Turns out Dr. Greene was right; busy isn’t a coping mechanism. Visiting George and Marion once a week was perfect for my schedule until Winter break hit for the college. I was staring six weeks in the face with not much planned, and Tosha and Liz were going to Hawaii for most of it. Because that’s what couples without children can do when they have over a month off of work.
After cleaning my apartment top to bottom and inside out, baking for Max and Ollie, and doing all of my holiday shopping, I’ve made it to Christmas morning without much trouble. Sure, there have been moments—ironically, the quiet ones—where I’ve thought about cutting. Rather than avoid the thought altogether, I force myself to think it all the way through, every time. I ask myself how cutting would make the person, or situation I’m stressed about any better. The answer is always “it wouldn’t.” Ever. I try not to think about the day that the answer might be “it would help,” and focus on the given day or, sometimes, moment.
Max, Ollie, and I enjoy a very loud, very sugar-filled Christmas morning full of presents, video games, and books. Up until about a month ago, the first time the three of us read a new book, it would take me a few tries to get all the signs right. Now if I mess up, one of them will correct me. They laugh when I mess up, and I’m glad there’s laughter within that situation, now.
Excited as ever for their “second Christmas,” the boys race up the front steps of Eric’s new house before I’ve barely had time to put the car in park. He closed on the house at the beginning of the month, so it’s not my first time here; still, I take a deep breath, staring at the perfectly lit roof and front bushes.
“Merry Christmas, Daddy!” they shout as Eric opens the door with a broad grin.
“Merry Christmas to you kiddos!” he says and signs perfectly. They tumble inside where they’re greeted by Eric’s parents.
Eric tilts his head to the side and offers a sweet smile. “Merry Christmas, Natalie.”
“You too, Eric.” I hand him the boys’ duffel bags.
“Do you want to come in for a drink?”
The question is innocent enough, but the implications are anything but. Eric’s parents aren’t my biggest fans at the moment. They don’t badmouth me in front of the boys and, apparently, that’s all I can expect right now.
“No,” I shake my head, rubbing my hands together, “thank you, though. See you guys next week.”
“Bye.” Eric slides inside and shuts the door, where I can hear glee streaming from the boys’ mouths.
Things aren’t strained between Eric and I after our awkward exchange the day he moved in; but whenever I leave after dropping off the boys, he watches me through the door or window until I’m out of sight. Tonight’s no different as I back down the driveway. Sometimes I wonder if he thinks one day I’ll turn around, but maybe that’s just my guilt coming up for air.
The roads are empty, my car is quiet, and I’m starting to feel the beginnings of the loneliness I’ve been working to keep at bay. Realizing that Christmas night is not the best time to try to play “hero” with myself, I turn left at the intersection and head for South East St. to Bill Manning’s house.
Bill and I haven’t spoken since the night I had dinner with him and Ryker at his house, but I know I’m always welcome. Pulling into his driveway, I’m thankful to see his car parked and living room light on. I nervously wait a few seconds after I knock on the door.
Bill answers the door in jeans and a Christmas sweater. “Natalie? This is a pleasant surprise!”
“Merry Christmas, Bill, can I come in?”
“Of course, of course!”
Stepping into the always-cozy house, I’m surrounded by the sights and smells of Christmas. Fresh-baked cookies sit on a plate in the kitchen, a pine-scented candle is burning in the entryway, and the Christmas tree is fully decorated. Bill spent a lot of Christmases as a single father, so it’s no surprise that even as a sixty-year-old bachelor, he knows how to make his house feel homey.
“You didn’t have your boys today?” Concern fills Bill’s eyes as we sit on the couch next to the tree.
“I had them last night and this morning. I actually just dropped them off at Eric’s house . . . was feeling a little lonely, I guess.”
Bill gently grabs my knee. “I’m glad you came over.”
“Are you normally home on Christmas, with Ryker gone to Jackson Hole, and all?”
Bill shakes his head. “Ryker doesn’t usually go to Wyoming until mid-January.”
“Oh,” my face feels like it was just smacked with a wet towel, “he told me he goes for three months every year . . .”
“Oh, Natalie . . .” Bill seems to try to recover from some breech he’s created.
“No,” I put my hand up, “it’s okay. Ryker did tell me he needed a break . . . I just . . . it didn’t occur to me that he would need that long of a break if it was from me, you know?” Standing, I walk to the kitchen and help myself to water, thankful that I have always felt at home here.