Meredith wasn’t sure what to say. She’d never considered that his workaholic ways might be an intentional gift to the family in his eyes. She thought of the ornaments they’d gathered from around the world and saw them in a new light. She’d come close to not putting them up this year but was suddenly glad, for Eric’s sake, that she had. They probably represented family to him more than anything else.
“The trips were wonderful,” she said, her voice softening. “We all have memories from them that we’ll never forget.”
“And the girls were able to do any extracurricular things they wanted to do, no matter how much they cost. They both got to attend expensive universities, and we have this big, beautiful home, and—”
“I know,” Meredith interrupted, putting a hand on his leg to stop him. They looked at each other in the darkness for a silent moment. “As wonderful as all of that was— and is— we wanted you more. But you weren’t here.”
“I was here when it counted,” he said, defensive again. “I never missed a graduation or a big holiday—”
“Oh, yes,” Meredith said. “The holidays.”
He sighed. “What about them?”
“Every year, I slave and slave in the kitchen—”
“You don’t have to make everything from scratch, you know.”
She let out a frustrated laugh. “Yes, I do.”
“I have no idea what you mean.”
“When the girls were little,” she said. “They helped me make pies, form rolls, and peel potatoes. Preparing the meals was as close to a family affair as I could make it.” Hopefully Eric would realize that someone had been missing from the early family traditions. Sure, he’d been under the same roof, but he was usually sleeping or watching TV.
“When the girls reached high school,” she continued, “you took them out on Christmas while I cooked. You went sledding or ice-skating or to a movie. Christmas became a time for the three of you— I wasn’t invited. But the food was still expected to be ready when you returned.”
“You could have joined us,” Eric said.
“No, I couldn’t,” she said. “I tried once. I ordered Christmas dinner from a restaurant. When we got home from skating, suddenly I was a traitor because their food didn’t taste like mine, and they’d forgotten the pecan pie. According to all of you, I ruined Christmas.”
“I—” To his credit, he cut off there. He tried to object again, but managed only, “I don’t remember that.”
“I do,” she said simply. “If I didn’t bust my butt to serve the family, I was the bad guy. And you didn’t lift a finger.” She swiped at her tears angrily as the old feelings resurfaced.
“We haven’t gone out on Christmas for a long time,” he offered. “The last few years, we’ve stayed in.” Was that a defense or a statement of fact?
“Even then,” she continued. “You and the girls did some activity while I cooked. None of you helped me. Last year, it was a Dr. Who marathon; the year before that, Lord of the Rings.”
“And before that, Back to the Future,” Eric said, seeming to understand, if only a little.
“The only time I saw any of you was when you sent Becca to ask me when dinner would be ready.” She snatched a tissue from her nightstand and blew her nose.
“So I used to screw up holidays.” Eric’s voice was monotone. Did the man feel anything?
“It happened again tonight,” she pointed out. “After dinner, you took everyone into the living room to chat, while I stayed in the kitchen.”
“You didn’t have to do the dishes right then,” Eric countered.
“I didn’t. They’re still in the sink. I got the leftovers put away and decided to join you, but by then, you’d already heard stories that I know nothing about.”
“Okay, so on Brandon and Becca’s first date—”
“Stop,” Meredith interrupted. “The point is that I missed out again. You got to know Brandon and Spencer— and it sounds like you three already have inside jokes. Five minutes of help in the kitchen from you, and I could have been there too. You have no idea how many parts of the kids’ lives you’ve cut me out of. I showed up when it mattered,” she continued. “You showed up for the fun.”
“That’s not true,” he said.
“No? You brought treats and games. I made them do homework. After a long day, I got them to bed, only to have you sneak them out of their rooms to chase you and climb over ‘Grumpy Bear.’”
“They loved Grumpy Bear,” Eric said quietly.
“And hated me for sending them back to bed.”
“I didn’t think it was a big deal.”
“You never did,” Meredith said. “Every time you let them out of their rooms, I wanted to cry. I needed a little time without being the mom. Then you riled them up, and I ended up spending two more hours trying to calm them down while you went to bed. And you wondered why I was crabby the next day. For twenty-five years, you made life harder for me.” She shook her head. “That’s not what a partner is supposed to do.”
The courage— or foolishness— she’d pulled out to say all of that had drained her. It had abandoned her now.
Eric has never listened like this. He still doesn’t get it, but at least he hasn’t quipped about how I’m overreacting and need to relax.
“I thought I was making your life easier,” he said. “You never had to work. You got to be with the girls at home when they were little...”
His voice trailed off, but she knew what he was probably thinking— she got new cars and a pretty house and trips. Even her ring, she suddenly realized, was probably something he assumed would make her happy, even though it was far bigger than anything she would have picked out. Providing gifts and trips and possessions— maybe that was Eric’s way of being a good partner.
But those weren’t the things she’d needed. Maybe that was his way of giving 100 percent. The thought made her feel as if the bed had been tilted off-kilter.
“Does that answer your question?” she said quietly.
“I— I think so.” He rubbed his thumb across the opposite palm, an old nervous habit. “Is it safe to say that you haven’t felt important?”
