1

It was Christmas Eve, and my car was a safe haven.

That may seem a peculiar place to find solace. In truth, I was overjoyed to get any value out of my lime green Honda Accord. It was a purchase against the advice of approximately everyonewho offered an opinion. They all asked what good was a car for someone living in the city? There were times when a car was essential, but with rideshare apps rising in prominence, those times were few and far in between. They didn’t realize it was a materialistic decision as opposed to a practical one. I wanted to own a car, despite all the streetlights of logic flashing red.

At least the dealer came out ahead. In total, he sold a staggering five cars to the Araine family since my parents’ arrival in 1989. My uncle used to be a car dealer and recommended extreme negotiation with reckless abandonment. Did I make a good deal? It felt that way driving off the lot. The window rolled down and ‘Don’t Stop Believing’ blared for miles. The excitement along with the new car smell faded after merely a week. Even the green appeared less lime. All that remained was a monthly car payment that drilled a hole in my already sinking checking account.

The car seat leaned back; my head rested as if in a bed. It moved ever so slightly, a waterbed perhaps. My car was parked in the recently repaved driveway of my parent’s colonial-style house. The word “house” may understate𑁋their small planet, at least in comparison to my one-bedroom village back in the city. Still, my parent’s house represented more than just size and brick veneer that night.

It was my own personal hell.

Hellfire and brimstone may seem strong; my damnation was more mental in nature. It was, of course, all relative. Everyone has troubles and for me, it was myrelatives.

The source of conflict was our traditional Christmas dinner. We weren’t ones to celebrate holidays in any tangible way except to convene for a feast.  My brother, Amir, had been out of town for Thanksgiving. And that gave Christmas dinner a heightened significance.

 It started as a small eyesore on my monthly calendar; a lingering thought while standing in a steamed shower.  It grew each day like a manipulated stock, doubling and tripling into a depressing monstrosity. Yes, my anxiety had compound interest.

And so, a hint of consideration was given to simply staying in my car. I would need to move to a not-so-obvious place and think of a good excuse. A flat tire? The flu? Swarmed by a group of samurai warriors on I-95? This was a plan that should’ve been prepared before parking in my parent’s driveway.

It was a pity since Christmas Eve was a joyous time for many. I normally carried residence in a place of neutrality when it came to the holidays. Although technically my family didn’t celebrate Christmas, I had always enjoyed holiday festivities.  It was different now. That year, the negatives of Christmas pranced around me in spirited annoyance.  Too much traffic, too much noise, and too many people. My holiday emotions grew cold, like the fall changing to winter. I was twenty-four, and aging was a tax on things that used to be fun.

I chewed on my fingernails I forgot to trim. It was warm enough to consider turning on the air-conditioning. The local news called it the warmest winter in state history. The explanations ranged from global warming to an impending apocalypse. Mostly, everyone wondered if we would ever see Virginia turn into a winter wonderland again.

 I sat in silence. The only freezing that night was on my phone. Stand-up comedy on YouTube was my perpetual cure for boredom. The only problem was my connection lagged and the laughter only came in bits and pieces.

A light knock disturbed my window. Rolling it down revealed my ten-year-old niece, Kassia, with a curious expression.

“What are you watching?” she asked.

“Educational videos."

“Can I watch?”

“It’s not for kids.”

“You said educational.”

“Educational for adults.”

“That’s not fair!"

“You’re a kid and so it’s perfectly fair.”

She reached through my window and grabbed for my phone, but I held it far out and laughed.

“Silly girl, YouTube is for adults.”

She stepped back from the car and shrugged.

“Uncle H, why don’t you try to drive somewhere?” She giggled.

I looked at the empty ignition in disbelief and back at her. She held up my car keys.

My niece was a ninja.

“Wait, what,” I said in confusion.

Kassia laughed.

“Can I drive?”

“Maybe in seven years.”

“I get my license in six.”[JP1] 

“Yes, and then I can see you drive for a year before making an informed decision.”

She handed back my keys and turned to leave before looking back.

“Dad said to stop being a weirdo and come inside.”

“Yeah, well, if I’m a weirdo, your dad is an…oldo.”

She shook her head, turned, and ran back inside.

My safe space had been invaded by a ten-year-old messenger. The clock showed it was 7:42. I was half an hour late and someone must have spotted me from the window.

I grabbed a small box from the box seat and stepped out of the car and slipped my keys into my pocket. There was nothing left to do but confront the night head-on.

