CHAPTER ONE
LANEY
Good morning, honey.” My mom ran her hand over my shoulder, squeezing it for a second before beelining toward the coffee maker. “Did you sleep alright? Do you want to use our down comforter?”
I breathed in the smells of home. My dad had woken up early to make my mom and me breakfast, sneaking in his famous fudge on the side. He was a firm believer in the “breakfast dessert” camp, and I loved it. It had been years since I had dessert for breakfast, and I should adopt that way of life again. My new, single life.
“I slept okay, considering…” I waved my bare left hand in the air. My voice cracked when my mom met my gaze, her comforting smile causing my eyes to water. “Don’t look at me like that. Stop it.”
“Honey, I just want to hug you.” She scrunched her face and pointed to the green storage boxes lining the edge of the living room. It was officially thegarland-ingin our household. It was an annual day for my parents, and they had had decadesof collecting the gaudiest colorful garland. “Your grandfather made me clean the house during my first heartbreak, and it was therapeutic. So can you help me hang these in the welcome foyer?”
“I want to sit here and mope though.”
She clicked her tongue. “Sorry, girly, that’s a no. It’s December first. It’s our favorite time of year, and yes, I want to hold you like you’re eight and watch a Disney movie, but we have work to do.”
I had remained close with my parents over the last decade, but I was rarely home for more than a long weekend, often with my husband. It was comforting to be home with them and see nothing had changed. They still had dinner right at 5:30. My dad would pour a glass of red wine for each of them, and they’d watch their shows right at 7:00. The routine made me feel safe. I knew where they’d be and what they were doing, without question. After living with unknowns and broken promises, I was comfortable being home where I knew expectations.
My mom arched her infamous left brow and put a hand on her hip, and I knew I had no choice. “I won’t be cheery about it, but I can help.”
“Good. We can put on sad acoustic Christmas music if you prefer.”
I snorted. “When did you become sassier?”
“Being alone with your father the last fifteen years.” She took the lid off the first storage bin and handed me blue, gold, silver, and dark green garland. They were all made of tinsel, and the familiar dusty smell brought back years of memories.
I didn’t even have to ask how she wanted them arranged. My mother, a free spirit at heart, liked her garland organized by howshe felt about the colors. Dark green was her favorite, followed by silver, and then gold and then blue. As I stepped on the small ladder to place some dark green garland at the intersection of the living room and foyer, right next to the window, I laughed. “I’m surrounded by Christmas fanatics. You and Dad, and Sophia.”
“It’s good for you. Remember, let them loop a good six inches between placing the tacks.”
“Oh, I remember, Mother.” I smiled to myself. The heartbreak was less painful with specific tasks to complete. We worked in silence with Bing Crosby playing in the background, and gratitude overwhelmed me. I was so glad I was home.
“Oh! I forgot to ask you yesterday,” my mom said a good thirty minutes into our garland-ing. “Two questions, honestly. The first: Do you wanna help me and your dad set up the tree tonight? If you want to avoid more festive cheer, that’s fine. But we’re gonna put onChristmas with the Kranksand get tipsy.”
I chuckled. “That sounds great, actually.”
She smiled. “It’s so nice having you home, even if it’s under not-ideal circumstances.”
I sighed. “You can just say it. I’m leaving my husband.”
She winced and twisted her lips in displeasure, pausing as she held on to a purple garland we bought in Vegas one year. “It breaks my heart, hon, ’cause that man loves you, but you need to trust your gut.”
“Am I foolish? Am I being too selfish?” There, I had asked the questions that had plagued me last night. Was I putting my needs first to the detriment of Connor’s? Sure, but at what point can I stand up for myself and my needs? It was a horrible cycle of what came first—the chicken or the egg. There wasn’ta real winner or loser, but either way, our hearts hurt. It was easier to ask my mother while I faced a window. I didn’t want to see any judgment.
I continued, “He’s never been cruel or hurt me or cheated or lied. He’s never done anything so horrible that people would gasp. I was just sad and lonely. Sick of being an afterthought.”
“No. You’re not being foolish or selfish. You’re choosing yourself, and that’s brave and hard. I love Connor; I truly see him as a son. But his work drives him, and I remember you crying that night three years ago when you brought me to an event because he canceled last minute. You tried hiding it from me, but I saw.”
My mom’s confession caused my eyes to sting as I hung the white-and-red garland in a pattern. “There are twenty examples of that from this year. He also forgot our anniversary. I spent weeks negotiating a price for a vintage typewriter, knowing he’d love it. He scheduled a work dinner instead. It broke the final hope I had.”
“You don’t owe me anything, dear. Not to me or your father. You’re in control of your choices and happiness, and we’re going to support you no matter what. We’re here if you want to talk or if you want to cry. Hell, your dad will get drunk with you in the basement while he yells at the Bears again. Stay here as long as you need.”
“I’m having my stuff packed up today. Is that… crazy?”
“If it’s what you need to have peace of mind, then no.” She clapped her hands as she stared at the two windows we had decorated. “Every year, they take my breath away.”
I stepped off the ladder and admired our work. It wouldn’t win any awards, but it was definitely my home.
“Let’s sit and admire, drink our coffee for a minute.”
