The Christmas Swap by Talia Samuels

Author:Talia Samuels
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: CROOKED LANE BOOKS

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“Oh, the shopping is coming tomorrow, darling. I changed our delivery time to the Friday-afternoon slot. Did I not tell you?”

I stare at my mother as she busies herself making coffee in the kitchen. The answer is: No, she did not tell me. I waited for the doorbell to ring for hours before she got around to mentioning it. I was a whole day early for our slot, plus change.

I tell myself that it doesn’t matter. I would have been up early either way, and I loved spending the morning cuddled up on the sofa. I’m sure Mum has her reasons for changing the delivery slot, like ensuring that the food doesn’t go bad before Christmas or holding out for a superior variety of Brussels sprout. Maybe she was even doing the greengrocer a favour, who has become a friend of the family over the years and who understandably gets a bit overwhelmed leading up to the holidays. Mum didn’t do this just to piss me off. Probably.

“Never mind,” I say. “Can I have two sugars in my coffee?”

She nods and reaches for the sugar jar. She also gathers up whole milk for Dad, semi-skimmed for herself, and oat milk for Kate and Henry, who both decided last year that they might occasionally be lactose intolerant. Mum does work pretty hard to keep everyone happy around here. That goes double at Christmastime. I suppose it makes sense that a few minor things would slip her mind.

I’m trying to be more patient with her than usual today. A bit more generous. After all, I was wrong about Margot. Maybe I’ve also judged my family a touch too harshly. I’m going to keep more of an open mind from now on. See the good in everyone, especially Mum.

“Ellie, you are breathing far too loudly. Try to breathe through your nose, darling. It’s much more ladylike.”

Right. I exhale loudly. Through my mouth. I think that maybe I’ll start with baby steps. Open my mind, but only a crack. I take another gulping breath in through my mouth. I exhale through my nose, as a concession.

On the counter in front of me, there’s a pile of cards waiting to be posted. My mum would never leave it late with the Christmas mail, so these must be her “thank you” cards. She sends them out to everyone she’s received a Christmas card from so far, and everyone she expects to receive one from before the big day. It’s her signature hyper-organized way of going above and beyond with the season’s greetings, and I imagine it occasionally doubles as a passive aggressive nudge to anyone who forgot to send a card. I start flicking through the large stack to distract myself, slowly reading all the names and addresses. One in particular catches my eye. I pick it up and wave it at Mum.

“Why on earth are you posting a Christmas card to Stan?”

“Why not?” she asks. “Help me with these coffees.”

I put down the

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