“And you changed hers,” Julia said. “And then you changed mine. And now you’re trying to control every snowflake in a five-mile radius because you’re scared that if you let go, something awful will happen.”
Vic blinked. “Are you a psychologist now?”
“I live with you,” Julia said. “It’s like being in a perpetual case study.”
Vic huffed, half laugh, half sob. “Rude.”
“Accurate,” Julia said.
They sat quietly for a moment. The fire crackled. Wind rattled the windowpanes.
“I know I’m… a lot,” Vic said eventually. “With the lists. And the plans. And the… risk assessments for reindeer.”
“I love you,” Julia said simply. “All of you. Including the part that colour-codes the Christmas napkins.”
“I didn’t colour-code?—”
“You did,” Julia said. “I saw the spreadsheet. It had hex codes.”
Vic winced. “I might have… gone overboard.”
“Maybe a little,” Julia said. “But that’s okay. That’s you trying. The problem isn’t that you care. It’s that you’re beating yourself up for things nobody can control. The roads. The storm. The turkeys. The pumpkin’s life choices. You’ve decided that if one thing goes wrong, you’ve failed some invisible standard.”
Vic stared at the fire for a long moment.
“My invisible standard is… not them,” she said quietly. “It’s me. It’s this version of me in my head who can conjure order out of chaos. Who never misses anything. Who keeps Alex safe and happy. Who gives Hyz the childhood I didn’t have. And if I fall short of her, I…”
“You punish yourself,” Julia finished.
Vic swallowed, throat suddenly thick again. “I don’t know how to not.”
Julia cupped her face with both hands, gentle but firm. “Try this,” she said. “Ask yourself what you’d say to Hyzenthlay if she came to you one day and said, ‘Mummy, I couldn’t make Christmas perfect. I failed you.’”
Vic’s eyes stung. Hard. “I’d tell her she was the best thing that ever happened to me,” she said hoarsely. “And that I didn’t care about perfect. I’d tell her I just wanted to be with her.”
Julia’s gaze held hers. “Exactly.”
Vic let out a shaky laugh, tears spilling over again. “I walked right into that one, didn’t I?”
“Walked?” Julia said. “You sprinted.”
They both laughed then, properly this time. The knot in Vic’s chest loosened a fraction. The room seemed to expand around them, like there was suddenly more air.
“I don’t know how to… let go,” Vic admitted. “If I stop organising, who am I?”
“Victoria Grey-Hughes-Wilding,” Julia said, leaning in to kiss her gently. “Alex’s impossible friend. My very beautiful amazing wife. Hyz’s slightly terrifying mummy. A woman who has done more for this family than any centrepiece could ever represent. That’s who.”
Vic’s lips trembled. “Do you really think it’s enough?”
“I think,” Julia said, “that if you never planned another thing for the rest of your life, they would still love you exactly the same. And so would I.”
Vic crumpled then, the last of her resistance melting away. She buried her face in Julia’s shoulder and let herself cry properly — not the brittle, frustrated tears of earlier, but deep, aching sobs that came from years of trying to hold everything together with lists and charm and stubbornness.
Julia held her through it, murmuring soft nonsense words, one hand in Vic’s hair, the other rubbing slow circles on her back.
Eventually, the tears burned out.
Vic drew back, sniffling, eyes sore and head oddly light.
