Pearl hates Christmas. She's a real Scrooge about it.
Okay, maybe it isn't Christmas she hates, but the feelings it brings. The same corny Christmas songs are blaring out every time she goes grocery shopping, reds and whites and greens are everywhere, snow blankets the ground and most infuriating of all, everyone is smiling. All they do is smile, and laugh, sing and dance and parade around with their loved ones.
Yes, Pearl can't fathom why everyone is so damn happy this time of year.
Her doctor told her to start light therapy again, but so far she hasn't had the heart to go into the closet and sort it out. If she does, she'll end up crouched in front of boxes upon boxes of Rose's belongings, crying her eyes out. In fact, her eyes have started to well up just thinking about it, and she rubs them crossly, staring at her puffy red eyes as she stands shivering in the hallway, examining herself in the mirror.
Perhaps she'll just order in for delivery instead.
With a scowl, she discards her coat and scarf, and ends up lying face down on the carpeted floor of her sitting room. She's been lying in this spot a lot lately. It happens every year around this time. The doctor calls it seasonal depression. Pearl calls it an aching numbness, starting in her heart and spreading to every finger and every toe, a sadness she can't repress that seeps out through her tears and doesn't seem to stop until February. She listens to the sound of hail against her apartment window and allows for her eyes to close.
…
She dreams of Rose, and sledging down the blanketed Delmarva cliff top slopes, climbing up slippery spiralling staircases to watch the snow fall from the lighthouse overlooking the biting cold ocean, throwing snowballs against the icy waves, curling up on the frost-bitten shores with watery hot chocolate from the nearby fry shop and resting their heads against one another, sharing the same pink and white striped scarf year after year. She dreams of Rose's voice, melodious and tinkling in the chilly silence of winter, singing Christmas carols and making snow angels and powder snow sticking in her curls. Oh, she misses Rose.
…
An insistent ringing drags Pearl from her slumber, and she sluggishly stares at the phone until it switches to a voicemail. It's Garnet again, and she's impatient. She wants Pearl to come over to Greg's for Christmas. Since, you know, she avoided it last year. And the year before that.
Steven's growing up and you need to be there for him, Garnet scolds, and Pearl rolls over, as if to avoid Garnet's piercing words. Steven doesn't need her. She doesn't need him. Garnet is wrong. He has Greg, and Garnet and Amethyst, and just about every other resident of Beach City watching over him. Pearl wouldn't make any difference to his existence.
You're his mother. Please come see him this year.
Pearl closes her eyes again.
…
The next time she sleeps, Rose is there again, a ghost in her dreams. She glides, soars. If she jumped from the rocks, Pearl believed she would fly. They dance in the snow, Rose is building a snowman. Greg is there too, and the three of them laugh and sing Christmas songs incredibly out of tune. The three of them share a scalding hot chocolate and their breath comes out in puffs of dragon smoke. At one point Greg lights a cigarette, smoking away while Rose and Pearl throw pebbles into the crashing ocean, and stubs it out on their snowman's face afterwards, giving him eyes of crumbling ash. It's nice, a happy memory. Pearl is wearing the world's ugliest Christmas sweater, they all are, Amethyst gave them their presents early so they could get some use out of them. They're all hideous and Rose is laughing, all three of them are laughing, and they flop back in the snow, the entire world a flurry of white around them.
…
Greg calls at her apartment a few days later. She pretends she isn't home, but he knows her too well. He lets himself in and she is still lying on the floor. When was the last time she ate? There is a gnawing hunger in her gut and Greg fixes her some lunch while she continues to lie there.
“Please come and see him, Pearl,” he begs, sliding a toasted sandwich towards her. “He's going to be three soon, and he's only met you once. You're his mom too, you know.”
She eats, staring blankly ahead of her. He made her favourite, ham and cream cheese toasted on wheat, but it tastes like sandpaper when it comes from his hands. He ruins everything for her.
