(Excerpt from my upcoming diary novel)
December 24, 2000 – Kecskemét
Mom went out in the morning to get the sweet, red apples that Dad would later slice at the holiday table. I knew it would be a long adventure, both because of the crowds in town and my mom’s chatty nature.
While waiting for her to come home, I thought I’d make myself useful. I locked myself in the bathroom and gave it a thorough scrub. I picked my favorite music and scrubbed the tiles, the bathtub, and organized the shelves to the rhythm. Secretly, I usually declutter during these cleaning sprees too. Somehow, my parents never notice when something has expired. Of course, I don’t dare just throw their stuff out. What I think belongs in the trash, I hide. If no one looks for it after six months, I toss it out.
Dad had volunteered to bread the fish for the evening dinner. He claims that Mom and I don’t do it right because we skimp on the coating. Which isn’t true—it’s just that, as I move it around, the cursed breading comes off in patches. And Mom simply doesn’t have the patience for it. Of course, she won’t admit this; she always finds something urgent to do whenever it’s time to prepare the fish.
I enjoyed the peaceful, festive atmosphere brought by the fragrant, lush pine tree in the living room. I couldn’t wait to start decorating it, and to wrap presents—though for me, wrapping always gets left to the last minute. This year, I played it safe with Mom: I bought her a set of threads for her new sewing machine. At least it’s useful. Ever since her client base grew, she’s been going through thread like crazy. Especially since she took the last week off from the pharmacy, didn’t clean there, and just sewed from morning till night. I honestly don’t understand why she doesn’t quit her job and start her own business.
Since I’m getting a decent scholarship, I could spend a little more on gifts. I bought Dad a bright lamp for his workshop. I have no idea how he’s been seeing all those tiny bits and pieces he repairs up till now. I don’t think he dares to invest in one himself. Even his colleague keeps nagging him to take a technician course and quit the shop. Oh well, at least I always have a gift idea for him.
The holiday preparations went on smoothly and warmly—up to a point. The poppy seed roll and nut roll, which came out of the oven in the late afternoon, cracked. Or more accurately, exploded. Mom looked like it was taking every ounce of her strength not to lose it.
“It’s not about how it looks; it’s about how it tastes,” Dad tried to encourage her.
“Easy for you to say. You didn’t spend hours messing with it,” Mom hissed.
I wisely bit my tongue and didn’t offer the consolation, “We’ll just eat it with a spoon.” I knew we were on thin ice; anything could turn into a disaster on Christmas Eve.
“Well, I breaded the fish,” Dad added, sounding offended.
“Oh wow, your hand must’ve almost fallen off from all that work!” Mom shot back.
“I had to stop by the shop in the afternoon too, to prep for the year-end inventory.”
“And I’ve been working my ass off for weeks! I’ve been cleaning that damned pharmacy during the day, sewing in the evenings, and getting everything ready for the holidays!”
“Julcsi cleaned the bathroom,” Dad dragged me down with him.
“Yes, I saw. Everything’s sparkling, but I guess she didn’t feel like cleaning the windows.”
Fantastic. Totally worth spending half the morning scrubbing.
“Okay, let’s calm down now. We can’t change the rolls, but we can fix the mood,” Dad took charge.
He pulled the Christmas box down from the top of the wardrobe and set it on the carpet. In a moment, everything settled down. Mom found the holiday record, and within minutes, we were singing Silent Night together with great emotion.
I got a long, black, hooded wool coat. I hadn’t been this happy about a gift in a long time. I’ll look like a princess in it. I can’t wait to wear it outside.
The fish turned out beautifully—golden, crisp, and evenly coated. Dad proudly arranged the slices on the plates and spooned tartar sauce alongside them. We were just about to start eating when the phone rang. We were surprised, but Mom and I just shrugged. Dad, however, got up and answered it. Mom’s eyes widened.
Dad, as if it wasn’t the middle of Christmas Eve dinner, started a cheerful chat with the caller. We listened, bewildered.
“I think—” Dad glanced around the table, as if calculating from the portions how long we’d be eating, “—I’ll be there in half an hour.”
“What are you doing?” Mom shrieked.
Dad put the phone down angrily.
“Don’t yell at me in front of others!”
“How did you think you could just leave the house now?”
“Their Christmas tree lights broke, and the kid’s crying because they won’t light up.”
“Well, they’ll just have to console him!”
At this, Dad silently dialed back.
“Sorry, but my wife won’t let me leave the house,” he said into the phone.
“Because it’s Christmas Eve, for fuck’s sake !” Mom burst out.
I collapsed onto the table, laughing so hard that tears ran down my face. Not for long, though—just until my parents finished their intense exchange.
In the end, no one went anywhere. We quietly resumed eating the perfectly breaded fish.