“Right…”
“Don’t you start, little girl,” I finally say, pointing at her. “I know that inquisitive, suspicious tone of yours when I hear it. I am not one of your little witnesses on the stand.”
She tosses her head back, laughing.
“It used to be ‘I’m not one of your little friends’ now it’s ‘I’m not one of your little witnesses.’”
I shrug. “Times change.”
“Apparently.” She takes a beat to sober up. “Can I ask you a question? For real?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Ask.”
“Why were you so adamant about not decorating for Christmas?”
“Am … I still am adamant about not doing it. This is just for my office.” I gesture to the items I purchased.
“Okay, why are youstillso determined not to decorate? You used to go all out when I was younger. All of my friends would say how our house was the best one in the entire neighborhood.
“And the Christmas parties you and Dad used to throw were talked about until summer,” she comments.
The reverie in her voice tightens a band around my chest.
I don’t want to destroy my daughter’s happy memories by telling her how exhausted and drained I always felt during the holidays. She doesn’t need to know how her dream holidays were sometimes my nightmare because of the sheer weariness they brought on for me.
Not only was it physically draining, but the mental load it brought on due to the nonexistent appreciation. Not from my kids. They were children and I didn’t expect them to fall over themselves in gratitude beyond a ‘thank you, Mom.’
It was the lack of support or appreciation from my supposed partner.
“Is it because it’s just you?” Meghan asks.
“Yes,” I tell her, grabbing onto the partial lie like a lifeline. “Once you return to school, it’ll just be me here and it feels like a lot of work for only one person to enjoy.”
Meghan nods but still looks as if that answer doesn’t quite satisfy her curiosity.
I distract her by reminding her that she has an hour and a half before the car I requested picks her up to take her to the airport, so we need to get a move on with the decorations.
An hour later, we’re seated at the dining table, having an early dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers before Meghan leaves.
“I should take these items back over to Joel’s now that the holiday is over,” I tell Meghan while glancing between the table and kitchen island.
“I don’t think he gave it to you for you to return after the holiday is over,” she comments. “Oh, but maybe you should return his cowboy hat.”
She points to the black Stetson that sits in the chair by the island where Joel left it a couple of days ago when he last stopped by.
“I’d forgotten about that,” I mumble, staring at the hat. “He probably needs it.”
“Or maybe he left it on purpose.”
I give Meghan a curious look. She shrugs.
“Do you know what they say when a cowboy lets you wear his hat?”
I hesitate in even furthering this conversation. But, in the end, I can’t stop myself from asking, “No. What do they say?”
“That he’s staking his claim.”
I damn near choke on the apple cider I’ve just taken a sip of. “Meghan Renee Chamberland, why on Earth would you say that?” I ask after coughing the cider out of the wrong damn pipe.