Upon reaching the front door, I saw the welcome mat on the front was upside down. I grabbed the doorknob only to reveal it was locked. I rang the doorbell and waited.

My brother, Amir, answered, with Kassia beside him.

I walked in and took my shoes off in order to not taint my parent’s obviously shampooed carpet.  I looked at Amir and stretched my arms in the air.

"Merry Christmas to my brother Amir. Your baby brother has arrived for dinner!"

He put his hands out in front.

"C’mon, you know that word is like Voldemort around here."

I shrugged.

"What's so bad about the word dinner?'

"Christmas, you fool."

"She still doesn't want us to say it?"

“Never. What’s that in your hand?”

I looked down at the box.

“Christmas cookies.”

Amir sighed.

We were eight years apart, and similar in appearance. He was an inch shorter, and his beard had gone gray after law school𑁋likely from the stress of long hours studying.

He slapped me on the shoulder.

“Were you planning to have dinner in your car?"

Amir kept his hair short and professional, in contrast to my hair which was long and unemployed. We both had blue eyes, unique to our ethnicity but not special within our family. I could have been as yoked as him, but I had ignored the workout equipment he left at the house when he moved out. 

We embraced with a handshake as Kassia took off to the living room.

I glanced at Kassia and back at Amir.

“Uncle H? Does she think I work for the Men in Black?”

“She knows your real name."

          We walked down the hallway which showcased a variety of Pakistani antiques and clocks. I grew up assuming most tchotchkes simply collected dust and withered. But with time, I realized they were Pakistani props on an American stage that eventually became home. For my parents, they brought a little warmth to the Virginia winter that welcomed them decades ago.

They sat on display on side tables that also featured family photos. My brother’s graduation, his wedding photo, and my parent’s anniversary pictures. On the far end, I held my college diploma outside of the local Chinese restaurant where we held my graduation dinner. The biggest congratulation that day had come from General Tso.

I stopped at a picture of my uncle Kaz.

He was standing against a wall, in his older days, with a cone full of Pistachio ice-cream.

Amir looked at the picture and smiled.

“Hey, remember when Uncle Kaz used to send bootleg movies from Pakistan?”

“Yeah,” I picked up the picture. "He sent you the good stuff. By my time he was mostly sending old wrestling videos.”

“And yet you lost the only fight you’ve had in your life.”

“That’s not right. Kenny Coulson sucker-punched me with his stupid lunch box.”

“Forget about that. Let me show you what I got for mom.”

He signaled to follow him into the guest bedroom. Upon walking in, my attention turned to a giant, mysterious box on the ground.

“She already has an air-fryer.”

“No, it’s a computer.”

I put my hand on the box. “She doesn’t do computers.”

Amir didn’t look deterred.

“Think about it. She’s always calling places. With a computer, she can do everything online.”

“She likes calling places. It makes it easier for her to ask for a supervisor to yell at.”

He led me out of the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

“This will make her life a lot easier,” he exclaimed.

“You have good intentions; I'll give you that."

My mom appeared out of nowhere.

“Hassan! You’re here.”

She gave me a hug and looked through a creak in the door behind me.

“Is that box for me?”

Amir guided her away from the room. “You can open it after dinner.”

We walked out of the room and made our way toward the kitchen. The smell of a diversified buffet tickled my nose hairs. Our dinner featured an array of American and Pakistani dishes. My sister-in-law, Sima, greeted me as I approached.

“You’re just in time Hassan. I put some Oreos out for Kassia if you want to join her. You can even break them in half and eat the cream side.”

“That’s very funny,” I said as I grabbed two Oreos from Kassia’s plate and immediately broke them in half and licked the cream side.

“Is there coffee?”

She pointed to the coffee pot half full. I poured it into a mug and added five Splendas and two spoons full of heavy cream.

I sat at the kitchen table where a hookah was already lit and leaking smoke as if it were a chimney at a burning home. A quick hit revealed a mango flavor and a bit of harshness that irritated my throat.

My mom walked to the stairs and called up to my dad who gingerly made his way down. He patted me on the back before taking a seat next to me. He had retired a few years back after a long career in the welding business. He now spent his days watching Bollywood soap operas and vacuuming random sections of the house.

It wasn’t long before the table was set, and our mouths watered in pavlovian anticipation. A white cloth sat beneath a row of dishes that included roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and a green bean casserole. To the side of that were Pakistani favorites such as Samosas, Paparity Chaat, and Briyani.   A wonderful combination of unique tastes and heartburn.

