“For what?”
“For going.”
That silenced me.
“I know Dad wanted you to.”
My eyes filled.
“So did I.”
There was a pause.
Then Michael said, “I think I forgot that.”
“So did I.”
—
Christmas came again.
This time no one waited until the week before to discuss plans.
In November, Michael called.
“We’re hosting Christmas Eve at the townhouse.”
I smiled.
“That sounds crowded.”
“It will be.”
“Who’s coming?”
“You. Linda and Frank if they want. Jennifer’s parents. Thomas and Diana.”
I paused.
“Thomas and Diana?”
“Yes.”
“The terrifying investors?”
Michael laughed.
“Just people now.”
“Interesting.”
“And Mom?”
“Yes?”
“If you don’t want to come, that’s okay.”
I understood what he was giving me.
A real invitation.
Not an obligation.
Not a request wearing the clothes of family duty.
A choice.
“I’d like to come.”
“Good.”
Christmas Eve arrived cold and clear.
The townhouse was crowded exactly as predicted.
Someone had to sit on an ottoman.
The dining table only seated eight, so the children ate at the kitchen counter.
