A Christmas Delight

6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

M y living room finally looks cozy. Decorating the exterior gave me the energy to keep cleaning inside. There are still boxes lying around in my bedroom and the spare room, but my living room and kitchen are fully furnished.

I put frozen lasagna in the microwave, wearing my favorite cozy, warm, Christmas pajamas, ready to settle in my favorite chair, which I put close to the fireplace. I have a fireplace now. Hard to believe it. I’ll put a Christmas rom-com on TV and take out my knitting after dinner. I’ve been working on a set of mittens and scarf for Nina, plus some socks. She likes to tease me because ‘knitting is an old people’s hobby,’ but I’ve been making her stuff, so she doesn’t actually want me to stop.

The doorbell rings, startling me. My heartbeat picks up the pace. Who could that be? Nina wouldn’t show up unannounced, not when she knows I still have a lot to clean up here. Could that be Joel?

I can’t possibly think of what he could want, but the thought that it could be him sends a rush of butterflies through my stomach. My legs carry me to the door. Maybe he’s out there with his sunglasses, waiting to tell me that my lights are indeed too bright and giving him a headache. Who knows? He’s grumpy, but I still think it was nice of him to help when he didn’t have to.

I run a hand through my hair to make sure it’s not too wild and open the door.

“Surprise!”

My stomach drops. Its content liquefies. I may have to run to the bathroom in a minute. “Mom?”

Mom steps over the threshold and gives me a fake kiss, where she just briefly presses her cheek against mine. Then she grabs the biggest suitcase I’ve ever seen and drags it inside. “I see you decorated your exterior. It’s… something.”

I nearly choke on my words. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to help you move in,” she answers, not looking at me but instead letting her gaze sweep around the place. “It’s better than your previous place.”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I’m not really ready to have anyone staying here—”

“I called you yesterday to tell you, but you didn’t answer. That’s why I asked for your address.”

Her missed calls come back to me. “I thought you wanted to send a card or something.”

“You could have called me back if you wanted to know why I called in the first place.”

“It was our grand opening, yesterday. I was really busy. And then I was exhausted. Why didn’t you call back later?”

“Oh, you opened already? I thought it wouldn’t be for a few more days. I was hoping we’d hang out together.”

“I told you it was going to be yesterday.”

“I remember differently.” She waves her hand as though swatting a fly away, her favorite way to change the subject. “Show me around, I want to see.”

I half-heartedly show her around. She nods in approval, which I dislike because her approval is double-edged. It means that she could have disapproved, in which case she would let me know loud and clear.

“This house is a little old, there are things you could redo, but it’s still better than what you had for sure.”

Of course, she has to say that twice to make sure I do know that my previous place wasn’t good enough. For now, there’s one thing that concerns me a lot more, though. That enormous suitcase in the foyer. My mother doesn’t live far. A one-hour drive. There’s no reason she’d need to pack a bag that big to visit me.

“How long are you staying?”

Her head snaps toward me, and she gives me the look. The deer in headlights look. “Am I bothering you?”

Yes. Yes, you are. “No, it’s not that, I just didn’t know you were coming.”

“I was thinking we could spend Christmas together this year.”

There. That’s it. The moment I’m going to have diarrhea if she keeps talking nonsense. “Christmas? That’s, like, five weeks away.”

“Yes, I know, silly.”

“What about Frank?”

She purses her lips and shrugs, as though looking for her words, something she does when she doesn’t want to say what she has in mind. “We’re going through a rough patch.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

Guilt crawls inside my chest. She doesn’t know who to turn to, and I’m acting like the worst person in the world. She simply needs support. Someone she can rely on. Christmas, though? What if she decides to stay over New Year’s Eve, too? I don’t think I can survive more than six weeks with my mother. I don’t think I can survive until Christmas with her, really.

“We’ll work it out,” she says, sinking in the couch. “Do you have some tea?”

“Sure.”

I go to the kitchen to make her tea, mourning the loss of my cozy evening and scheduled knitting session.

“May I ask what happened?” I ask, handing her a steaming cup of tea, then sit down in my armchair close to the fire. I still pick up my knitting needles and ongoing project and knit away.

“We just had an argument. Nothing you need to be concerned with.”

“Really? You had an argument so bad that you left your house, and you won’t tell me what happened?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

I frown. “I probably would if you explained it to me.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Okay. Fine.”

She stays silent for a while, sipping her tea. “It’s just… I’ve always done my best. As a mother, a wife. And that’s how I’m being thanked. It’s like all my hard work doesn’t mean anything, like what I say doesn’t matter anymore, you know?”

Turns out she’s right, I don’t understand. That might be because she’s remaining vague on purpose. The tears welling in her eyes still manage to make me feel bad for her though. And kind of guilty. Why do I even feel guilty? I didn’t do anything.

All it does is comfort me in my decision to remain alone. I can’t disappoint my husband and kids if I don’t have a husband and kids. If I’m so unlovable the way I am, then so be it. I’ll get a few cats, and they’ll love me unconditionally. Probably.

For now, I simply nod in false understanding, knitting away. I don’t know what else to do if she can’t tell me what’s actually happening.

“You’re not even listening to me, Maisie,” she says.

My head snaps back up, away from the yarn on my lap. “I am. I’m sorry you had an argument… or something.”

“I just feel so… left out. Like I’m on the side of the road, and everyone passes me by without caring how hurt I feel.”

What the hell is she rambling about? “I’m sorry, Mom. That’s hard.”

“It is what it is.”

My fingers are still holding the needles, but I’m afraid she’ll be upset if I keep knitting.

“Who is that for?” she asks, nodding toward the yarn.

“Nina?” Why am I saying it like it’s a question? “I’ll make one for Andy too.”

“Hm. Any wool left for me?”

“Uh, sure. What would you like?”

She thinks for a moment, brushing a strand of blonde hair away from her face. “Maybe a scarf, but nothing too bright like your pajamas. It’s brave to wear that and not be embarrassed.”

Ah, yes, the art of giving a back-handed compliment. My mom’s a true master at it.

“I’m home. Nobody sees me.”

“What if your house was on fire and you needed to leave it in the middle of the night?”

I bite back on the smile. “I doubt the fire department would care about my PJs.”

“What if you met someone?”

“I don’t plan on meeting anyone.”

“What if it just happened?”

I shrug. “Maybe we can wear matching PJs.”

She tightens her lips. “A woman needs to take care of herself and make an effort to look presentable, that’s all.”

“Wearing silly pajamas doesn’t mean I don’t take care of myself, Mom. Plus, I don’t want to date. I’m fine on my own. I think I’ll get a couple of cats now that I have a bigger space and a yard.”

“A cat lady? That’s what you want to be?”

“Yes. A cat lady who sells donuts and coffee. The dream.”

I smile and keep my tone light-hearted, but she doesn’t laugh. She just rolls her eyes.

I can still have my perfect Christmas. Well, maybe not perfect. But I will not be deterred by her presence. I’ll get the biggest Christmas tree I can find and decorate this place as much as I want. Mom will just have to accept it, even if she thinks it all looks ridiculous and tacky. It’s my house, and I shouldn’t be ashamed to do whatever I want in my home.