Mom recited a quick prayer before we dug in. I devoured my plate as if it was my last supper. It was a whole three minutes before she asked how the food was.

“It’s great,” I said and coughed. “Nobody makes mashed potatoes like you.”

“Those are out of the box,” she said with the Pakistani accent that had never left her.

“Oh. Well, the green bean casserole is superb.”

Everybody complimented the food before an uncomfortable silence surfaced.

There were two elements to the family dinner: eating and conversation. I leaned heavily into the eating.

"So, what is new?" My mom asked the table.

I didn't look up from the plate.

"We got a Christmas tree!" Kassia volunteered.

Mom looked sideways at my brother.

"Amir, a Christmas tree?”

Amir looked at Sima with a worried eyebrow.

"Well, it was beautiful, and we figured why not?"

Mom put her fork down.

"Because we don't celebrate Christmas."

Sima intervened. "Mom, Christmas isn't treated as a religious holiday anymore. It's just a day to gather and have fun.”

I could tell mom was unsatisfied.

"A tree is extreme,” she said as she picked up her fork.

My phone rang and the song “Last Christmas’ came on. 

I grabbed my phone quickly and silenced it as everyone looked at me.

“Damn,” I coughed. “Who hacked my phone and put that ring tone on there?”

I looked down as Amir spoke.

"A tree is not that different from us having Christmas dinner," he offered.

"I've never thought of this as 'Christmas' dinner,” my mom answered.

I looked up from my food and offered my opinion. "Maybe traditions and customs should be updated for modern times?"

She glanced at me like a scolding Thanos.

"Some things should stay the same."

I slithered back into the mashed potatoes.

It wasn’t long before my brother began talking about his practice.

“We just opened up the second office,” he said.

“You’ll have a third office in no time.” My mom replied.

“Very cool,” I commented before shoveling in more chicken and rice.

“I won the spelling bee again!” Kassia said with glee.

She was a spelling prodigy who by my count had now won her school spelling bee three years in a row.

“That is wonderful,” my mom said.

“That’s impressive, Kassia.” I agreed. “I’ll get you a few books for your birthday.”

“I would like that,” she said, as she nodded to herself.

“Do you think you can handle Harry Potter yet?” I asked.

“I read that two years ago.”

“You did?”

“Yeah, silly. I read HP Lovecraft now.”

I shook my head.

“Would you guys like to watch a movie after dinner?” My mom asked.

I saw a solid opportunity to speak up. “Yes. There is a new James Bond movie out, called A Few Seconds to Die. And there is also Jurassic DMV. These dinosaurs terrorize people who are trying to renew their licenses! What do you guys think?”

I looked around the table before my mom spoke.

“How about Gangs of Wasseypur part three?”

“A Bollywood movie?” I said dryly.

“Sounds good,” Amir said.

“Wait,” I called. “Let’s make sure everyone is on board with this. Kassia, do you want to watch that?”

“Yeah!” she replied with unbridled enthusiasm. “I love the first two!”

“Well, does it have subtitles?” I asked.

“No,” Sima answered.

“Okay then.” I slumped back into my seat.

There was another brief conversation that followed, but I knew what was coming. The others had volunteered their happenings and successes. It was only a matter of time.

“So, Hassan, how is everything with you?”

It was Sima who asked, innocently, but damning as I coughed on my food.

Half surprised, half expecting it, I stumbled for what to say.

Welcome to hell.

“Things are good,” I replied, thinking that may be enough to satiate their curiosities. Although it was only a table of six, it felt as if a thousand eyes were burning a hole in me.

“How is work?” My brother asked directly. “Are you still headed toward that promotion?”

“That’s the plan,” I replied. A half-lie, as that hadbeen the plan.

I looked around and waited to see if anyone would ask me about my job.

“So, are you talking to any new girls?” Mom asked.

I swallowed my food and turned to her. “Yes. I’m on three dating apps.”

“You check them every day?”

“Well, yeah. Two of them are charging me monthly.”

My mom had a way of using her hands as she talked to add emphasis. “My friend’s son started the apps last month and is already engaged,” she said, waving her hands to indicate that it was as easy as pie.

Sima pitched in also. “One of my friends just found someone on an app last week.”

I nodded.

“There are some success stories. Actually, the apps heavily skew toward failure and frustration."

“Are you taking it seriously?” My mom asked.

