The Mystery Megapack

more!” Mom said, pointing at the box, looking proud.
    I shuddered to imagine what might be in it. I gingerly opened the gold wrapping paper, not because I cared about ripping it, but because I wanted to delay every second I could before the inevitable torture.
    Paper off, the box’s lid caught my eye. Bloomingdale’s. Really? Excited, I lifted off the cover, pulled back the crinkly, white tissue paper, and … mentally kicked myself for thinking Mom might have gotten me something nice.
    “Hold it up,” Mom said. “Let everyone see.”
    I pulled out my gift. A red sweat suit. Size medium.
    “You can use it at the gym! With the trainer!” she said.
    I watched Becca try not to laugh while her in-laws and Joe sat there, mouths open.
    “Thank you, Mom. Dad. How very … thoughtful.”
    “Go try it on,” Mom said.
    “Oh, no, not right now.”
    “C’mon, Gwen,” Becca chimed in. “Don’t be shy. Let’s see how it looks.”
    I glared at her. She knew damn well how it would look.
    Mom gave me her don’t-embarrass-me frown. So I shuffled off to my old bedroom, sweat suit in hand. As an elementary school principal, I’m used to standing up to people and holding my own. But you wouldn’t know it seeing me around my family. While I took off my clothes, I wondered for the millionth time why Mom and Dad favored Becca so much. Growing up, they had always given her great presents. First the hottest toys, then trendy teenage clothes, and then expensive jewelry from Cartier in Boston. Oh, how she’d always loved to lord her gifts over me.
    Especially since my presents always sucked. When I turned eight, Cabbage Patch dolls were all the rage. I got a Skipper doll. Mom wouldn’t even spring for Barbie. At fourteen, I begged for bohemian clothes from Annie Dakota, a funky store that used to be downtown. I got a science tutor instead. “A far better use of the money,” Mom had said, looking me up and down. “We can’t count on you finding a husband like Becca surely will, and I don’t want to have to support you for the rest of my life.” Becca had snickered while my few friends whom I’d invited over for cake gasped—they’d heard my stories about Mom, but seeing her in action still shocked them.
    Given the history, I shouldn’t have been surprised by today’s events. And yet a tiny part of me hoped every year that things would be different. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
    I struggled to get the sweat suit on, tugging the snug pants over my hips and fighting to pull the top’s zipper over my bosom. When I finally finished and peered in the mirror, I cringed. The red sweat suit had a white collar and cuffs. I looked like a pregnant Santa Claus.
    “What’s taking so long, Gwen?” Mom called from the hall. “If you don’t come out right now, I’m just going to come in on my own.”
    I opened the door, Mom sucked in her breath, and Becca burst out laughing.
    “I’ll have to return it.” I gestured at the red nightmare. “It’s a bit tight.”
    “Of course it’s tight.” Mom rolled her eyes. “How will you ever be encouraged to lose weight if you constantly wear fat clothes? That’s why I bought you a medium.”
    Tears welled up in my eyes, but I wouldn’t let them flow.
    Mom clapped her hands together. “That’s enough about you, Gwen. This is a holiday for the whole family, after all, and we have guests. Get dressed and come back and join everyone.”
    “Wait.” Becca handed me another box. “This is from me and Joe. But you don’t have to model it now. I’m sure it’ll look great on you.”
    Right. I closed the door and sank onto my old bed, the springs creaking. Sighing, I opened Becca’s gift. A royal blue sweater with horizontal white stripes. At least it was the right size, but stripes! It would look hideous on me. Of course it didn’t come as a surprise. Every year since we’d become adults, Becca had given me gifts that made me look bad. In return, every year I’d bought her gifts she wouldn’t like. Last year, a bargain-brand video camera. This year, a silver bracelet. Becca only wears gold.
    I looked at my watch. How soon could I leave without Mom calling me rude? Whatever the time, it wouldn’t be soon enough.
    * * * *
    Two Saturdays later Hanukkah was set to begin, and once again, I had to deal with my family. Mom demanded we celebrate the first night at my place this year, which was unusual. Since Dad was the only real Jewish person in our immediate family—Becca and I