When I finally knocked, I could hear football on television and laughter inside.
Daniel opened the door holding a paper plate.
“Mom,” he said.
“Hey.
You’re early.”
Not Merry Christmas.
Not come in.
You’re early.
I said, “Traffic was light.”
It was a small, sad sentence, and I hated myself for offering it like an apology.
Inside, the house smelled like cinnamon rolls, coffee, and the morning I had missed.
The boys were on the floor with new electronics, their faces blue-white from their screens.
“Hi, Grandma,” they called without looking up.
Kara came from the kitchen and kissed the air beside my cheek.
Her smile was pleasant, but her eyes went straight to the casserole.
“Oh, Ruth, you brought that anyway,” she said.
“You shouldn’t have.”
Shouldn’t have.
Not thank you.
Not the boys were hoping for it.
Not it wouldn’t be Christmas without it.
Just another soft reminder that I had carried too much of myself through the door.
Related Posts
