Dinner was ham and two kinds of sweet potatoes and green beans and the rolls Claire had brought home from the bakery, which her mother served without saying where they came from. Madison talked about her friends, her school's winter formal, the boy who had asked her to it, and the ski trip she was going on in February with the Pattersons. Diane talked about the Pattersons. Greg talked about the snow and whether it would stick. Grandma Ruth listened to all of it with genuine interest, and then, during a lull, she set down her fork and turned to Claire.
"And what about you? What's happening with college applications?"
The table went very slightly quiet.
"I applied early to UVM," Claire said. "I find out in a few weeks. And I did the regular application for a few state schools."
"UVM! In Burlington?" Her grandmother's face lit up. "Claire, that's forty minutes from me."
"I know." Claire felt herself blush. "That's sort of why."
"She hasn't decided anything," Diane said smoothly. "We've talked about it, and community college for the first two years is really the more responsible choice. With Madison's activities and the ski trip and everything, money's tight this year."
"I'd get loans," Claire said quietly. "And I've been saving."
"We've talked about it," Diane repeated, in the voice that meant the conversation was over.
Grandma Ruth looked from her daughter-in-law to her son. Greg was cutting his ham into very small, very even pieces.
"Well," Grandma Ruth said lightly, "I think a girl who applies to college forty minutes from her grandmother has excellent judgment, and I'd like to hear more about it later." She picked up her fork again. "These rolls are wonderful, Diane. Where did you get them?"
"Oh, just a place in town."
"Delaney's," Claire said, before she could stop herself. "I made them."
Her mother's smile did not move at all, which was how Claire knew she was angry.
Later, after the dishes, after Madison had gone upstairs to call the boy from the winter formal, after her father had fallen asleep in front of a Christmas movie with his mouth slightly open, Claire found her grandmother in the guest room unpacking. The guest room was the old office, with a pullout couch that Claire had made up with clean sheets that afternoon, folding the corners the way her grandmother had taught her once, the summer she was nine.
"Hospital corners," Grandma Ruth said, patting the bed. "You remembered."
"You made me do it eleven times."
"And now you'll never forget it. That's teaching." She lowered herself to sit on the edge of the mattress, wincing a little at the hip. Then she looked up. "Claire. Did the package come?"
Claire hesitated. "I don't think so. I looked under the tree. I didn't see a green ribbon."
Her grandmother was quiet for a long moment. Outside the window, the snow had thickened, and the streetlight made a cone of gold in it.
"I have the tracking number," Grandma Ruth said at last. "It says delivered. December the sixth. Left on the porch."