of bed. One part of me was excited to see what “Santa” had brought me, but the other part felt like crying. This doesn’t even feel like Christmas. I wish mom were here with us. When my baby sister Crystal pounced on me and screamed, “It’s Christmas!” I realized I had no choice. I rolled out of bed, and Megan followed. We made our way downstairs and found the familiar curtain “Santa” had hung blocking our view of the living room. After making us line up youngest to oldest, Dad pulled the curtain aside and we entered one by one. The Beach Boys’ “Little St. Nick” was playing from Dad’s stereo, and my mouth watered as I smelled the savory scent of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls baking in the oven. Yes! I love cinnamon rolls! Dad took lots of pictures as we ate the gooey breakfast treats and unwrapped our gifts. He had obviously spent a lot of money, and I could tell he was really trying to make us happy. I shuffled over to him and draped my arm around him. “Thanks for all this, Daddy. I know the divorce has been hard on you, too. I’ve missed you so much.” His piercing blue eyes filled with tears that threatened to pour out at any second. “You’ll never know how much I’ve missed you guys. But you’re here now.” He gathered me into his arms for a great, big hug and stroked my silky blonde hair.