Then I saw her curled beneath a thin blanket on the couch. She was sleeping with her knees pulled against her chest, making herself so small that my instincts as both a mother and an ER nurse immediately went on alert.
“Abby? Sweetheart, wake up.”
Her eyes opened slowly, and when she recognized me, the confusion in her face turned into a sadness that made my stomach tighten.
“Mom?”
“What are you doing here? I thought you were staying with Grandma and Grandpa.”
She stared at the blanket instead of looking at me.
“They said there wasn’t room.”
For a moment, I thought I had misunderstood her. My parents lived in a four-bedroom house, and Christmas Eve had always meant squeezing in anyone who showed up.
“No room? What happened?”
Abby explained that when she arrived, the driveway was packed with cars. My mother opened the door, looked surprised to see her, and said everyone was already seated and the table had been arranged perfectly.
