Or so she’d thought. In reality, Christmas was turning out to be nothing like she’d imagined. Last week, she thought she’d be dancing in the arms of her man, spending Christmas with her own family before bringing the New Year in with Jake’s family. She’d looked forward to spending her favorite holiday with a man she cared about for the first time in years, watching It’s a Wonderful Life, hearing silver bells, and laughing as Michael sang about seeing Mommy kissing Santa Claus. Instead, she sat with a smile on her face that didn’t reach her heart, trying to be happy. She wasn’t. Misery and loneliness hung like garlands around her.

Halfway through the drink, Dominique set it on the bar. She’d never been a heavy drinker and the deceptively shakelike drink was going straight to her head and adding to her melancholy. The last time she’d talked to Jake was when she’d reached him at the hospital and he said he’d call her back. That was two days ago. Her calls from yesterday and today had gone to voicemail. What is going on?

Donny’s melodious voice trailed off and soon James Brown was admonishing Santa to go straight to the ghetto. This lively number brought Aaron’s sister and her date to their feet. Even Anita came out of the kitchen, waving her hand like she was in church. Soon some of the kids came up from downstairs, laughing at the adults while mocking their dances. James took a break and the Temptations slid right in, singing “Hey, Rudolph!” The CD changed and now the Chipmunks were dashing through the snow, grandma was getting run over by a reindeer, and Paul McCartney was simply having a wonderful Christmastime.Well, I’m not, Dominique thought, as the party became more and more boisterous. Anita and her friends brought out hors d’oeuvres. Soon honey-glazed, barbequed, and fried chicken wings were being waved in the air, and plates were being filled with potato salad, baked beans, and coleslaw to soak up the now free-flowing libations. By the time Mr. Cole’s chestnuts began roasting on an open fire, Dominique had had enough. As quietly as possible, she slipped out of the living room, up the stairs, and through the first door she came to. It was Faith’s daughter Alexis’s room. With only the Frog Princess night-light to guide her way, Dominique walked around the room that so embodied her niece’s frilliness: the pink, lacy comforter covering a white, canopied bed. Rows of dolls lined the Princess dresser, its top cluttered with an open box filled with plastic jewelry, its now-still ballerina poised for the next windup.