“Pearl, please.” He puts his hand on her shoulder, and she finally meets his eyes. He looks so much older now. She supposes she does too. Grief does that to people. “Please, please, please come and spend Christmas with us this year. He's seen pictures of you, he asks about you all the time. He wants you to be a part of his life, and I do too.”
“He shouldn't be here,” she whispers. “Rose would still be alive if-”
“Stop that.” His tone is harsh, everything is too bright and his face is creased with both anger and grief. “Pearl, you need to accept that Rose is gone! Steven is here now, and he needs you! You're a part of his family too, so you need to start making the effort!”
“Why should I?” she asks him hollowly, and she puts down the half eaten sandwich and lies back down on the carpet again. “Why should I have to accept that? Why can't I keep her with me?”
She's crying again, and Greg sighs. His footsteps grow fainter, and Pearl waits for the sound of the door shutting, signalling his truce with her. Instead, he opens the closet, grabs the light therapy box and sets it up for her, the light glaring against her face.
“Take care of yourself,” he says with no feeling in it. “Try and come around if you can face us.”
This time he leaves and she eats the rest of her sandwich without tasting it, shutting her eyes against the glare of the lamp.
…
She's trying to be good this week. She lies in her usual spot, the light box still set up, and she falls asleep with her head against the leg of the couch, curled up in a ball. The dreams don't get any easier to bear. In fact, they're getting much, much worse.
Snow keeps falling. She's sure it will never stop. Pearl has never been happier. She sits beside Rose, curled up in a warm blanket patterned with holly leaves and berries. Rose has her hands over her belly, telling her just how much the baby has been kicking recently. It must be time for him to come soon, she says. She's been feeling contractions all week.
Greg is excited for a Christmas baby, keeps telling them it will be the best present under the tree this year. He's cooking the dinner this year, with some assistance from Pearl. Rose is a bit too tired to cook right now, but she can certainly eat. She's polished off most of the box of chocolates that were a gift from Greg's parents.
Their entire window is covered in snow. They've been looking at moving into the house on the cliff's edge, overlooking the waves, since it's been abandoned for a few years and soon this apartment will be too small for the three of them and a baby too. With a few renovations, Greg is sure they can get their money's worth from it. For now, Pearl just wants to lie beside Rose and forget about the world outside for a little while.
…
Pearl's phone has 18 missed calls and 16 frustrated text messages, all from Amethyst. They range from being cool and careless to raging and furious, with plenty of profanity thrown in telling Pearl just how sick and tired she is of Pearl holing herself up in her home each Christmas and ignoring them. Ignoring Steven.
why
why do u have to do this
why cant u just spend one fucking day with him
She stares at the texts until her eyes blur, before throwing her phone across the room as hard as she can. She hears the screen crack. Good. She can't bear to look at it anymore.
With a wail, she picks herself up off the ground and yanks open the closet.
For the rest of the day she lies in her usual spot, cradling Rose's favourite sweater to her chest and praying when she wakes up everything will go back to normal.
…
Rose is in her dreams again, clutching her hand, her face pale and pinched in silent agony. They're snowed in, cruel victims of Beach City's worst blizzard in decades. And to add the cherry to the cake, Rose's waters have broken.
She lies panting in their bed, squeezing Pearl's hand with breaking force as Greg busies himself with sorting out hot water and towels like in those old movies. They've called Rose's midwife, but she's too far to reach them in time, on a skiing holiday over 2000 miles away. None of her assigned patients are due for another three weeks. She tells them to call an ambulance and talks them through how to assist with the birth if they can't dispatch a paramedic to their home in time, but the words fall to Pearl's numb ears and barely make sense. She's panicking, Rose is pale and she's losing blood, she knows there should be some blood but-
Rose cries out like an animal. She's been good at controlling her reactions to nasty contractions but Pearl can tell this one is different. She yells for Greg to check Rose's progress because Rose is holding onto her hand too tightly for her to move, and even if she could, she feels frozen in fear to the very spot. Greg examines her and his face is so, so pale. There's blood, and there's feet. He chokes up.
