As fall settled in, Thanksgiving brought a brief respite—a whole week at home. Jason’s parents, Debra and Richard, arrived for the holiday from just outside Chicago. I found myself caught up in the familiar routine of entertaining and playing my part of the picture-perfect couple.
Thanksgiving was always my moment to shine. The Bradford household felt like a stage, with Jason and me stepping into our roles as ideal hosts. I’d spent days decorating and making sure every detail was flawless. The dining table was set with crisp linens, a handpicked centerpiece, and polished silverware. The air was filled with the scent of rosemary and thyme from the turkey roasting in the oven. It was exhausting but fulfilling in its own way.
But as I placed the final touches, Deb sidled up to me with a patronizing smile. “Natalie, dear, you spend too much time fussing over these things. You should focus more on what Jason needs.”
Her words were like daggers wrapped in politeness, each one aimed at making me feel inadequate. She was always like that, always had been. I clenched my teeth, feeling the sting of yet another remark about how I wasn’t quite good enough for her son.
“Thank you, Deb,” I replied with a tight smile, swallowing the desire for a retort sitting on the tip of my tongue.
Meanwhile, Jason’s dad, true to form, was glued to the television. Football consumed his attention and as long as he had a beer in hand and the occasional arm pat from Deb, he was content. Jason’s parents were so different from me, and I knew that. Yet their very presence dictated every moment of the holiday.
Our actual Thanksgiving dinner went smoothly, at least on the surface. Jason carved the turkey, and Deb praised his technique as if he’d prepared the entire meal himself. Richard grunted his approval between bites of stuffing. The kids were happy enough, though James kept kicking Bebe under the table until she burst into tears.
Jason gave a halfhearted, “Knock it off,” and Deb shot me a look that said I should’ve handled it before it escalated. Not like she or Richard were any help with the grandkids today; why would they want to spend quality time with them on a holiday. Alas, I did what I always did, juggled the children and their emotions while still preparing food and scheduling the day. I stared at my plate, picking at the perfectly prepared food I’d spent hours on. I was ready for today’s holiday performance to end.
The day after Thanksgiving we decided to pick out a Christmas tree for the living room. I’d always loved decorating trees. There was something magical about unboxing the ornaments, each one holding a memory. Once I even toyed with the idea of starting a holiday decorating business, but today,when I casually mentioned it to Deb at the tree lot, she dismissed it with a wave.
“Oh, Natalie, you don’t want people thinking you’re the help,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension.
Why did I ever tell her anything? It’s not as if anything I said would make her like me better. Meanwhile, Jason wandered off with the kids to inspect the tallest tree they could find, leaving me to follow Deb around as she critiqued the lot’s selection.
“This one’s too sparse,” she said, tapping a branch. “And this one? Lopsided. Don’t you think so?”
“They’re all fine,” I muttered, my patience wearing thin.
Eventually, Jason made the executive decision as to which tree, and we left with it strapped to the roof of the car. Once we got home Jason and I headed to the garage to retrieve the ornaments, and the silence between us was noticeable. The weight of his parents’ presence made everything feel heavier than it should. I guess it was always that way.
On Sunday, Deb and Richard finally flew back home. Relief washed over me as I waved them off, hoping their departure would ease the tension I felt in the house. Maybe Jason and I could finally relax together.
But as soon as Jason returned from the airport, he announced he had a busy week ahead. “I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on,” he said, already sounding distracted. “And I’ll need to pack for my trip to New York. First flight out tomorrow morning.”
“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile. Inside, I felt the familiar sting of disappointment.
He disappeared into his office; I wandered into the living room, rearranging the ornaments on the tree. My eyes drifted to the kids’ stockings I’d bought them years ago when everything felt full of possibility, when I believed we were living theAmerican Dream. Now, hanging neatly on the mantel, they felt like relics from another life all of a sudden.
Jason emerged briefly to tell me he was going for a run.
“Something light for dinner?” he asked, already halfway out the door.
“How about a salad?”
He nodded and left without another word.
The kids were in the playroom, pretending to be Santa and his helpers. They asked if they could write their wish lists that night and I agreed, grateful for the distraction. I poured myself a glass of wine and started preparing dinner. Dino nuggets and mixed veggies for the kids, a simple salad for Jason and me.
As I chopped vegetables, my mind wandered.Will.The thought of him brought an unexpected smile to my face. Maybe I’d see him at school tomorrow. I pictured him at the school gate, that easy confidence rolling off him like it always did, the smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He’d probably be wearing one of those sweaters that made him look casually put together. The thought was a tiny spark of joy on an otherwise dull evening. I shook my head, trying to snap myself out of it.
After dinner, I bathed the kids and helped them with their Santa letters. Their excitement was infectious, and for a moment, I felt lighter. Once they were tucked in, Jason popped in to say goodnight before retreating, once again, to his office.
I lingered in the hallway, hoping he’d say something, anything, that hinted at the man I used to know. But he simply mumbled something about needing to finish work.
I poured myself another glass of wine and settled onto the couch scrolling mindlessly through Instagram. Before I knew it, I was searching for Will. It felt ridiculous, even pathetic, but I couldn’t help myself. When I couldn’t find him, I sighed and put my phone down.
In the bedroom, Jason was already asleep, his back turned to my side of the bed. I slipped under the covers, my thoughts drifting back to Will. I imagined his hand grazing my hip, his mouth at my neck. It was reckless. I told myself it didn’t mean anything, that it was just a moment, just a thought, I would forget by morning.
A little dreaming doesn’t hurt anybody, right?
CHAPTER 6
