“You can cancel.”
“Three days before Christmas?”
“Yes.”
“They’ll blame me.”
“Tell them the truth.”
Tiffany laughed. “Easy for you.”
Margaret thought about every holiday she had made easy for everyone else.
“No,” she said. “Apparently it isn’t.”
Kevin’s message arrived nine minutes later.
Margaret knew because Tiffany’s phone began vibrating repeatedly on the counter.
She looked at the screen and went pale.
“What did he write?” Margaret asked.
Tiffany grabbed the phone.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are people replying?”
Tiffany did not answer.
Margaret’s own phone began buzzing inside her purse.
She pulled it out.
The family group chat was filling faster than she could read.
Kevin’s message sat at the top.
I need to correct something. Mom did not volunteer to host Christmas this year, and she was never asked to cook for everyone. Tiffany invited the group believing Mom would handle it, and I did not verify that with Mom. That was wrong. Please do not contact Mom asking her to fix the plans. We will figure out another arrangement.
Margaret read it twice.
Not perfect.
Honest.
Below it, reactions appeared.
A cousin: I can host ten if we split up.
Kevin’s aunt: Why did we think Margaret was cooking again? She did Thanksgiving.
Someone else: We can make it potluck at the church hall if it’s open.
Then a message from Tiffany’s brother: Tiff told us Margaret insisted because she loves hosting.
Margaret looked up.
Tiffany had seen it too.
Her eyes were wet.
“Happy?” she asked.
Margaret felt no satisfaction.
“Stop asking me that.”
Tiffany picked up her purse.
“You could have just helped.”
“I have helped for years.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes,” Margaret said. “That is the problem.”
Tiffany left without saying goodbye.
The front door closed hard enough to shake the little wreath hanging on it.
Margaret stood alone in the kitchen.
Then she did something she had not done in years during the week before Christmas.
Nothing.
She made tea.
She opened one Christmas card.
She sat at the table while the afternoon light moved across the floor.
Her phone continued buzzing. She turned it face down.
For the first time, the family’s logistical panic did not automatically become her assignment.
Kevin arrived that evening anyway.
He did not bring Tiffany.
Margaret opened the door and looked at him.
“I told you not to rush over.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
He held up a paper bag. “Dinner. For two. Not twenty-five.”
She almost smiled.
“Come in.”
They ate soup at the kitchen table.
