Outside the car window, large snowflakes were falling from the sky, turning the entire city into a silver-white world. Skyscrapers were adorned with decorations, and even from a distance, the bright lights of the Empire State Building were visible. The streets were bustling with people, each in a hurry, and at every few intersections, Santa Clauses were handing out gifts. Many of the vehicles on the road were carrying Christmas trees of various sizes.
As one of the world's largest cities, New York had a strong festive atmosphere. But Catherine didn't like it here. The skyscrapers were too many, blocking out the sun. She preferred the detached, courtyard-style houses of Los Angeles.
"Vincent, no matter what Dad says later, just pretend you didn't hear it, okay?" The elegant lady sitting opposite, with a touch of concern, said in a comforting tone.
"Alright, Rose, you say this every time we come to New York. Can we talk about something else?" Vincent said, spreading his hands with some impatience.
"What else can I talk about, Vincent? I say this every time, but when have you ever done it?" Rose sighed.
"But isn't it always Dad who starts the arguments?" Vincent raised his eyebrows.
Rose shook her head and looked to Susan for help. Susan also sighed, holding her husband's hand. "Vincent, Dad is old now. You need to try to understand him. You two have already made up, so why argue over small things?"
"Susan, you're the last person who should talk to me about this," Vincent said, raising a finger. Seeing his wife's eyebrows arch in annoyance, he quickly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender and smiled. "Alright, I was just joking."
He then turned to his sister. "Rose, I can only promise to try my best to restrain myself. If Dad says too much..." He spread his hands again.
Rose sighed, knowing that Vincent had already made the biggest concession he could. But their father... She shook her head and looked at the little girl beside her, who was staring blankly out the window. She changed the subject. "Cathy, dear, would you like something to drink?"
But Catherine was still daydreaming. Rose called her several times before she snapped out of it. "Oh, sorry, Aunt Rose. I zoned out. Just some orange juice, please."
"Alright, orange juice." Rose took out fresh orange juice from the RV's small refrigerator and poured her a small glass. Then she asked Vincent and Susan, "What about you two?"
"See? I told you. She only thinks of us after asking the little one," Vincent shrugged at his wife.
"What, are you going to hold a grudge against your daughter?" Rose rolled her eyes at him, then looked at the little girl, who was still staring out the window, not touching her orange juice. She gave her brother an inquiring look. Vincent gestured that it was nothing to worry about. "Every year after leaving her friends, she stays like this for a while. It used to go away after getting off the plane, but it seems to last longer this year. But don't worry."
Is it really nothing to worry about? Maybe. After all, it's not a big deal. Catherine and Jessica's relationship had changed inexplicably after filming "The Parent Trap," and the change became more evident after their last trip to the amusement park. Catherine, who had been a shut-in in her past life, had no idea what this meant. She only sensed that Jessica had also noticed the change and seemed to enjoy it, which made Catherine, who usually chose to ignore what she couldn't solve, unable to ignore it. The poor girl didn't know what to make of the situation. Despite understanding the word "ambiguous" well in her previous life, she only knew it in theory, not in practice.
Traffic jams in New York were commonplace, so the RV took a long detour to reach the Long Island villa. Although they visited every other Christmas, the villa's decorations were always new. For example, the small and large Christmas tree-shaped lights in the garden formed one big tree shape. Of course, the dozen or so plum flower stakes remained conspicuous, though they seemed shorter than before.
"Welcome back, Vincent, Susan, and Cathy. Merry Christmas," the old butler, Thomas Frye, had been waiting at the door, smiling as he opened it for them.
"Hi, Thomas. Merry Christmas," the family greeted him in turn, Catherine especially loudly. Old Thomas had always been Grandpa's butler, loyal for so many years. Every member of the Mason family liked him, even her father, who often clashed with Grandpa, got along well with him.