Their baby is breech, and Rose is bleeding, and the midwife pleads for them to call the damn hospital because this could go very bad if they aren't careful.
In the end the paramedics arrive much too late and Rose is dying in their bed, with Greg holding a sticky crying newborn in his ugly Christmas sweater while Pearl clings to Rose's arm and screams like it is the end of the world.
…
She doesn't know why her feet have dragged her to the small creaky house overlooking the beach. Pearl is in no sense of the word dressed for a Christmas eve with her family, she is dressed in sweats and one of Rose's creased old shirts that hangs like a dress on her and she didn't even put on shoes so her thick winter socks are sodden and freezing as she crosses the crisp layer of snow on the sand and trudges up the slope to the house. It is decorated for Christmas with gaudy lights, a holly wreath hanging from the front door and a 'Santa Claus welcome!' sign stuck on the window.
Pearl remembers when she used to love Christmas.
She can hear the warm hum of corny Christmas songs blaring out through a kitchen radio, meshed with the high-pitched laughter of a young child. It makes Pearl's heart ache, and she fights the urge to turn around and go home.
Instead, she stands at the front door for what feels like years, her fist curled up and poised to knock. Something is holding her back, though. Maybe she isn't ready for this. She can do this next year. Even if she plucks up the courage to knock, who would open the door for a mess like her? Would she magically start loving this child just because of spending one day with him?
But then the door opens, just as she is ready to turn and leave. Greg is holding an armful of torn wrapping paper, and he yelps and drops the pile as he spots Pearl shivering in his doorway.
“P-Pearl!” It sounds like he was unconvinced she'd actually come; she honestly doesn't blame him. He shuts the door quickly, promising the child inside he'll be back soon, and takes in her dishevelled appearance. “What happened to you? You're gonna freeze to death!”
“Merry Christmas,” she says through chattering teeth. What else can she say at this point? There's just too much, but she crams as much feeling as she can into the way her eyes follow him.
He looks conflicted for a few moments, but then mutters, “Just get inside,” and picks up the now damp pile of wrapping paper to throw in the trash can. She nods and opens the door.
The first thing she lays eyes on is the fireplace, crackling and basking the surrounding walls in a golden light. A few unopened presents remain while most, already out of their wrapping paper, surround it, and standing proudly beside it is a Christmas tree that is missing half of its needles (which lie in clumps on the surrounding floor) and smothered in tinsel, baubles, and a smiley plump angel with pink curls that Pearl remembers used to belong to Rose. Lots of Greg's belongings are scattered around, though she imagines he still has plenty of junk left in the storage shed and the back of his van. The sight looks so homely, so quaint, that she feels extremely detached from the situation. And then her eyes fall on the boy.
He is small and cute, chubby and dressed in a tiny Christmas sweater with a gold star embroided on the chest. His hair is dark but curls like Rose's, and oh, he has her face, he looks so much like her, and he is smiling and snuggled up between Garnet and Amethyst holding a bear with sunglasses to his chest. He stops giggling at the sound of the door shutting, and all three of them lay eyes on Pearl.
She doesn't know where to look, from Amethyst's relieved 'you actually showed up' expression, Garnet's disapproving 'why are you dressed like that, are you trying to scare him?' frown, or the inquisitive stare of the small child sandwiched between them.
“Pel?” he asks, with a startled gasp, having finally recognised her from the photos of her and his mommy and daddy hanging on the walls.
“Steven,” she greets. She shivers and looks away.
“Why you dessed like fuh bed time?” he asks, wrinkling his tiny nose up in confusion.
“That's a good question, Steven.” Garnet also wants to know why Pearl is dressed like she just rolled out of bed.