“Partly,” she said. “Not so much needing to feel important and more needing to be acknowledged and appreciated, helped as an equal.”
“I’ve always said thank you.” He sounded genuinely confused.
Meredith sighed. “Most people say those two words to total strangers every day.”
Eric turned to look at her. In the dim light, his eyes looked much like they had twenty-five years ago. They were the first thing about him that she’d fallen in love with. As she gazed into them, her heart thumped in a way it hadn’t in a very, very long time. He reached over and brushed back a lock of hair that had fallen into her eyes— the most intimate touch they’d shared in months.
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry that I didn’t make you feel how amazing you are, sorry that I took you for granted, that I didn’t say how much I love you— how much I’ve always loved you. I was dumb enough to think that providing for you said it for me.”
“It’s too late for apologies.” Traitorous tears welled in her eyes. “You had thousands of chances to change, and you blew every one. Actions speak much louder than words.”
Eric cupped her cheek in his hand, and with his thumb, wiped a tear. She didn’t pull away; the touch felt oh, so familiar. She’d missed the intimacy of small moments like this. He leaned closer, his lips brushing hers once, twice. The third time, she kissed him back, and his mouth pressed against hers.
She couldn’t help but close her eyes and feel, for a moment, as if she’d been transported back to when they’d been innocently in love, when neither could imagine a time that their love couldn’t conquer all.
She threaded her fingers through his hair. He slipped her nightgown off one shoulder. As his fingers trailed down her neck to her collarbone, his kisses followed the same path. Meredith wanted to revel in his touch, to feel c
lose to him again, but she forced herself to push away.
“No.” She pulled her sleeve up.
“But we’re still married,” Eric said, his voice quiet and tender. “It’s okay.”
She wanted to yield, to belong— to matter to him— but this wasn’t right. They were married in name only now; spending a night like this felt wrong. Before she could change her mind, Meredith swung her legs off the bed and stood, facing Eric.
“That would only open a can of worms,” she said.
A wave of mixed emotions came over her, and a big part felt like regret. She knew full well that it would have felt wonderful to be with him. She also knew that by morning, she would have felt hollow.
“Mer,” he said.
She grabbed her phone from the nightstand as if it were a security blanket and headed for the door. She’d pace the house to calm down then find a place to sleep where the girls wouldn’t see her.
“What...” Eric’s voice stopped her. When he didn’t finish, she waited but didn’t turn around. “What do you need?” He sounded serious and sincere. He hadn’t asked what he could do to make her take him back. He’d asked what she needed.
She clutched her phone, tears streaking both cheeks. “I need change,” she managed. “Genuine, permanent change— no bandages for covering gaping wounds— and not things.”
She hurried out and walked to the stairs. Halfway down, she heard whispers. Being careful to make no noise, she peered over the banister. In the archway, lit only by the lights of the Christmas tree, were Becca and Brandon. Meredith watched him slip a ring onto Becca’s left hand. It sparkled, reflecting light from the tree.
“I love you so much, Becca,” he murmured.
“I love you too,” she said. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone.”
They kissed, sealing their apparent engagement beneath the mistletoe. Meredith had to lower herself to the stairs, covering her face with both hands to hold back any sound that might betray her because she cried even harder than before.
I’m happy for her, Meredith thought. So happy.
Chapter Five
Meredith opened her eyes and tried to orient herself. She blinked to clear the blurriness of sleep. She was in her bed, and it was morning. How had she gotten there? She remembered seeing Becca, newly engaged, kissing her sweetheart. She remembered crying on the stairs.
Her eyes widened, and she covered her eyes with her hands, praying that her actions hadn’t let out their secret. Did Eric have to tell them? She looked over to his side of the bed— empty. Where was he?
More memories tumbled through her mind: the things she’d said to him, his explanations— which made more sense than she’d wanted to admit— the way he’d touched her. She’d laid everything on the table. She’d been blunt— maybe a little mean. He’d asked, and she’d given him an honest answer.
Eric hadn’t gotten mad, though he had to be hurting. Instead, he’d kissed her tenderly, sweetly. If she hadn’t pulled away, things would have turned out very differently. She touched the slight hollow where Eric had slept.
Should I have stayed?
She’d stopped something that would have led to confusing, tangled emotions at a time when she needed clarity. Saying no was the right thing to do.
Even if that meant crying on the stairs, embarrassing her daughter, and ruining Christmas? She wasn’t sure anymore. She sat up again and noticed that Eric’s dirty socks weren’t on the floor where he’d left them last night— a first.
She went into the master bathroom. The mirror had no splatter dots. Eric was incapable of washing his hands or brushing his teeth without leaving them. He must have wiped them off.
He remembered how much I hate that, she marveled. She hadn’t mentioned mirror spots last night.
She left the bathroom and noticed her cell on the nightstand— plugged in— and hurried over to it. Last night, she’d left with her phone, so Eric must have plugged it in. He’d done several little thoughtful things— the socks, the mirror, the phone. She sat on the bed and sighed.
Nice of him to make an effort, she thought. Too little, too late.
