“This is probably only the second or third time I’ve been out here since I moved to Texas,” I tell Joel who sits across the circular, red-linen covered table from me.
“Is that so?” he questions, sounding almost conspiratory. “What do you think?”
“I love it.” I inhale deeply as I gaze around, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. It’s not until my gaze lands on the man sitting opposite me that it becomes a full-on grin.
“I’ve always loved this time of year,” I confess.
He raises an eyebrow before setting down his glass of wine. “How is that so?”
“What do you mean?”
“Two months ago, you were adamant about not lifting a finger to decorate your house for the season at all, let alone for the neighborhood competition.”
I drop my attention to the white wine that halfway fills my glass.
“About six years ago I got really sick with the flu two weeks before Christmas,” I tell Joel, my eyes still on the wine. “A week before Christmas, my husband sends me a text from work to tell me his parents decided to spend the holidays with us.”
I shrug.
“That was it. Just a text telling me his mom and dad were coming into town. But it’s never that simple, is it?” I look up,meeting Joel’s eyes. “My ex’s mother has diabetes and was often ill. His father didn’t cook.
“Which meant it fell on me to buy, prepare, and cook meals for his parents, making sure to prepare everything his mother could, while also making sure his father had all of the desserts he liked, because why should he stop eating what he loved because his wife couldn’t?”
My tone drips with sarcasm.
“Meanwhile, our oldest daughter was pregnant with her first child, and it wasn’t an easy pregnancy. I was often stopping by her home to check on her because she was on bedrest for a little while. It was a few days before his parents arrived that my husband asked why I hadn’t decorated the house yet.
“He asked as if I should know that it was my sole responsibility, alone, to not only buy the food and cook it to everyone’s specifications, but to also drag out the boxes of ornaments and decorations to deck out our five thousand square foot home by myself.
“He said that his parents were expecting everything to be prepared for them. Which he obviously meant full-on decorations to ring in the Christmas spirit.”
I don’t even try to hide the bitterness that seeps into my tone. Though I was still tired from recovering from the flu, I did it. All of it.
I kept a watchful eye over Shanice because her husband often traveled for work.
I bought the groceries and items Rick’s mother would need and made the dishes she enjoyed that were suitable for her health. And did the same for Rick’s father.
“Do you know what my husband got me for Christmas that year?"
Joel’s eyes narrow. “What?”
“A gift certificate to the local hardware store.”
I snort my disgust.
“The hell?”
Though humor wasn’t at the forefront of my mind, Joel’s outburst makes me laugh. I cover my mouth before dabbing the corners of my eyes.
I pause when our waitress brings us our dishes. My eyes light up in excitement as I look at the turkey slices covered in gravy, stuffing drizzled with cranberry sauce, and steamed garlic-lemon string beans.
“Why in the Hill Country would he buy you a gift certificate to a hardware store?”
His question brings me back to the conversation at hand. The outrage in his voice provides me with justification for what I felt at the time but couldn’t put into words.
“Apparently, at some point I made mention of wanting new kitchen cabinets,” I answer. “And, to be fair, that might be true. But I know as I sat there and stared at the certificate and his justification for why he bought it—so I could be the one to choose what I liked, he’d told me, by the way—all I could do was paste a phony grateful smile on my face.”
I turn my attention toward the Riverwalk again, watching the happy, smiling families while they climb onto one of the boats that plays Christmas music to travel down the length of the river.
