After everyone left. After she didn't have to perform anymore. She could fall apart then.
Lauren was stackingthe last of the clean plates when she heard the soft click of heels on the tile.
“You really do know how to make a house… festive,” Judith said. Her voice was smooth as polished silver.
Judith’s gaze drifted past her to the counter, where the envelope still lay. “So thoughtful of him,” she said lightly.
Lauren’s throat tightened. “Yes. Very.”
Judith moved closer. “And so much more practical than that silly quilt.”
Lauren nodded mechanically, hands twisting the damp dish towel.
“How interesting,” Judith said, running her manicured nail along a garland of dried orange slices.
Lauren felt her smile strain at the corners.
“You’ve such a… hands-on spirit,”Judith said, voice soft as powdered sugar. “Perhaps next year you could use that money Tom gave you. Buy some nicer ornaments.”
Nicer ornaments.
Lauren could feel the heat rising in her face.She managed a small nod.
Judith smoothed an invisible wrinkle from her sleeve and turned away.
Lauren stared at the envelope on the counter.
She just needed to keep herself from breaking until everyone left.
She heardTom close the front door, heard his footsteps coming back into the living room. Lauren kept her eyes down, focused on the torn ribbons and discarded bows scattered across the floor.
Her vision blurred for half a second. She blinked hard. She wouldnotcry. Not now. Not in front of him.
She shoved wrapping paper into the garbage bag, her movements automatic. Crumple, stuff, repeat.Don’t think. Don’t feel. Just clean up the mess.
The mess of her perfect Christmas. The mess of her stupid, foolish hope.
“Thank God that’s over for another year,” Tom said behind her.
A tiny, involuntary breath escaped her—thin and shaky. She kept her gaze on the trash bag so he wouldn’t see her eyes shining.
She couldn’t look at him. If she looked at him, the numbness might crack, and she needed it to hold just a little longer.
“Next year, let’s not host.”
She swallowed hard. Her throat felt tight, the pressure of a tear she refused to let fall.
The quilt sat folded on the side table. Set aside like it was nothing.
“Lauren. Mom and Dad are right. You go overboard every year and it’s not…it’s not…” He trailed off. “We need to tone things down for next Christmas.”
She focused on smoothing out a piece of crumpled tissue paper.
“The decorations, the whole... production of it all. It’s all just... it’s kind of cringe.”
The tissue paper tore in her hands.
Cringe?
