Chapter 1 - The Printed Itinerary
My parents told me they rented a farmhouse for one last family Christmas before moving to Arizona. I drove three hours expecting five days with my parents, my sister, and her three kids. In the kitchen, I found a printed itinerary assigning me the bunk room beside the children—and two long “Aunt Jenna” childcare shifts while every other adult had dinner, spa, and brunch reservations. The worst part came when my sister thanked me for volunteering. I hadn’t.
I read the itinerary three times before I believed it.
The farmhouse my parents had rented sat outside Galena, Illinois, tucked behind bare oak trees and a gravel driveway already rimmed with old snow. They had been talking about this Christmas since September.
“One last real Midwest Christmas before Arizona,” Mom kept saying.
Dad was retiring in January. They had sold the house where my sister Lauren and I grew up and bought a smaller place outside Scottsdale. So when they rented a six-bedroom farmhouse for five nights and told us everyone was coming, I rearranged work, drove three hours from Chicago, and arrived with two pies, six bottles of wine, and enough presents to make the back of my SUV impossible to see through.
I was thirty-five, single, and childless.
In my family, those three facts had somehow become a job description.
Lauren was thirty-two and had three kids: Ava, nine, Noah, six, and Ben, three.
I loved them.
I had picked Ava up from school when Lauren got stuck at work.
I had taken Noah to urgent care once when Chris was out of town.
I had kept all three overnight after Lauren’s basement flooded.
But those were favors I had agreed to.
At least, I thought they were.
The printed schedule was sitting on the kitchen island beneath a ceramic bowl full of clementines.
CHRISTMAS FAMILY PLAN was written across the top.
Rooms were listed first.
Mom and Dad: primary suite.
Lauren and Chris: upstairs queen.
Kids: downstairs bunk room.
Jenna: downstairs bunk room.
I stared at that line.
There were six bedrooms.
“Mom?”
No answer.
I kept reading.
Christmas Eve:
4:30 — family appetizers.
5:00 — Jenna with kids.
5:30 — adults depart for dinner reservation.
10:30 — adults return.
Christmas morning:
7:30 — breakfast.
8:00 — Jenna with kids.
8:30 — parents / Lauren / Chris depart.
9:00 — spa.
11:30 — Christmas brunch.
2:00 — return.
I heard footsteps behind me.
Mom came in carrying a tray of wine glasses.
“Oh, good. You found the schedule.”
I turned around.
“What is this?”
“The plan.”
“I can see that.”
She set the glasses down.
“You’re downstairs with the kids. Ava was thrilled when I told her.”
“You told her what?”
“That you were doing a Christmas sleepover.”
“I’m doing a what?”
Mom’s expression shifted in the way it always did when I questioned something she had already decided.
“Jenna, don’t start before everyone even gets here.”
“I’m not starting anything. I’m asking why I’m scheduled to babysit for eleven hours.”
“It is not eleven hours.”
“It is five and a half tonight and six tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow includes breakfast.”
“Breakfast is at seven-thirty.”
She waved that away.
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
She meant I was being difficult over something she believed should have been obvious.
Dad came in through the mudroom carrying firewood.
“What’s going on?”
“Jenna saw the schedule,” Mom said.
Dad looked at me.
“Oh.”
That “oh” told me he knew.
“Did either of you plan to ask me?”
Dad put the wood beside the fireplace.
“We thought you’d be happy to help.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Mom sighed.
“Lauren and Chris haven’t had a real night out in months. Ben still wakes up before six. Lauren’s working extra hours. Chris has been helping his father since the surgery.”
“I know.”
“And your father and I booked a beautiful Christmas Eve dinner at the resort. Tomorrow there’s a spa package and brunch.”
“So where exactly did I fit into this planning?”
Mom looked genuinely confused.
“You’re here.”
That sentence landed harder than she intended.
Before I could answer, headlights swept across the front windows.
Lauren’s minivan pulled into the driveway.
Within five minutes, the house filled with noise.
Ben ran through the kitchen wearing one boot.
Noah wanted to know where the sleds were.
Ava hugged me so hard she nearly knocked my purse off my shoulder.
“You came!”
“Of course I came.”
She grinned.
“Grandma said we get to sleep in your room tonight.”
I looked at Mom.
Mom busied herself opening the refrigerator.
Lauren came in carrying a casserole dish.
When she saw me, she smiled.
“Seriously, thank you.”
“For what?”
“For tonight.”
I waited.
She set the dish down.
“Mom said you volunteered to keep the kids so Chris and I could actually go to dinner.”
The room seemed to change shape.
“I didn’t volunteer.”
Lauren stopped smiling.
“What?”
“I found out ten minutes ago.”
She looked at Mom.
“Mom?”
Mom immediately said, “I told you Jenna loves having time with the kids.”
“That is not the same thing as telling me she volunteered.”
“I knew she wouldn’t mind.”
Lauren looked back at me.
“I swear I thought you offered.”
“I believe you.”
And I did.
Lauren could be scattered. She could assume help too easily. But the confusion on her face was real.
Dad tried to make it practical.
“We can talk about this after everyone settles in.”
“No. We should talk now.”
Mom stiffened.
“The kids can hear you.”
“Then maybe plans involving them shouldn’t have been made behind my back.”
That was when Ava appeared in the doorway holding a pillow and a handmade paper sign.
She had drawn candy canes around the words:
AUNT JENNA’S CHRISTMAS CAMP.
She looked from me to her mother.
Then to Grandma.
“Wait,” she said. “Aunt Jenna didn’t know?”
Nobody answered.
Ava lowered the sign.
“Grandma said you asked if we could all sleep with you because you didn’t want to go to the grown-up dinner.”
I looked at Mom.
“You told them I asked?”
“I wanted them to be excited.”
“That is not what I asked.”
She folded her arms.
“You always have fun with them.”
“That still isn’t permission.”
For the first time, Mom’s patience cracked.
“Jenna, it is Christmas. Can you please stop turning this into a negotiation?”
I looked down at the itinerary again.
At my name.
At two childcare blocks already printed and highlighted.
At the room assignment that put me beside three children while every other adult had a bedroom with a door that closed.
May you like
And I finally understood what had bothered me from the second I walked in.
Nobody had invited me to Christmas.
