“Words usually do.”
Later, back in Room Seven, I finally checked my phone.
There were fewer messages now.
Becca had written several.
Mom, you embarrassed me.
Then:
The resort won’t let us check in with all the kids in one room.
Then:
I don’t understand why you’re doing this right before Christmas.
The final one was different.
Please call me.
I sat at the writing desk, the ocean a dark reflection in the window.
I did not call.
Not yet.
Instead, I opened the inn stationery drawer, found a sheet of cream paper, and began writing a letter I did not know I needed to write.
Dear Becca and Garrett,
I love you both more than you have ever understood. That is why this is difficult.
For years, Christmas has become something I survive instead of something I share. I have cooked, cleaned, hosted, shopped, wrapped, paid, planned, and cared for everyone. I did it because I wanted you to feel loved. But somewhere along the way, my willingness became an assumption.
I paused, pressing the pen against the paper.
The old Evelyn would have softened it. She would have added little excuses, apologies, jokes to make discomfort easier for everyone else.
This time, I continued.
I heard the plan to leave all eight children with me. No one asked. No one considered whether I was able, willing, or lonely. That hurt me more than I can say.
This Christmas, I am choosing rest. I am choosing peace. I am choosing to remember that I am a person, not only a grandmother, not only a mother, and not the person responsible for making everyone else’s holiday effortless.
I hope we can talk when we are ready to listen to one another.
Love,
Mom
When I finished, my hand trembled.
I folded the letter, though I had nowhere to send it. Then I placed it inside my book and turned off the lamp.
For the first time in many years, I slept through the night before Christmas Eve.
The next morning arrived pale and blue. Sunlight spilled across the quilt, and the ocean glittered beyond the balcony as if someone had scattered coins over the waves.
Downstairs, breakfast was served buffet-style: eggs, toast, berries, oatmeal, and coffee strong enough to make Garrett wince. I carried my plate to June’s table without waiting to be invited.
“You look different,” she said.
“I slept.”