“Of course,” Diane said. “We worked it all out with your fiancée.”
“All my medical practice partners and their families are coming,” my father said sternly.
Families? How many people were supposed to be at this wedding?
“After everything you put us through as a teenager, I can’t believe you’re going to ruin the one chance we have had for a positive family interaction.”
“That’s not—”
My father clapped a hand on my shoulder. “You need to carefully consider your life choices. Hensley will be a wonderful wife and mother. She’s just like Diane.”
He smiled down at my mother, who preened. “She’s not exactly as good as me.”
“Of course not, darling,” my father said. “Hensley’s not anywhere near as smart as you. Of course, not everyone can have two PhDs in STEM fields.”
My father gave me a chilly look. “But of course, not every man is able to attract that type of woman either.”
“Hensley is as good as Matt’s going to be able to do.” My mother adjusted her black leather gloves. “I hope you’ll come to the right decision, Matt. Don’t let us down.”
I stood in the middle of the Christmas market, stunned as they strolled off like we had just been having a natural loving conversation, just parents and their kid catching up.
A live band on the stage belted out a Christmas carol, the lyrics reminding everyone that the season was about family.
I could still feel my father’s hand on my shoulder. That conversation was probably the most I had talked to him in years. He hadn’t even dropped me off at Harvard, let alone come to my graduation. He had had a conference, and besides, as he told me, he had already sent three sons to Harvard, so I should call him when I had won a Nobel Prize.
Around me, happy families were wishing one another Merry Christmas and giving invitations to holiday parties while the band transitioned into what should officially be known as the most obnoxious Christmas carol ever—"Frosty the Snowman.”
“And this is why I hate Christmas.”
22
Merrie
Ichewed on my lip as I waited for someone to open the door to my father’s house. He and his third wife lived in an old historic home in one of Harrogate’s higher-end neighborhoods. The house was huge. They had just moved there with their new baby (yes, your math is correct, and I hope you are as appalled as I am), and it was decorated for Christmas.
Part of me was jealous. When I was in high school, I had assumed that after graduating college I would immediately land a great job and my rich boyfriend would propose to me right after graduation.
Instead, I had graduated with no job, no boyfriend, and nowhere to live.
And I still have no job, no boyfriend, and nowhere to live.
“Merrie!” Aunt Bettina exclaimed, opening the door. “And you brought cookies. Everyone!” she called into the house. “Our baker extraordinaire brought cookies!”
The guests at the party ignored me. The crowd consisted of all my dad’s coworkers from Svensson PharmaTech and his college friends, plus all my stepmothers’ sorority sisters, who she was parading around the impeccably decorated house. Tabitha even had hired a photographer to take pictures of the party.
Dear Santa, All I want for Christmas is a hundred-plus-year-old house that is so decorated it puts the North Pole to shame. Also, I want a Christmas tree in every room.
“We had a decorator do the house, of course,” my stepmother said. “I was far too busy with the baby. Being a new mom is so hard.”
Yeah, especially if you have an au pair, a nanny, and a night nurse.
I headed into the dining room with its original plaster ceiling and crystal chandelier to put my cookies with the rest of the desserts. My thrifted ‘70s Christmas platter was out of place next to all the Anthropologie-chic dishes with their arrays of healthful foods.
“Good thing I brought meatballs,” Aunt Bettina whispered to me.
“I don’t see them,” I whispered back. “I need a pick-me-up.”
The elderly woman made a face. “Shedidn’t want them out with the rest of her food. Said it clashed.”
