A Chair for Christmas




Author: Lady Lioness
Summary: POV stuff from A Roswell Christmas Carol
Rating: G

The nearly inaudible thump as the pan of potatoes hit the table mirrored the sound my heart made. She cooked. Potatoes. Au Gratin. My favorite. I watched her as she retreated back into the kitchen, and from my right, I could hear my father laugh. It has been so long since I've heard that. She did that too.

She who has never known a real Christmas. She who didn't even have a chair to sit in until a scant twenty minutes ago. She who has never known a real family and yet has somehow managed to bring this one alive again. Talk about your Christmas Miracles.

He's staring at me. Did I do something wrong? It's so hard, trying to wing a holiday that has been in effect for centuries and is chock full of traditions I've barely heard of. I'm not sure why this is so important to me. It just is. It's not even like I truly believe in God. Humans believe a God created them. Well, I know who created me. Scientists on a faroff world scrambled my DNA, put me in a pod to develop, and then shipped me off to an alien world to grow. No religious dogma there.

But for some reason, I need this holiday. Although, I'm certainly not as extreme as Isabel. It's interesting, isn't it? That both of us are clinging to this human holiday. Maybe it's more because of what it really stands for. It's not just about a miracle baby. It's about love and friendship and family. That's the true lure of Christmas for me. Getting to experience something I've never known.

Maybe I should check a mirror. He's still staring at me. From behind me, I can hear the Sheriff's deep laughter harmonize with Ms. DeLuca's soprano trill. If I close my eyes tight enough, maybe I can pretend that this is really a family and I'm part of it. Except I don't think my brother would stare at me the way he is.

I can't stop staring at her. It's almost like I've never seen her before. Okay, I know I sound unbelievably mushy, but blame it on the Yuletide spirit. She's always been so unapproachable, but I think I'm finally figuring out that it's not because she thinks she's better than us humans. It's just that she doesn't know how to reach out. Yet she's done a pretty damn good job of reaching out today.

When we ran into Amy DeLuca at the supermarket, and Amy started talking about how nice it was of us Valenti men to take her in, this twisting feeling started in my gut. And then when Amy went on and on about family, it got worse. We haven't exactly been treating her like family. When she shoved those cheezy Supermarket stockings into the cart, she was practically radiating this desperate excitement. I don't think she even realized they were filled with dog treats. She just wanted an excuse to bring Christmas into our house. She knows I'm staring at her. I can tell by the set of her shoulders.

I know Dad would have felt that twisting feeling if he hadn't been so hopped up on seeing Amy. But he didn't and I just took my cue from him and shoved that feeling way, way deep down. Valenti men don't talk about feelings. We talk about sports. Take my newfound appreciation for Buddha, for example. Dad will accept it. I'm his son, he loves me. But he doesn't understand why I feel the need for a little guidance, enlightenment. I was brought back to life for God's sake. But we don't talk about that. We talk about the last goal, basket, touchdown, depending on the season. And now it's the Christmas season. And it's taken the girl I'm currently making very uncomfortable to remind us about what family really is.

Do I have a Kick-Me sign on my back or something? Is he waiting to see if someone decides to follow through? I don't get humans and I especially don't get human men. At least I finally have something in common with human females. It's Christmas and if I hadn't resorted to drastic measures, they would still be parked in front of the television, watching bowling! I was the one who finally dragged the tree into the house, albeit after peeling off several of Kyle's forgotten socks. I'm the one who scavenged through their garage looking for their meager stash of decorations. And I'm the one who tracked down the recipes to traditional Christmas foods, and slaved away for twenty hours to make it, even though it's going to give me one hell of a stomach ache without the Tabasco. I'm also the one who's going to kill him if he doesn't stop staring at me!

Then I hear his voice as he says something to the adults and I pretend not to be aware he's heading straight for me. Instead, I concentrate on examining the turkey, like it's anything less than perfection. The current of electricity that sometimes connects us, springs into life and I finally understand what Isabel meant when she kept going on and on about Christmas. I don't know where I'll be when the next Christmas comes. But it's okay. They finally got me my own chair.

"You want some help carving that?"

Merry Christmas, Tess.

"No, I've got it."

Merry Christmas, Kyle.

"Now that's handy."

Welcome to the family.

"I know."

Thanks for remembering I exist.

"So, uh, thanks. For all this, I mean."

I think I might, y'know.

"You're welcome."

Me too.

"That was a really great present you got, um, for my dad."

I don't know what to say.

"It was a great present for me too."

I know what you mean.

"I guess we should get it on, on the table, I mean. And start eating."

Want me to trim your lamp?

"Yup."

Keep dreaming, Buddha Boy.


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