PART 11 – The Next Time We Discussed Christmas, I Refused to Let Old Expectations Make the Decisions Before Anyone Had Even Sat Down Together

When the holiday season approached again, Carter called to ask whether we could talk about Christmas plans.

This time, I didn't make any arrangements before we spoke.

I didn't search for a chalet.

I didn't reserve a restaurant.

I didn't calculate the cost of ski passes.

I waited until we had agreed to discuss what everyone wanted.

We arranged a time for a family conversation.

Cordelia joined us by telephone from Hamilton, while Carter and Yvette came to my house.

I made tea and put biscuits on the table.

We sat around the same kitchen table where Carter and I had once reviewed his mortgage figures.

The table had not changed much.

There were a few more scratches, and one of the chairs had begun to wobble.

But it remained a place where we could sit together and talk.

I wanted to keep it that way.

Carter began by asking what sort of Christmas I had imagined.

I told him I would enjoy spending time together, but I didn't have a particular property or activity in mind.

Cordelia said she wanted a relaxed holiday without too much driving.

James was happy to cook, but he didn't want anyone to feel obligated to ski.

The children were interested in seeing snow and spending time together.

Yvette listened.

Then she said she thought the family should decide on a budget before looking at accommodation.

I agreed.

We discussed what each household could reasonably contribute.

There were no dramatic announcements.

Nobody tried to impress anyone.

We simply talked about what was practical.

At one point, Carter looked at me.

"I don't want you to feel that you have to pay for everything again."

I appreciated that he said it.

"Then don't make that assumption," I replied.

He nodded.

Yvette looked down at her notebook.

"I think we all need to be clearer about what we're offering and what we're expecting."

"Yes," I said. "That would help."

The conversation lasted less than an hour.

By the time it ended, we had not chosen a chalet or booked a restaurant.

But we had agreed to make decisions together.

That was enough for one afternoon.

After Carter and Yvette left, I sat at the table and looked at the notes we had made.

The list was ordinary.

Possible dates.

Travel arrangements.

A budget.

Things that could have been discussed before the previous Christmas, if I had not been so determined to keep every detail a surprise.

I folded the paper and placed it in my desk drawer.

Then I went outside to check the garden.

The air was cool, and the leaves had begun to fall.

I walked slowly along the path, thinking about how much easier the conversation had been than I expected.

I had been afraid that speaking openly would destroy the peace between us.

Instead, it had given us a chance to build something more honest.

That didn't mean we would never disagree again.

Families disagreed.

People misunderstood one another.

Plans changed.

What mattered was whether we could talk about those things without making one person responsible for keeping everyone else comfortable.

I hoped we could.

A few days later, Yvette called.

She asked whether I had kept the notes from our meeting because she wanted to check one of the dates.

I found the paper in the drawer and read the information to her.

Before ending the call, she thanked me for hosting the discussion.

"I think it helped," she said.

"I think so, too."

She hesitated.

Then she added, "I know I didn't make it easy last year."

I stood quietly beside the desk.

"No, you didn't."

She gave a small, uncomfortable laugh.

"I suppose I deserved that answer."

I smiled.

"I wasn't trying to hurt you. I just don't want us to pretend things were different from how they happened."

"I understand."

We spoke for another minute before saying goodbye.

I placed the notes back in the drawer.

I didn't feel the need to call Cordelia and report every word.

I didn't need to turn the conversation into evidence that Yvette had changed or that she hadn't.

It was one conversation.

I would let it be one conversation.

The following Sunday, Cordelia called to ask whether I was excited about the upcoming holiday.

I told her I was looking forward to it.

"Are you worried about what might happen?"

I thought carefully before answering.

"A little. But I'm not worried about whether everyone will be pleased with me."

She laughed.

"That's progress."

"I think it is."

After we hung up, I went into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator.

Maisie's drawing was still there, though the paper had begun to curl slightly at the corners.

I pressed it flat with my hand.

I thought about the little figure standing on the roof, looking out over the mountains.

I had once believed that I needed to see everything coming so I could prevent anyone from being disappointed.

Now I understood that I could not control every outcome.

I could make thoughtful plans.

I could listen.

I could contribute what I wished to contribute.

And I could trust other adults to take responsibility for their own choices.

That was enough.

Source: kaylestore.net

Click here to continue reading: PART 12: The Christmas I Finally Understood What Love Was Worth, and Why I Never Needed to Purchase My Place in My Own Family