I give Kat a wide-eyed look; I’m a lion trapped in a cage. I know myself well enough to know if I speak again, I’ll never stop.
“My client,” Kat says, much more calmly than I could have pulled off, “has requested a fair split of assets. After being a housewife for years and focusing on their four children, none of her financial requests were outlandish. As Mr. Hartwell knows, Ms. Hartwell has always enjoyed the holidays. A yearly rotation would cause emotional turmoil for all involved. Ms. Hartwell, yes, but also their four children.”
She continues to talk—to plead our case for not wanting a yearly holiday rotation schedule—but I’m down a mental spiral. Who does this? Ryan doesn’t care about holidays. I’m not sure he’s ever planned a single event for any of them. Christmas trees annoy him. Parades are too crowded. He can’t even pronounce poinsettia correctly, for God’s sake. I’ve always done it all. Loved it all.
“It’s unnecessary,” Kat says with finality. “If we set a normal rotating schedule of holidays now, there will be plenty of time to plan whatever vacations and traditions your client has in mind.”
Ryan leans toward his attorney and whispers behind a cupped hand.
“If your client is unwilling to accept these terms,” his attorney says, clearing his throat, “Mr. Hartwell wants to sell the house.”
My spine goes ramrod straight as my jaw drops.
Sell the house?The room starts to spin. The kids love the house.I love the house.
Kat looks at me. I must shake my head because Ryan’s attorney slides the proposed schedule back across the table.
Ryan smirks. He’s got me, and he knows it.
“All holidays for a year,” his attorney fills in as I once again read the paper—every holiday, festival, and date listed out with Ryan’s name in bold next to them. “Should the holiday fall on a Monday, the long weekend before is included. Same with Friday holidays. And, as we live in Springer, North Carolina, the town dubbed Christmas Village USA, this will include all festival days in the town’s peak Christmas season—which kicks off tomorrow with Halloween and ends with New Year’s Eve. It includes every weekend for November and December as well as the entire week leading up to Christmas.”
Dread takes a physical form in my throat. My favorite time of year. My favorite traditions. We live in a magical land where Christmas doesn’t come for a day, it comes for two full months. A national newspaper dubbed Springer with the title Christmas Village USA just over a decade ago due to the prevalence of lights, cheer, and over-the-top schedule of traditions that make our town more magical than the North Pole. We don’t just celebrate Christmas in December; festivities kick off with Halloween and last for two solid months.
And he’s taking them.
The whole damn season.
I read the final lines.The proposed schedule will go into effect immediately, with Mr. Hartwell getting the remaining holidays and festivities for the rest of the current calendar year.
The blood rushes from my face. I’m going to vomit.
“You want this year?” I can barely breathe. Barely get the words out of my mouth. “Starting with Halloween? That’s tomorrow, Ryan.”
“That’s correct.” His attorney clears his throat. “Per the terms, Mr. Hartwell will pick the kids up from school todayand have them through the entirety of the weekend and every weekend for the remainder of the year, as noted, to celebrate the holidays with his children.”
I reread said dates, none of them fully registering.
The pumpkin sweater against my skin suddenly feels like it’s burning my flesh off. Tomorrow is Halloween.Tomorrow.The kids and I all have animal costumes. I was going to be a cat. Jack a bear. Millie a pig. Ava a kangaroo. Owen a snake. They would trick-or-treat around our neighborhood; I would pass out candy—the full-sized bars our house has been hailed for—and then we would all go to the town’s kickoff Christmas event to greet Santa, watch the costume contest, and light the town tree.
But this means none of that.
My eyes go to Ryan, desperate for him to show mercy. His face stays savagely stoic.
Not having the kids for the holidays—for the traditions that have become part of who we are for the last ten years—might as well be a dagger straight through my chest. But if I say no, mediation will continue, as will the drain on my bank account due to Kat’s insane hourly rate. I make enough money at the magazine to pay the bills, but I couldn’t afford to buy the house on my own. If I don’t do this, I could lose it, along with my mind.
I look at Kat.
“You should take it,” she says, in a low, yet firm, voice.
“But—”
“No ‘buts,’ Hollis. He’s going to keep dragging this out. I know how you are with the holidays, but figure something out. Celebrate on different days with your kids. Take the extra alone time and do something for you. It’s not worth it.”
Celebrate on different days? Do something for you?
Every word feels like it’s drowning me. That defeats the whole purpose and strangles every ounce of magic out of the season. Not to mention my job, especially this time of year, isfocused on writing about kids and family. How the hell do I do that without kids or a family?
I open my mouth, but Kat talks over me.
