The tree was one of Karma's most expensive models, designed according to th e precise specifications of her Mother's over-priced interior designer and grown to exacting standards. Meg's sole contribution was one ornament that Shimmer had sent to her and hidden out of sight under one bough and the handful of fake icicles that she periodically moved out of place and tangled. For the past two weeks, Marie and her had been playing a game wher e Meg sabotaged the "perfect façade" of the damn tree and the maid put it b ack into order. Childish, yes but still amusing. Meg had to savor the victories she got because they came increasingly less often.
The "living" room (where no one actually was allowed to spend any time) was an elaborate atrium with a sloping, sculpted ceiling that both glowed with the morning sun and provided great acoustics. It had been in this same room that as a child that Meg had sung to her parents on their birthdays, back when they were a family and she could see everything with the purity of a child's eyes. She followed the rich garlands hung along the eaves to the ro w of stockings that hung over the fireplace and unconsciously bit her lip. He r Mother had kept the same decorations that Meg had crafted in elementary school and they were hung next to the set of stockings she had made in thir d grade. Crude glitter writing across their felt borders said "Meggie", "Mommy," and "Daddi" and they were tacked in a careful row above the bricks that would never see a real fire. Considering how anal-retentive her Mother was, she was surprised that a crack team of Karma archivists hadn't been scrambled to carefully correct the spelling errors of her nine-year-old daughter. No, it probably reminded her Mother what the imperfection known a s sentimentalism felt like, back when there used to be a Barker family. That thought stung too deeply, so she turned her back to them and looked at the wide mounds of presents that had cordoned off the tree like bodyguards.
The elaborately wrapped gifts stood waist high, glowing with ribbons, glitter, and sparkling tinsel bows. The warmth that the display might have offered was muted because she knew that her parents had absolutely nothing to do with it. Personal assistants had bought everything here, mechanically checking items off a list like busy worker ants. It definitely ensured that everyone involved was truly surprised on the big day, but it lacked any kin d of personal attachment. Everything was beautiful and glamorous, but was as sterile and loving as a sanitized Petri dish.
She hated the season and all of its trappings.
"Here it is Miss," Marie said, motioning to a tall, long present propped inside the foyer. It was typical for the maid to have little to do with anything of Meg's even if it meant getting it out of the way of someone else. Maybe she thought that she'd melt if she touched something intended for the younger woman, but Meg thought that could only happen if someone hi t her with a bucket of water.
Meg looked at it, unsure what it was and gingerly located and removed the tag. It was high quality and carefully sealed, but her polished nails made quick work of it. When she read the words, tears involuntarily flooded her eyes and she fought to stifle a sniffle. The spelling errors were so sweet!
It was just the way he spoke. It read:
"Merry SLA-mas. Wuz thinking of you and wishin you waz here. Someting to ge t you threw th seazin. Lov Cog end Shimur"
"What is it dear?" Marie asked, suddenly acting concerned. The sound of her voice was enough to remind Meg to pull her emotions back in check and she hoisted the heavy box in her arms.
"I presume it's a SLA-mas present my dear," Meg said without stopping or looking at the older woman. "It IS the season, you know."
She marched to her room and laid it on the bed, surprised by its mass and still completely unsure what it could be. After carefully closing and locking the door, she tore into the brown packaging paper and the beautiful wrapping paper and ribbon beneath it. Reading the label on the box, she was a little taken aback, but opened it anyway.
"What the fuck am I going to do with this?" she asked aloud, puzzled beyond belief. Cog and Shimmer always got her whatever they could depending upon the locale, but now that both were back operating on Mort you'd think they would get something she would actually like or could use. A sweater or something, but this?
"What the fuck?" she asked again, waving her hands.
With her hand propped on her forehead (just like her Dad does, she thought) , she walked around unsure what to do when she caught something moving outsid e her window. A tiny spectral dot struck the glass and vanished before her eyes, making her blink before she looked back. For several seconds, the glass was clean and clear, but then several dots hit and stuck. They melted into tiny streams and she ran up to the window in disbelief.
"No fucking way!" she said, her voice getting louder than she intended. "NO FUCKING WAY!"
There was a rattle behind her at the door, followed by a jingle and a click as it swung open. Meg had just enough time to sweep the present off and under the bed before the maid came in.
"YOU HAVE NO RIGHT!" Meg screamed, with a mixture of outrage and surprise.
Marie seemed unconcerned and smiled before speaking. "I heard you raise you r voice and thought you needed something dear."
She heard her from the other side of the house? No way in hell.
"THE DOOR WAS LOCKED.YOU HAD NO RIGHT TO INVADE MY PRIVACY!" Her voice had that screechy tone she hated so much, but Meg couldn't help herself. Again the older woman was completely unconcerned about the invasion of her privac y and that only made her angrier.
"Now young lady, you watch your tone of voice with me," she said, still keeping her voice calm and steady. "It is my duty to watch over you in your Mother's absence and if that means 'invading' your privacy, so be it."
"YOU BITCH!" Meg shrieked and this time the maid reacted. Her eyes blinked and she took a half step back, startled. "HOW DARE YOU? HOW FUCKING DARE YOU?"
"Young lady, I'm afraid that I will have to report your insubordination and use of profanity to your Mother immediately."
With that, the maid turned and left, leaving Meg without anything to yell at. In frustration, she grabbed the nearest thing - an expensive Lalande designer desk clock, and hurled it overhand at the closing door. It explode d in a shower of plastic and paint, covering the floor with a pile of shiny pieces. She was nearly frothing at the mouth and her fists were clenched, but her tantrum had done nothing except prove that she had lost again. The maid was probably wringing her hands and cackling as she waddled away to cook the neighbor's children in a pie.
"I'll clean that up later, once you've calmed down," Marie's voice said fro m further down the hall. "Your Mother will want to speak to you, so please strive to compose yourself."
Meg stood looking at the mess and the fragments of ribbon and wrapping sticking out from under the bed and plopped down on a cushion. She wished she were anywhere else but here -anywhere far away from this hellhole, and far, far away from the Maidservant from Hell. Picking up her Sour Blood doobrie, she wiped her falling tears off his bald head and looked into his tiny eyes. They looked just like the real thing, Dead and cold.
"God hates me," she said. "And I hate him for doing this to me."
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