“W-Well, I was just... you know, so... so excited, t-to, um, to see you,” Pearl stammers, shuffling from one foot to the other nervously. “I-I just, um... forgot to, um, dress myself.”
“I f'geh to dess me too, Pel,” Steven agrees, excited to see an adult mimicking behaviour of a child his age. He holds out a red Santa hat. “Happee Chwismas!”
“Happy Christmas,” she agrees, while making no move to take the hat from him. Instead she takes her time to look around at this place Greg has built to call home, this place where his... no, their son has grown up. When she turns back to the doorway, seeing Greg pushing the door open again, her gaze falls on the large painting of Rose hanging over the door and her mouth falls open. It's painted so elegantly, so tenderly, it has to be one of Greg's paintings. Or at the very least he has to have sketched it beforehand. Seeing it makes her eyes fill with tears.
“Daddee, Pel's here!” Steven shrieks as soon as he spots Greg, frantically pointing to Pearl.
“She sure is, bud!” Greg looks tired, and Pearl knows it is her presence in the room that has sucked the festive joy from his expression. “You should probably sit down, Pearl. You're soaked through.”
“Y-Yes,” Pearl manages to say, avoiding his eyes so he doesn't realise she's crying. She doesn't look at anyone, stepping over toys and seating herself rather awkwardly in front of the fireplace to try and soak up some heat and dry herself out.
After a few moments, a tiny warm body sits beside her, and she feels a mop of dark curls tickling her cheek.
“Schtoo-ball, maybe you should give Pearl some space,” Greg begins.
“But Pel's cold,” protests Steven, putting pudgy arms around her waist. “Can warm her up.”
Greg stares between the two of them, looking increasingly nervous. Sad, too.
“It's not quite that simple, bud,” he says at last. Maybe Pearl should leave soon. It might be for the best.
…
Later that night, when Steven is tucked up in bed, the grown ups sit down in the sitting room, nursing eggnog and staring dully into the crackling fire.
“We didn't think you'd come,” Garnet says at last. Her arm is slung around Amethyst, and Pearl has to wonder how long ago that became a regular thing. Were they always so close? There are so many things she's missed out on.
“I can't do this another year,” Pearl confesses. “I can't live like this. It's selfish to come here for my own sake, I know that, but...”
“You're back, that's what matters. Right?” Amethyst glances around nervously, waiting for someone to challenge that thought. “The rest might take a bit longer, but this is the first step.”
“It's not all that matters,” Garnet states, and her eyes harden behind her glasses. “Pearl, you need to be here for Steven now. Do this for him, too.”
Pearl nods vigorously, then wilts slightly. “I want to, I do. He's so much like her... it's just hard.”
“That's not an excuse anymore. He's nearly three and he barely knows you. From now on, you have to make an effort to be in his life.” Garnet's voice is firm, almost commanding. She knows Pearl needs this stern direction right now to guide her.
Once again, she nods. “I'll try my best. Seeing him today was a wake up call, and... I've missed this so much. Everyone, not just Rose. I've come so undone.”
Greg, who has been silent this whole time, puts down his drink and pulls her into a tight hug.
“We lost her and it was hard,” he agrees, and he sounds a little choked up. Pearl buries her head into his shoulder. “But you're coming back to us and I know you can grow to love our son. Please give him a chance.”
Tears spring to her eyes and she clings to him, and it almost feels like old times.
“I'm sorry I did all this,” she chokes.
“I know you are,” he says quietly, voice almost lost to the crackling of the fire.
…
When Pearl dreams tonight, Rose isn't there. Maybe this is too good to be true, or maybe it's torture, because Pearl misses Rose so, so badly but she knows she needs to stop dreaming of her, needs to stop seeing her all the time. This time, she dreams of a dark-haired boy with wild curls and curious eyes. He holds out a red hat with a white bobble, a peace offering. Rose's son, their son, her son. She finally sees what Garnet and Amethyst and Greg do, he's her but he's not, he is something much bigger and more complicated than that. She wants to hate him and go back to her spot on the floor of her apartment, where its safe and where she can visit Rose whenever she wants. But she knows that's no life to live. She has a responsibility she's been slacking off on, and there is a little boy out there who hardly knows his second mother, his mother who is still alive. She'll be damned if she'll let Steven grow up without her anymore.
