How she kept saying that love is endless. That it didn’t seem to bother her about what he did if it was her and his kids he was coming home to. I realize just how open of a mind and heart she must have had all these years to be okay with that instead of seeing her as the doormat I thought of her as. To still be with him through those transgressions rather than run.
For a second, I consider she might not be weak at all. That she really is the strong woman who raised me, who I still look up to, who might know what she’s talking about.
And maybe, just maybe, I’m more like her than I thought. Because if I had my way, I’d be with Colson right now even if I am mad at him. Wherever he is, I’d be by his side, helping him slay his demons instead of standing by.
Just like she’s done with Dad.
I don’t know what to make of that.
Dad rounds the counter, kisses her cheek with his hand resting on her hip then grants us one of his easy smiles. Somehow, he looks different than he did a month ago.
He flattens his hands on the granite countertops and leans in, sweeping his finger into the bowl of cookie dough while Mom slides the trays into the oven.
Olive leans over and does the same when he offers us the bowl. “Nothing like cookie dough on Christmas morning.”
Mom swats both of them with a hand towel and laughs. “Get out of here. You’re both old enough to know that you shouldn’t be eating raw cookie dough.”
“But it’s cookie dough,” they both argue cheekily.
Mom’s brows raise, and I can’t help but chuckle. “With raw eggs.” Then she turns on Dad. “You. It’s your fault, teaching her that raw cookie dough is okay.”
He backs away from the counter, hands raised in surrender but grinning all the same. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Mom smiles just as hard in return. “Mmhmm. Sure.”
He heads for the living room. “Who’s ready to open presents?”
Olive hops off her stool and runs after him, both hands raised in the air. “Oh! Me! Me, me, me!”
It’s crazy how much I’ve missed my family when just a few months ago I didn’t want to be around.
I follow after them, curling up on the sofa with my feet under me as Dad hands each of us gifts and tells us to have at it. Just like he did when we were kids. We’d rip through the wrapping paper as fast as our little hands could, and then we’d lift our presents in the air with brilliant smiles while Mom snapped photos of us.
Olive and I carry our gift boxes in from where we set them by the door, most of which I ordered online and had shipped to the apartment. We spend the morning exchanging presents and eating the chocolate chip cookies while they’re still warm.
I gaze outinto the backyard where Olive and I have spent hundreds of afternoons. The trees around the property line are more grown in, and the rose bushes lining the back fence are bigger and more beautiful than ever. They’re currently dormant, but it doesn’t take away from the expansive area or all the memories that were created back here.
I bring my hot cocoa up to my lips, basking in the warmth that rises from it while blowing on it for a minute before thechocolatey goodness smooths over my tongue. I sigh into the richness of the flavor at the same time the sliding door opens and closes.
“Little cold to be sitting out here, don’t you think?” Dad slowly approaches the swing. It’s big enough for four and was a custom piece he had built almost ten years ago. Before last summer, you could see the worn spots in the splintering wood. That was until Mom put a fresh coat of paint on it, and now, in a way, it almost feels brand new again.
I wrap the thick cozy blanket around me that I stole from the basket in the corner of the living room. It’s been doing wonders keeping me warm along with my hot chocolate. “I don’t mind.”
He points at the spot next to me. We exchanged pleasant words during our gift exchange and a hug afterward, but I can see he’s hesitating. He’s still in his Christmas get-up. A matching set of thermals that have little Christmas trees printed all over them. He started wearing them for Olive and me when we were younger to make the holidays more exciting. I guess old habits die hard. I find myself missing the connection we had before everything turned to shit this past summer.
“Mind if I sit?”
“No. Go ahead.”
The hanging seat sways back when he plops his weight down. Like me, he casts his attention over the backyard. “Lots of great memories out here.”
“I was just thinking about that.”
He sighs, and I know he wants to say something. We haven’t spoken since everything went up in flames a month ago. I’ve ignored texts. Forwarded calls to voicemail. I wasn’t ready to discuss the elephant in the room, but if I’ve learned anything these past few weeks it’s that things aren’t always as they seem, and truths shouldn’t be held for the sake of someone else.
“I know we haven’t discussed things, and our relationship has been pulled taut.”
I snicker. “That’s one way of putting it.”
