I’m stuck in my chair. The parts of me that I thought were healed from this kind of abuse are back. They’re not as strong, but I feel their hold, and I’m struggling not to let my parents’ words hold me like icy tendrils.
As I sit there, letting their words grip me, something strange happens. A memory surfaces unbidden. It’s Will, his face alight with that inexplicable inner glow, telling me that I am loved, that God cares about me. I remember the warmth that filled me at his words, the sense of peace and rightness that settled over me.
And suddenly, the contrast between that feeling and how I feel now, listening to my parents, becomes startlingly clear. Where Will’s words had lifted me up, my parents’ words are designed to tear me down. Where Will had spoken of love and potential, my parents speak only of fear and limitations.
I step out of myself and look—really look at my parents. Their perfect clothes, their practiced smiles, their carefully crafted words—it all a façade, a brittle shell hiding their own insecurities and fears. They’re not speaking the truth, I realize. They’re projecting their own unhappiness, their own limited worldview onto me.
My father, with his perpetual frown and tightly clenched jaw, radiates tension and dissatisfaction. My mother, beneath her polished exterior, seems small and afraid, her eyes darting around as if constantly seeking approval.
They’re miserable, I realize, with a start. And they’re trying to make me miserable, too.
I’m not even sure they know they’re doing it.
This epiphany washes over me like a wave, clearing away the doubt and fear their words had planted.I don’t want to live like that, I think.I don’t want to be so afraid of life that I try to clip the wings of those around me.
I think of Paige, of her boundless enthusiasm and her ability to find joy in small things. I think of the way she challenges me and pushes me to be better and to dream bigger. And I know, with a certainty that fills me from head to toe, that what we have is real and valuable, regardless of what my parents think.
“Enough,” I say, my voice quiet but firm. My parents fall silent, looking at me in surprise. “I appreciate your concern,” I continue, “but you’re wrong about Paige. You’re wrong about me. And you’re wrong about what makes life worth living.”
My father’s face darkens with anger, but for once, I don’t flinch away. “Now listen here, Noah—” he starts.
I cut him off. “No, you listen,” I say, surprised by the steadiness in my voice. “Paige isn’t running away from me or from our relationship. She’s pursuing her dreams, and while I’m not sure yet if I’ll be going with her, I support her completely. We may not have what you think a relationship should be, but it’s ours. And I won’t sit here and let you try to tear it apart.”
My mother gasps, her hand flying to her throat. “What’s wrong with our marriage?”
I shake my head, a small smile playing on my lips. I won’t be dragged into her drama. “Paige and I are still figuring things out. But this opportunity for her, this chance to see the world and grow... that’s important, too. And I’m not going to let fear dictate our choices.”
My father’s face is turning an alarming shade of red. “This is ridiculous,” he sputters. “You’re considering throwing away everything for some...”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” I say with so much ice in my voice it coats the table. “You will not say another word against her.” I stand up. “I’m choosing happiness. And if you can’t understand that, if you can’t be happy for me, then... well, that’s your loss.”
I pull out my wallet, dropping enough cash on the table to cover dinner I didn’t order, let alone eat. “I hope someday you can understand. But even if you don’t, I’m going to live my life. And I’m going to live it my way.”
As I make my way to the door, I catch Kylie’s eye. She gives me a warm smile and a thumbs up, and I smile back.
I push open the door of Casa Ramirez, the cool night air hitting my face. The street is quiet, the Christmas lights twinkling softly in the darkness. I take a deep breath, feeling a sense of peace settle over me.
I may not have all the answers yet; Paige and I still have a lot to figure out. But for the first time, I’m okay with that uncertainty. Because whatever comes next, I know I can face it. I’ve overcome so much in such a short time that I feel different.
This is a Christmas I will never forget. My phone rings, and I recognize someone from the parade committee. I answer with a smile. I’m ready to see this parade through and share the joy it’s brought me with the rest of Benton Falls.
Twenty
WILL
The cavernous warehouse buzzes with frantic energy as I weave through a maze of floats. I dodge the entire drumline of the high school marching band, wearing matching earmuffs and scarves. They look great, and I was told that their uniforms are made of wool, so they should be plenty warm as they march.
Good thing, too, because it is definitely a winter day. Though the skies are clear, the parade route has been plowed and is ready for us to march out.
Only no one is marching yet. The air is thick with the scent of fresh paint and with the nervous excitement of volunteers rushing to complete last-minute touches. It’s the afternoon of December 23, mere hours before the Christmas parade is set to begin, and the atmosphere is electric.
I dodge a group of volunteers carrying armfuls of tinsel, and I feel a surge of pride. This parade, this coming together of the community, is something I’ve helped create. The thought sends a warm feeling through my chest, a stark contrast to the anxiety that threatened to consume me when we started this whole thing. I didn’t know I could co-chair the parade and do it well. Paige did, though.
I look for her and don’t see her. I’m not sure that I could in all this. Sam and some of his buddies swarm the firetruck, polishing it for the umpteenth time. They are dedicated to keeping it as clean as possible. I don’t want to think about the work they’ll do when they get it back to the station when it has water spots from the melting snow.
I spot the Winter Wonderland float to my left, its paper-mâché snowmen grinning cheerfully as Mrs. Larson fusses with their scarves. The sight of everyone working together, bringing our vision to life, fills me with a sense of accomplishment I’ve never experienced before.
“Noah!” Martha’s voice cuts through the chaos. “We need you to double-check the lineup order. Some of the drivers are confused about their positions.”
