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At Christmas, all roads lead home.
-Marjorie Holmes
“Yes, Mom… I know, Mom… Trust me, if I could, I would. I’m so swamped at work.” I glance at my vanity, searching for anything sharp to stab my eyes out.
It’s always the same conversation. The same questions. How’s work? How’s that boyfriend of yours? When is he going to propose? When are you coming home? I don’t even think she breathes between questions.
“I just don’t understand who doesn’t give their employees off for Christmas, honey. You’ve worked the holiday four years in a row.”
“I know, Mom. Things are just really busy. I can’t take off now.”
She sighs.
It’s no ordinary sigh. It’s a mother’s sigh with hidden meaning. The infamous Margaret Bergner sigh. The if your brother were still alive, he would come home to be with his family for the holidays sigh. Which is not to be confused with her I expected more of you sigh. Or the shame, I was really depending on you sigh. My mother has a whole book of sighs. But this one is the worst.
“Mom, I’m sorry. I want to be with you and Dad, but now isn’t a good time.”
And it’s not. Guilt tickles at my conscience. But not enough to change my mind. “Maybe when things settle down after the holidays.”
“Speaking of settling down. . .” Dammit. I walked right into that one. “Your father was really hoping to meet Vincent.”
Vincent. I haven’t heard that name in a while. Maybe because he goes by so many other names now. Cheater. Bastard. Douchetard. That’s Eileen’s nickname.
“You know, you two have been together for three years. I’m not understanding why he hasn’t proposed yet. You’re not getting any younger, Holly.” Ah, there it is. The monthly reminder. That’s always my favorite. Almost twenty-six and not married. Way to rub it in.
“I know, Mom. Listen, I really need to get to work. I have a huge meeting today and really need to concentrate. Tell Dad I love him. I’ll call you guys later in the week. Love you—”
“Oh, honey, before you hang up, I wanted to tell you I saw Liam the other day.” Just when I think I’ve made it out alive, she throws a grenade at me.
My phone slips out of my hand, and I perform an impressive juggling act until I finally bring it back to my ear. “What do you mean you saw him? When did he get back?” He’s back? He’s back… He’s back… “Thought he was stationed in some country doing Peace Corps stuff?”
“A few months ago—”
“A few months!—I mean, wow…three months.” Thanks for the heads up, Mom.
“Looks very healthy. He’s helping your father run the hardware store.”
Liam Cody.
My high school sweetheart.
The love of my life.
More importantly, the one who hates my guts.
“Well, that’s great, Mom. Okay, I really need to—”
“He asked about you.”
Dammit! My phone slips out of my hand again. I really should have reconsidered returning those air pods Vincent bought me. “Wait…hello? Hi. He asked about me? Like, what do you mean asked about me?” Asked, as in he’s hoping I’m rotting in hell somewhere?
“Well, he asked how you were, of course. I just couldn’t stop bragging about how well you’re doing. He told me to say hello the next time I talked to you.”
I pause for a second until my brain catches up, then burst out into a fit of laughter. “He told me hello?” Remember to Google negative meanings for hello.
“Of course. Such a nice man. It’s a shame you two never worked out.”
“Yeah, shame,” I say. Screw it. Google it now. Negative meaning of—
“Remind me again what went wrong between the two of you.”
Would she like the long story or the cliff notes when he called me a selfish, conceited brat just before I told him to go to hell?
“Don’t remember, Mom. Such a long time ago. Really gotta go. Love you. Give Dad my best. Bye.” I hang up. Thank God the couch is behind me because otherwise, I would fall straight back against the floor.
“Are you ever going to tell your parents you lost your job?”
I turn to Eileen, my roommate. “Why would I do a crazy thing like that?” I reach for the remote and my box of donuts.
Eileen shrugs. “I mean… it’s been a month. Maybe it’s time. Maybe going home would be a good thing. As would be possibly showering.”
I gasp at her. How dare she judge my choices. “What exactly are you trying to say?”
“That you’re starting to smell and need to shower. You’ve been in those pajamas for four days now, and if I see you watch The Notebook one more time, I’m going to blow my brains out.”
“Hey! The Notebook is one of the best love stories ever.”
“Yeah, and watching you cry the entire time is ruining it for me.”