“Yes. I’m honestly not applying unrealistic standards in any way. It’s just hard to find the right fit.”

“What about the girl you were talking to a while back?” My brother asked.

I turned my head and a neck cramp formed. “The bricklayer? It was going well, but she moved to Canada.”

“What?”

“We were talking for a few weeks, and she said she was moving to Canada. She had some brick-laying opportunity there.”

“And they don’t have phones or internet in Canada?” Amir asked.

I sighed. “It gets worse. One girl I talked to randomly said three strikes and unmatched me."

Sima put her fork down and looked at me. "What were strikes one and two?"

I shrugged. "She didn't say. We literally just started talking. I told her I hadn't watched the new season of Stranger Things. She said strike three and it was over.”

"The new season just came out last month!" 

"I know."

"These apps sound rough,” Amir said.

"And there was another girl who ghosted me,” I continued.

My mom put her hands up in concern. “She died?”[JP2] 

‘What? No, ghosting means she stopped answering my texts.”

“Oh.”

“Maybe she moved to Canada also,” Amir said sarcastically.

“Well, if the apps aren’t working, you have to find someone in the real world,” Mom offered.

“I’ve been trying that also. I keep hoping to meet a nice girl at the coffee shop I go to.”

My mom wouldn't budge. “Hassan, your life begins when you get married and start a family.”

I had heard my mom express this many times in the past. It made my soul cringe.

"So how about that weather?" I asked as my voice cracked.

My dad laid on the finishing touch. “In a few years, you’re going to be thirty and alone.” His tone made it a prediction, statement, and a damning prophecy all at once. He didn’t speak often, but when he did, it cut hard.

"Just hear me out,” I said. "Yes, finding a quality woman and getting married would be magnificent. I would buy a home with a fence, have two children, and maybe even a pet fish.  We would watch whatever new television shows come out every week and cook fun dinners together. On the other hand, I can also be happy single. Think about this: I don't have to share decisions with anybody. I can watch any movie I want and eat whatever I crave for dinner. I can visit friends, take unique trips, and study Brazilian Ju-Jitsu. All my time is my own. The world is an epic adventure just waiting to sink my hands in and explore!”

I glanced around the table.

"That sounds like a horrible life," Mom said.

"Really terrible," Amir added.

"Maybe you should try a different app?" Sima said.

"Yuck,” Kassia said.

I felt defeated. It was always the same conversation.

And this wasn’t even what I had been worried about.

***

I stood outside, looking above me. A day person like myself couldn't really appreciate the full essence of the nighttime sky. It was a beautiful prescription for insomnia. The stars registered in my brain as bright avatars without meaning.

Kassia walked onto the porch with an ice cream cone melting in her hands.

"What are you doing?" She asked.

"Oh, hey, kiddo. I have something for you."

I reached in my pocket and pulled out a gift.

"Don't tell grandmother about the Christmas-themed wrapping paper."

She shook the present in her hands and put it against her ear. After that, she slipped it under her nose and took a big whiff.

"Are you really smelling it?"

She opened it and revealed a Blu-Ray copy of Home Alone.

"A movie?" she asked.

"Yes. They were all out of Turbo-man dolls."

"Oh."

"It's a great kids’ movie.”

She looked up at me.

"I've seen it."

"You have?"

"And parts two and three."

"Well, I'm sorry you watched part three."

"I love the first one.”

"I'm glad you like it. I watch that and Die Hard every Christmas."

"Die Hard?"

"Oh, yeah, well, you can't watch that one yet.”

Kassia looked at me. "Uncle H, is Santa Clause real?”

I looked down at her with surprise. I thought back to what my parents had told me as a kid. They said Santa was real, but he had crashed into a roof and died before I was born.[JP3] 

"What did your parents say about Santa?” I asked.

“They say he isn't real."

She stared back up at the sky.

"I would trust what your parents say. Did someone tell you differently?"

She nodded. “Everyone at school. They said Santa is real!"

"Kids say all kinds of things. When I was your age, someone told me if I ate green Jello, my hair would turn green, and Jello would leak out of my eyeballs."

“Is that true?”

“I never actually tried green Jello. That’s beside the point."

"They say Santa is real and he's evil. Lonnie said if I've been bad during the year, Santa is coming to get me.”

"That's nonsense. The idea he would be evil and come after you-" I paused. "Then again, he does wear red which is the devil's color. And you do tend to cheat when we play Tic-Tac-Toe."

