Heather bustled about looking for scissors, surprised they hadn’t needed them yet. The scent of hot chocolate warmed the air, and Elvis crooned in the background, muffled by the sounds of her niece and nephew opening gifts in the other room. One of the toys had plastic zip ties, so she needed the scissors. After some digging, she returned to the living room and handed them to her sister. “Here you go.”

“And here you go,” her dad said, leaning over to give her a neatly wrapped present. “The best for last!”

“Wonderful!” she said, already ripping the paper. She’d never been one to wait. Her brow creased as she saw a book cover. “What is it?”

“One of those life story books. Melissa gave it to your mother two years ago for Christmas, and she filled it out. And you know, with her gone . . . I thought you’d like a copy, too.”

“Oh.” The noise of the others talking sounded far away now.  “Thank you.” Her mother had died eight months ago, and, frankly, this Christmas had been peaceful. The kids were a bit gloomy, of course—the first Christmas without Grandma—but the new toys distracted them. Heather was just glad she could breathe. “Thank you,” she said again, nearly panicking from thinking she should sound more excited.

She opened the book to a random page. How would you describe your personality? it asked. Her mother’s handwriting answered, I’m a social butterfly! I love meeting new people and trying new things! I’m generous to a fault. Sometimes I give too much of myself, and no one appreciates it. Internally, Heather rolled her eyes. Her mother had never gone anywhere or done anything. She’d never helped another person in her life, but complained when others’ problems inconvenienced her.

“It’s so lucky Mom finished that before . . . she passed away,” Melissa said, glancing at her children, who ignored everyone as they set up a board game. “There’s so much I didn’t know. Some memories of her childhood.”

“Uh huh. Great,” said Heather as Melissa and her dad stared at her. Automatically, she turned to another page. What is your best advice for raising children? Heather raised her eyebrows but couldn’t stop herself from reading. Her mother had written, Be patient with them. I think it’s called gentle parenting now, but we didn’t have that term. Always express your love for them. Be kind. Let them come to you with their problems. Give them opportunities to thrive.

Heather’s fingers tightened on the book. Rich advice coming from a woman who had never been patient. In fact, Heather could recall a litany of the things her mother had said she would do without children ruining her life.

She’d been having a nice Christmas without her mom being there. Her mom had always somehow found something to complain about in the weeks leading up to the holiday, on the day itself, and for several days after. Whatever she found usually involved yelling. Heather felt free for the first time in her life, but now her mom was invading again like the Ghost of Christmas Past.

“Thanks, but—”

“Ooh, look at this!” Melissa pointed to the next page. What is one of your best memories with your family? Heather expected her mom to write something about her own childhood. Instead, she wrote about a family trip from when Heather was about twelve. We went to Atlantic City, my husband and two daughters. We were there a week, and we had so much fun. We went on the rides and walked the boardwalk and, of course, played on the beach. I love the ocean.

Heather stared at her sister. Melissa generally maintained a selective memory, but she could not possibly agree that vacation had been fun. Mom had yelled the whole time. No one had woken up early enough for her, so she had walked around each morning banging a spoon against a pan and screaming till they stumbled out of bed. She wouldn’t waste her vacation with her children lazing about. Then the weather hadn’t been nice enough. There was nothing to do. There was nowhere to eat. One day, she had refused to go to dinner entirely because she couldn’t find a menu she liked. Heather and Melissa had snuck out amidst her tirade, found a vending machine, and used scrounged up dollar bills to buy a dinner of chips and chocolate bars.

“You enjoyed Atlantic City?” she asked, not sure what tone to take. Incredulous? Accusatory?

“Yeah,” Melissa replied instantly. “Didn’t you? We ate those amazing boardwalk fries and rode the Tilt-a-Whirl until we were sick. Remember?”

“Yeah, I remember,” said Heather. She didn’t want to look at her dad. She had no idea how he’d been married to her mom all those years.  “Hey, can I get in on that game?” She pushed the book aside and scooted over to the board. “What are the rules? I’ve never played this one.”

She kept busy until her family left. Upon inspection, she found the living room cleaner than expected. She snacked on a leftover cookie as she gathered up the remaining bits of wrapping paper. Brenda Lee sang in the background.

She picked up her gifts last. It always seemed a chore to find spots for the new things. After homing a coffee machine, some spice blends, and a bath set, she stared down at her mom’s book, fighting the urge to throw it away. The giant trash bag of wrapping paper was right there. She didn’t have to know the rest of whatever lies her mom had written, didn’t have to have them in her house. But she imagined her dad and sister visiting and asking about it. She put the damn thing eye level on the shelf.