In the spacious living room, people were already chatting. On the classical sofa sat two men talking. One, only two or three years younger than Vincent, was well-dressed and a successful businessman. The other, about twenty-seven or twenty-eight, was polite and well-mannered.
On a single sofa beside them sat an elderly man, entertaining a cute little boy, about two or three years old, at his knees. His deeply lined face carried an authoritative air, suggesting a strong character in his youth. But now, that sternness was overshadowed by the tenderness he showed while playing with the child.
"Hey, look who's here," said the man about Vincent's age, standing up first. He laughed heartily and gave Vincent a hug, then exchanged cheek kisses with Susan.
"Ed, you rascal, don't get too friendly with my wife," Vincent teased.
"That's slander, Vincent. Rose is right here; how could I do such a thing?" Ed quickly protested.
"So, you're saying that if I weren't here, you would?" Rose's voice came from behind.
"Darling, you misunderstand me. What I meant was that I wouldn't do it if you were here, and I definitely wouldn't do it if you weren't here," Ed hurriedly explained.
"Hi, big brother. Hi, Susan," the man in his late twenties stood up to greet them.
"And me, Uncle Dean," the little girl interjected, feeling slighted by her uncle Ed's earlier oversight.
"Alright, I apologize for that, my little angel. How are you?" Dean said, smiling as he ruffled her hair.
"Never mind the little one, Dean. Merry Christmas," Vincent said, spreading his arms to hug his brother. He looked around and asked, "Will Wendy be joining us for New Year's this time?"
"Yes, but I still hope one day you all can come together, for Christmas or New Year," Dean shrugged and stepped aside.
Vincent smiled and led his wife and daughter to the elderly man. He collected himself and nodded slightly, "Merry Christmas, Dad." He then took the gift from his wife and handed it over.
"Alright, sit down. Don't just stand there," the old man said as he took the gift—a 1966 Petrus—and set it aside nonchalantly. His expression softened into a smile when he looked at Catherine. "What's the matter, my little angel? Aren't you going to come over and let me have a look at you?"
The little girl stuck out her tongue and walked over hesitantly. "Dear Grandpa, I thought you might be very angry."
"Angry? Why? Because you made a movie?" The old man laughed. "Honestly, my dear, pulling out what little hair I have left is more likely to anger me than you making a movie."
"So, you don't mind me making movies?" Catherine immediately jumped onto her grandpa's lap, looking delighted.
The old man frowned slightly, but before he could say anything, the girl had already formed her hand into a microphone and held it in front of him. "So, dear Mr. Kleist, what do you think of your granddaughter's movie?"
The old man smiled helplessly and then said seriously, "It's wonderful, not the least bit pretentious. I'm very proud of my granddaughter."
Catherine wanted to say more, but she felt a tug on her pant leg. Looking down, she saw Rose's two-year-old son looking up at her with a pitiful expression, his hands reaching out as he mumbled, "Sister, I want to sit too."
"Alright, Colin, I'll let you," the girl said with a shrug, jumping off her grandpa's lap and lifting the little boy onto it.
"I have to say, Cathy, I'm quite jealous of you. Colin never asks me, his father, to lift him onto Grandpa's lap," Ed said, causing everyone to laugh softly.
Catherine made a face, looked around, and noticed the empty stroller on one side. She asked, "Uncle Ed, where's Susu?"
"Where do you think she is?" Ed didn't answer directly, smiling slyly.
The girl rolled her eyes and looked at her grandpa. "Grandpa, can I go to the kitchen?"
The old man, knowing what his granddaughter was thinking, nodded. "Alright, but don't make a mess, okay?"
"Heavens, Grandpa thinks I'll only make a mess in the kitchen. That really hurts my feelings," Catherine exclaimed dramatically, then quickly ran toward the kitchen amidst the laughter of the adults. She stole a glance at her father. After all, she had already made her stance on making movies clear. If her father and grandpa started arguing about it, it wouldn't be her fault. Of course, if they argued about other things, that was beyond her control as well.