"Oh no!" she said and looked at the sky in fear.

I waived my hands. "Listen, the best thing to do is trust your parents. They know what's best for you and will keep you safe."

She looked at me and back up at the sky. "Would he visit adults?"

I looked down at her and back up at the sky. "Well, not in apartments at least."

***

When I walked back in, my mom was in the side room looking at her new computer. She motioned me to come into the room. “Hassan, close the door. I want to ask you something.”

“What is it?"

“We received a letter here, from your 401k plan."

Shit. I knew immediately.

“They had our mailing address on file.”

Of course. Because I’m incompetent and gave them the wrong address.

“It said because of your separation of employment, they would be sending you a check for the balance of the 401k.”

I looked down at the ground and my mom continued. “Separation of employment means you no longer work there?”

I looked back up.

“Does anyone else know?”

She shook her head.

“Please don’t tell them. I’ll have a new job soon."

“How long have you been looking?"

“Only four months.”

My mom looked worried. She gave me a hug and turned to walk out of the room.

“Wait, Mom, the check from the 401k, how much is it?”

“Two hundred dollars.”

“What?”

“One hundred ninety-seven dollars.”

“I was expecting three thousand.”

"Do you need money?"

"No, that’s not necessary. I’ll be okay."

“You’re still very young. You’ll figure things out.”

“I guess that’s true. Captain Crunch didn’t join the navy until he was fifty.”

My mom’s hands clapped together which signaled she had an idea.

“Hassan, why don’t you move back here? You could pursue law school like you used to talk about. Maybe this is an opportunity for you to get back on that path. And your room upstairs is still just like you left it. You could move in tomorrow."

I used my hands and waved the thought away. “No, no, it’s not necessary. I can find a job in the city and keep my apartment, I’ll be fine. I'm fine. It will be fine.”

I didn’t know if I was trying to convince her or myself.

***

I made a fresh hookah and walked over to the dining room table where the rest of the family sat. I placed it on the table gently and looked at an article on my phone about the top ten dating apps.  I looked up from my phone and tried to figure out what the rest of my family was discussing.

“Should we just get a babysitter?” I heard Amir ask.

“I can bring her to the wedding in Baltimore," my mom replied.

“I don’t want you to have to watch her while you’re with friends.”

I put my phone down. “What’s going on?”

“Sima and I are going to New York on New Years. Mom and dad have a wedding in Baltimore that weekend."

“Could we bring her with us to New York?” Sima looked at Amir.

“They want to meet up in Times Square and do that whole thing," Amir said. “I guess we could take her. But there is also the concert they want to attend.”

I tapped the table for a second. Something inside me pushed to speak up.

“Why don’t I watch her?”

My mom laughed.

Sima and Amir looked at each other with unease.

“It's two full days," Amir stated.

“It’s no problem. You guys have to pass DC on your way to New York anyway."

 My mom chimed in. “You’ve never babysat her before."

It was true. I had a phobia about holding babies, which had led to me never actually watching Kassia.

“Are you sure?” Sima asked. “Don’t you have plans for New Years?”

 “I’m single, remember? I'll be eating popcorn and watching Stranger Things. I need to make sure that doesn't destroy future relationships."

“It is on the way,” Sima said thoughtfully.

My brother contemplated it quietly. He was likely questioning my level of responsibility.

“It’s no big deal,” I assured him. “I can handle watching her for two days."

Finally, Amir relented. “Alright, why not? So, we’ll drop her off on Friday afternoon.”

I reached my hands up to clap them together.

My left hand hit the hookah at its base. It was a sturdy hookah with a decent weight. And yet, my hand hit it with just enough force to tip it over. My mouth formed a large ‘no’ as I desperately reached for it.

Too late. The Hookah hit the ground and the coal on top of it flew across the room.

The best result would be the coal sailing far enough to reach the kitchen floor. It landed two inches short, on the living room carpet, and began burning a hole.

           “The carpet!” My mom said as she stood from the table and went to the kitchen to get a wet rag. 

“Wait, mom, let me get that.” She was already back and cleaning up the carpet. My dad walked by and froze. He gave a disapproving look that seemed to say, alone at 30. I picked the hookah up off the ground and put it back on the table. I turned my attention to Sim and Amir who had a worried look.

 “Hold on a second,” I said. “That was a random burst of bad luck and has no bearing on my ability to watch Kassia.”

I looked at my mom who picked the coal off the ground and looked over at us.

She didn't look confident at all.