…
When Steven wakes up, it's still dark outside, and the fire is burning softly. The sitting room light is on its dimmest setting and he can just about make out a shadowy figure bumping around in the kitchen.
“Santa?” he whispers, even though even he can tell that the figure is much too thin to be Santa Claus. The figure gives a tentative wave and Steven crawls out of bed and down the steps to the kitchen, bringing his blanket with him. Daddy is snoozing on the couch corner, and Garnet and Amethyst are snuggled up together on the pull-out sofa bed. There's an empty spot where he thinks Pearl must have been sleeping. It turns out, Pearl is the shadowy figure. She's making breakfast, by the smell of it. Thick syrup-coated waffles, crispy bacon and fried eggs are perfectly arranged on his favourite Cookie Cat shatter-resistant plate.
“Merry Christmas, Steven,” Pearl whispers in a voice so different to the rusty, lifeless tone she had spoken with on Christmas eve. She sighs. “I... I was very selfish this year, and I didn't get you a Christmas present. I hope you can forgive me. Cooking is one of the few things I'm actually good at, so I thought maybe this could last you until I can find a more appropriate gift.”
Pearl places down a hot chocolate with marshmallows beside the plate and lifts Steven up with ease, placing him on his chair.
His eyes grow to the eyes of saucers.
“Pel! This the bestest bekfass in the whole world!”
She bites her lip – maybe Greg limits his sugar intake? But this was Rose's favourite, and it's Christmas day. It's the least she can do for him at this point.
“We can keep this a secret, can't we?”
Steven nods enthusiastically and begins to tuck in, and Pearl is impressed he can use a knife and fork by himself. When he gets too syrupy she wipes his chin, and the entire time he eats his face is stretched into a smile. She finds her chest swelling with something warm and painful. Is this what it means to hold a maternal love for your child? Knowing that she's missed out on so much of his life fills her with a new sort of grief, and she chokes it down. He's so much like Rose. He's so much like Greg, too. She doesn't exist in this child yet, and maybe she never will, since he has none of her DNA in him. But still... it's what they want, isn't it? For her to love him?
“Pel?”
Steven's tiny voice pulls her away from these spiralling thoughts, and she dabs at his chin instinctively, even when his face is devoid of syrup.
“Y-Yes, Steven?” she asks in an equally quiet voice.
He fidgets with his pudgy hands and she peers a little closer, sensing he's holding something back.
“Steven, you can tell me,” she soothes, but she fidgets with her hands too. What does she do? Does she hug him? Rub his back? She doesn't know how to be a mother or how to make him happy, aside from making him a good breakfast.
He glances between her and the crumbs on his plate.
“Why does Daddee wantchoo go away fum me?” he peeps. “Pel's Daddee's fwend?”
“O-Oh,” she stutters. “Um. Steven, the thing is... I have made a lot of people unhappy. I made your daddy sad, so I don't want to make him any more upset, okay?”
Steven nods, but he looks sullen at the idea of her leaving.
“Pel?” he pipes up again after a few moments of unhappy silence.
She watches him, feeling incredibly hollow.
“Yes, Steven?”
“Can you... stay here fuh Chwismas?” he mumbles. “Fuh me?”
If Rose could see this life and how it had turned out, would she want to be here too, experiencing it along side them? Or would she want Steven to forge this life ahead without her, take his own flight and create his own bonds? Either way, Pearl knows she would be so proud of him right now. She is too. The words won't form in her throat, so she simply nods, tears filling her eyes.
He smiles, and she smiles.
Who knows, maybe Christmas this year will be easier to bear.