For years, Christmas in the girl’s family had been the same.
Generations upon generations of each strand of such a convoluted and Polish family somehow managed to congregate once a year in the home of one cousin so charitable as to offer her space for the gathering.
Each floor of the three-story house was always occupied by at least a few people; the only room that was constantly full was the kitchen. Aunts and great-aunts and great-great aunts and grandmothers and fourth cousins and family friends all assumed their roles as the operating factors of the party: the cooks.
For hours, these women ran an assembly line of cooking, restocking drinks, laying the table with the intricate displays of cookies and hors-d’oeuvres; they made sure everything was perfect.
That is, until the main event.
At the end of the night, everybody—no matter how many were there—crammed into the living room, decked with the most ornate and ethereal Christmas tree and what looked to be an entire country of homes and buildings at the base.
As children, the youngest in the family would find somebody’s lap to sit on, as there was never an extra inch in the room to settle.
While said children never knew it, the family would dress up one of the older relatives as Santa and his wife as Santa’s helper. As Santa’s helper brought the individual gifts to Santa, the children’s eyes would light up when their name was called. It was always the most undeniably magical experience of the year, filled with singing, dancing, and the richest love one could imagine.
She had become one of the integral factors, and all of the ladies made sure she knew that she was appreciated for her work.
However, time is a beautiful and cruel construct when it comes to family.
As the girl traveled to the party this year, it had become clear to her how disparate the dynamic would be. Many of the people who made the celebration so extraordinary were gone, whether it be because they had passed or simply because they didn’t show up.
She hadn’t known what to expect with a mere fraction of the family coming. The matriarchs of the family for so long—her grandmother and great-great-aunt—had passed in years prior. Now, it was primarily up to the two women who had taken their places: the cousin whose house was used and the daughter of the girl’s great-great-aunt.
As the girl and her family arrived, she was hit with an astounding promotion from her past role as the baby of the family, and she was immediately welcomed into the kitchen.
She hadn’t thought of it before, but she had been waiting for this moment forever: she was officially one of the ladies.
The ladies, whose work made the entire celebration what it was and whose dedication to their craft had never failed to be the girl’s aspiration, had welcomed her—as well as her sister—under their wing.
There may have been a scant amount of people in comparison to the past, but the girl felt more welcome in that kitchen than ever before; she had become one of the integral factors, and all of the ladies made sure she knew that she was appreciated for her work.
New traditions had arisen, new people had attended, and the girl had found her home away from home: finally one of the ladies.
