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The harmattan that morning was really taking its time like a model on the runway. It moved slowly, gently, bringing in its wake white fingers of mist that curled along the window frame of my bedroom. It was as if the sun hid its face in fear, even though it had long risen. Somehow the mist had perfectly tamed the big hot bully that morning.

That morning everything felt still. Giving me both restful and sad feelings.

I sat slowly on my bed and let my feet touch the cold floor. It sent chills down my spine. I sneezed loudly. Then, I quickly put my legs in my flip-flops. And pushed myself out of bed.

Something in me felt heavy that morning. And I already knew the cause.

Christmas. was in three days. I should’ve been packing. I should’ve been arguing with my father about taking the night bus or the early morning bus. I should’ve been texting her the list of soups I wanted her to make first. Or the list of ingredients I needed to go back with. I should’ve been looking forward to going home.

Unfortunately, I wasn't. All thanks to a work schedule that clashed with my supposed leave. I just can't explain it, but it was what it was.

I could still hear the echoes of the disappointment behind my parents' voices as I told them I wouldn't be coming home this year.

"Nnem, take your time. We're fine." Mama had said. "Besides you've sent us money to get food and drinks. Your siblings will be here so we won't be lonely."

She sounded fine, but I knew she was trying to make me not feel bad. Mama was an expert at hiding her feelings.

So, I thought of something else to surprise them and make them happy. That morning, I stood by the window in my big blue nightgown, clutching my warm mug of green tea like a small comfort. My thoughts wandered in guilt over what else I could do.

I picked up my phone and scrolled online, seeking the perfect gift. It wasn't long before I found it. A luxury photo frame with Golden edges. “Lasting memories,” the website said.

I remembered how we had lost the last family photo we had to a fire and imagined printing one of our old family photos I had on my phone and framing it in that. The idea made me smile. At least if I couldn’t be there, let my presence be felt on a family frame hanging on the wall in our sitting room or dining room.

I made an order for it and even paid an extra express fee.

Two days to Christmas, the frame arrived but not as I had imagined. It felt too light. The carton was dented. The tape barely held. That was when I knew something was off.

I finally unwrapped it carefully in the parlour, to see that it was broken and of low quality. Totally different from what I had seen online. Just a poor-looking thing in a nylon bag.

I sat down there on the floor staring at the frame in my lap. The silence in the room wrapped around me. When a knock came at my door followed by a familiar voice.

“Zerah?” Mama Chinedu, my neighbor's voice floated in.

I quickly stood up and opened the door. As usual, she wore a simple floral green gown and flour-stained hands. She was probably baking again. That was the fourth time that week.

“What's the occasion?" I asked. "You've been on a baking spree this week," I asked.

"Nothing. Just trying not to make 25th December too hectic for me," she said, peeking in, I guess her eyes caught the stuff on the floor. “What’s that?”

I sighed. “Just something I thought I could use to bribe my parents for not coming home.” I let her walk into my apartment. "I told you already."

She picked it up and saw the broken side. "Apart from the broken part. This wasn't the quality you showed me."

"Yeah me too. I guess all that glitters online isn't as it is. I can't send this home anymore."

She was quiet for a moment, then sat on the edge of my couch. “You know, Zerah, sometimes it's actually the thoughts that count.”

I sat beside her, my shoulders slumped. I've heard that line countless times but Mama Chinedu made it sound better.

“I thought if I sent something nice, they’d feel better.”

She smiled at me, soft and slow. Dropped the frame and stood up. “Then be the parcel. You’re their daughter. They miss you. Call them. Let them hear your voice that day. Talk to them. Laugh with them. You’ll see, it’s worth more than this thing.”

I looked down at the broken frame again. It suddenly looked even more useless.

“You think they won’t mind?” I asked.

She touched my arm, warm and firm. “ I think they’ll mind if they don’t hear from you. Only then will they feel your absence."

Her words sat in the air for a while. I smiled at her. "You're a lifesaver."

She dragged me up. "I know, but for now, I need you to be my lifesaver. I came to plead with you to help me in the kitchen." Then she walked towards the door.

"Only if I'll get some share of the ..." I stared at her.

"Chin Chin." She replied, opening the door.

"Yeah. Only if I'll get a share of Chin Chin." I continued, closing my door.

"You know you'll always have a share in my house."

"That's my Mama." I teased.

Just as Mama Chinedu advised, I made sure to video call my parents for the better part of Christmas day. From the time Mama began preparing Christmas meals till the time they ate Christmas lunch together as a family.

While they didn't feel my presence, I made sure they heard my voice. And it sure made them happy.

\[Image by Werner Weisser from <a href="https\](://pixabay.com//?utm\_source=link-attribution&utm\_medium=referral&u