Trevor rubbed his forehead.
“How many people have actually confirmed?”
Whitney hesitated.
“Twenty-two. Maybe twenty-three.”
“You did not tell me that,” he said.
She turned on him.
“I told you I was organizing Christmas.”
“You said family was coming. I thought six or eight people.”
I watched the argument begin to reveal something useful.
Whitney had not only assumed my labor. She had assumed Trevor’s agreement too.
He looked at me.
“Mom, I am sorry.”
“Good. Now help your wife make calls.”
Whitney’s eyes filled with anger.
“You are enjoying this.”
I considered the accusation.
“No. I am relieved. There is a difference.”
That afternoon, they moved to the dining table with phones, a notebook, and the guest list.
I did not help.
For once, I sat in the living room with a book while other adults solved a holiday problem they had created.
At first Whitney spoke in clipped whispers. Then the calls became practical.
The first cousin offered to host but only had room for ten.
An aunt suggested renting the church fellowship hall.
Someone else knew a caterer who might still have availability, though the price made Whitney swear under her breath.
Trevor began asking the questions I had asked in the kitchen.
How many chairs? How many children? Who is bringing food? Who is cleaning afterward?
By dinner, they had a plan.
Christmas would be at a community center twenty minutes away. Each household would bring one dish. Trevor would rent tables and chairs. Whitney would handle decorations. Her brother would organize drinks. Two cousins volunteered for cleanup.
The room would cost money.
Whitney looked offended by the amount.