She clicked her phone on and, with dismay, read 9:00 on the display. She should have served a big breakfast by now. She should be well on the way toward getting the turkey in the oven.
He turned off my alarm, she thought. How is that thoughtful for Christmas morning?
Trying not to panic, she grabbed a notepad and pen from the nightstand and began making a new plan. A shower would have to wait until after making and cleaning up breakfast and putting the turkey in the oven— and until after exchanging gifts.
She hated the idea of beginning the holiday looking like an orphan from Oliver Twist, but what else could she do? With no time for vanity, she focused on the list. Her famous cinnamon rolls took hours to make from start to finish, so she’d have to make something else.
I’ll salvage the day, she thought. Homemade blueberry muffins would suffice. She scribbled in a time line for making parts of dinner, noting items she’d have to skip or simplify, all the while praying that this last Christmas as a complete family would still be good.
The smell of something baking wafted into her room from the kitchen. Her pen stopped mid-word, and her head came up. What was baking? And who was baking it?
She hurried to the closet and unhooked her flannel robe. She tied it about her waist while hurrying downstairs. The scent of baked goods was eclipsed by the sounds of voices and laughter— and dishes clanking. Everyone else who’d slept under this roof, all five of them, were in the kitchen, having a grand old time— without her.
At the base of the stairs, she clutched the newel post. Her heart felt pinched. She needed to start on Christmas dinner. She needed to make an appearance— and offer an explanation for missing breakfast. But she stood there, unsure of how to join the group without having a spotlight trained right on her— in her bathrobe, her hair a mess, wearing no makeup.
“These are great, Dad,” Maggie said.
“Yeah, thanks for breakfast, Mr. Davenport,” she heard Brandon say.
“Call me Eric,” he said. “And, you’re welcome. I have a knack for preheating an oven and following the directions on a can.” He laughed then added, “You’re all lucky I found three cans of orange rolls in the deep freeze. As for how long they’ve been there...”
“Don’t tell us!” Becca said, giggling. “We’ll pretend they’re fresh.”
“Okay,” Eric said in a mock-serious tone. “Don’t complain if you end up in the ER with food poisoning.”
“I’ll take the risk,” Spencer said.
Meredith stood there, staring blankly. They were eating Pillsbury orange rolls? She supposed they were in the same category as cinnamon rolls, loosely speaking.
They don’t need me. She took a step backward. She’d take that shower now, then march into the kitchen as if nothing were wrong, as if she and Eric hadn’t fought last night, as if he hadn’t tucked her into bed, plugged in her phone, and turned off her alarm.
Had Becca announced her engagement without her mother there? Probably. She felt pushed outside the circle even further.
She took another step backward and bumped into the wreath on the front door. Its bells jangled. Startled, she whirled around to look at the bells, then turned, ready to bolt upstairs. But the noise made several curious faces poke out from the kitchen— Eric’s and the girls’.
“Mom!” Maggie said. “Come eat. Are you feeling better? Dad said you were sick.”
Meredith found herself walking into the kitchen, eying Eric questioningly.
“I’ll clean up,” he said. “Promise.” He held up three fingers, like a Boy Scout, then began unloading the dishwasher. Had he loaded it last night?
“Th— thanks,” Meredith said from the archway. She self-consciously felt her hair.
Brandon stood from the nearest barstool and offered it to her. She thanked him and slid onto it. He stood behind Becca, his arms around h
er. Meredith poured herself a glass of orange juice.
Everyone wore pajamas, and the lively conversation continued while Eric worked. Meredith relaxed and noted with a smile that Becca kept her left hand in her lap. That likely meant that she hadn’t announced anything.
Feeling hungry, Meredith took an orange roll after all— it was a bit overdone, and the flavor was clearly factory-made, but not horrible. A few times, Eric needed help finding the home for a dish or pot, but he told her to stay put and eat. He was probably trying to show that he understood what she’d tried telling him last night.
Sweet sentiment. But canned rolls and an empty dishwasher don’t show an understanding of what I’ve gone through or what the underlying problems were. Are.
With the dishwasher loaded and started, and the counter wiped down, the younger folk migrated to the front room— Meredith’s cue to work. She headed for the turkey in the outside fridge. As she opened the door to the garage, Eric reached out and closed the door.
“Nope.”
She pointed at the door. “But— I need to get started on—”
“Last night, I did get to know Spencer and Brandon in a way you didn’t,” Eric interrupted. “I heard stuff from the girls that you didn’t get to. I don’t know why I didn’t see this stuff before.” He held up a hand to stop her from speaking. “Yes, I know you probably told me a thousand times, but I didn’t hear it before.”
Meredith furrowed her brow. “But—”
“Go,” Eric said gently. “Really.”
This time he took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eyes. “You have a lot of years of conversations to catch up on— something I took for granted.” He looked into her eyes in a way she hadn’t seen in she didn’t know how long. The tenderness she saw there created a bittersweet ache in her chest. Eric gently turned her around and nudged her forward.
“Go,” he said. “I’ll take care of dinner.”
“They’ll blame me for breaking tradition and—”
Under the Mistletoe Collection Page 9
