**AUNT JENNA’S CHRISTMAS CAMP**
She looked at me.
Then Lauren.
Then my mother.
“Wait,” she said quietly. “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 excited.”
“That is not what I asked.”
My mother crossed her arms.
“You always enjoy them.”
“That still isn’t permission.”
Her patience finally broke.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Jenna. **It is Christmas. Can you stop turning everything into a negotiation?**”
I looked down at the itinerary.
My name.
My shifts.
The bunk room.
The restaurant reservation that included every adult except me.
And suddenly, the truth was so obvious that I almost laughed.
**Nobody had invited me to Christmas.**
They had staffed it.
I folded the itinerary once.
Then again.
“I’m going to the hotel.”
My mother’s face changed.
“What hotel?”
“The one in town.”
“You just got here.”
“Yes.”
“You cannot be serious.”
“I’m very serious.”
Dad stepped forward.
“Jenna, nobody is trying to upset you.”
“I know.”
That surprised him.
“I think that’s the problem.”
Lauren looked uncomfortable.
“Jen, if you don’t want to watch them, obviously you don’t have to.”
Mom spun toward her.
“We have nonrefundable reservations.”
Lauren stared back.
“So?”
“So someone has to stay with the children.”
Chris had finally entered from unloading the van.
He froze.
“What did I miss?”
Lauren gave a humorless laugh.
“Apparently Jenna was assigned as our unpaid nanny.”
Chris looked horrified.
“What?”
Mom raised both hands.
“Would everyone stop dramatizing this?”
I picked up my car keys.
Dad said, “Where are you going?”
“To move my things.”
Mom followed me into the hallway.
“Jenna.”
I kept walking.
“Jenna, this is ridiculous.”
I stopped beside the staircase.
“No, Mom. Ridiculous is putting a thirty-five-year-old woman in a bunk room because she doesn’t have a husband.”
“That has nothing to do with it.”
“There are three unused bedrooms.”
“One is Dad’s office.”
“For five days?”
“The other has storage.”
“In a vacation rental?”
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
I nodded.
“Exactly.”
Ava stood at the other end of the hallway.
Her face had fallen.
I crouched beside her.
“Hey.”
“You don’t want Christmas camp?”
My anger disappeared.
“I want time with you. I just want it because **we chose it together**, not because somebody decided my whole Christmas belonged to everyone else.”
She considered that with the seriousness only nine-year-olds can manage.
“Can we still make hot chocolate?”
“Absolutely.”
“With marshmallows?”
“An irresponsible amount.”
She smiled.
Behind her, Mom said, “Wonderful. So you are staying.”
I stood.
“No.”
Her smile vanished.
“I’ll spend time with everyone. I’ll sleep somewhere else.”
