“I mean, sure, I get sad when I think about the fact that Ella will never meet her grandparents, or when I drive past Mom’s old office—it’s a Subway now, by the way. And god, I’d love Mom’s advice on how to get Ella to sleep through the night, or just to hear some reassurance that parenting gets easier, or a hug or a homemade meal when I’ve gone a week without getting more than two hours of sleep at a clip . . .” Brooke trails off, seemingly lost in thought. “But you can’t change the past, so what good does it do to dwell on it? It’s not healthy, Hannah. In order to keep living, you need to move on.”
In the intervening seven years, Brooke popped out two more baby girls and put even more distance between us, moving on with her own life so completely that I’m not sure I have a place in it anymore. When David invited me to Thanksgiving, I felt a mixture of victory and defeat as I declined Brooke’s invitation. Here was proof I was moving on, too, just like she suggested, but doing so meant admitting that Brooke and I would never be close the way I hoped we would be.
* * *
? ? ?
?After dinner, dessert, and three heated rounds of Pictionary, David and I are back in the car, the trunk loaded with Tupperware containers of leftovers. As David pulls onto I-95, he reaches over and puts a hand on my thigh. “My parents really love you, you know.” He lets out a contented sigh.
“They’re great,” I say. “Jen, I could live without, but those gorgonzola mashed potatoes your mom cooked almost made up for her. Oh my god.” I moan in ecstasy thinking about them.
“I’m sorry about Jen. You know that’s just how she is. I said something to her about it after dinner. It wasn’t fair of her to ambush you like that.” He glances over at me, and I can tell he’s nervous, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “But, about what she said . . . would that be so crazy? If we got engaged, I mean.”
I feel my throat tighten. “Not crazy, no. Just soon. Don’t you think?” I only just checked off the milestone of spending a holiday with his family, and we’re already hurtling toward the next one.
We’ve talked about marriage before, but always in the abstract. The same way we talk about taking a trip to Italy we can’t really afford, and I don’t have enough PTO for anyway. It’s always someday.
And what do I know about being a wife—or fast-forwarding even further, a mother—with so many years without any family of my own? What if I fuck it up, and end up with nothing? My leg starts bouncing again as these thoughts dart through my mind.
“I don’t think it’s too soon. This is it for me, Han. I mean, we already live together; it wouldn’t really change anything.”
“So why rush, then?” I counter. “Weddings are expensive.”
“I’d talk to my mom. I wouldn’t let her force you into some froufy white wedding, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know that isn’t you. We could get married at city hall and go to a diner afterward for all I care. It doesn’t matter to me. I just want to be with you.”
I look over at him and smile. I know David just wants a plan. He has five-year plans and ten-year plans and spreadsheets to project his retirement savings. Me, I try not to think too much about the future. Longevity doesn’t exactly run in my family. It’s not that I don’t want to be with him, it’s just that things are good right now, so why mess with that?
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t give me an answer,” he says playfully. “So . . . ,” he starts again, “if I proposed at Christmas, would you . . . say yes?” He asks the last part quietly, like he’s afraid to hear the answer.
“Not to get sidetracked from the main point here, but we haven’t even talked about Christmas yet. It’s Finn’s last Christmas in New York, and—”
“Wait,” he glances over, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion, “you’re not coming to Christmas at my parents’?”
“You know I always spend Christmas with my friends. I didn’t come last year.”
“But we live together this year,” he says as if this solves everything. His confusion has been replaced by a wounded expression. “And I know Christmas is your favorite holiday. I was hoping we could build a new tradition this year. Together. I just thought after today—”
I cut him off because I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. “Today was lovely! Your family is lovely! But Finn, Priya, and Theo, they’re my family. And our Christmas tradition is a celebration of that. Christmas is important to me because they’re important to me.”
“I know they’re important to you, but I want to be your family, too. My family could be your family,” he says, and though his voice is soft and full of hope, his comment chafes.
“My family isn’t in need of replacing, David. Just because it’s nontraditional doesn’t mean it’s not real—”
“That’s not what I—”
I feel myself getting heated. I need to get this out, to make him understand. “These people have been with me through thick and thin for the past ten years.” I stare at the line of taillights unfurling ahead of us and take a deep breath. “There’s part of me that will always miss my parents. It will never, ever be okay that they’re gone. And for a while I was afraid I’d never find happiness, or safety, or comfort again. I was alone. But they were the ones who rallied around me, and gave me understanding, and love, and vitality. You call June or one of your brothers when you have a hard day, or when you have good news to share. Well, I call them. They’re my family in all the ways that count.”
For a moment, he’s silent. He reaches over and takes my hand. “I should have chosen my words more carefully. I didn’t mean to imply what you have with them is any less valid. I can’t even begin to fathom what you’ve been through—you’re truly the strongest person I know—and I’m so deeply glad you’ve found people who give this to you. But Hannah”—he pulls at my hand, trying to get me to look over at him, which I do—“can’t you see that I want you to feel loved, and comforted, and alive because of me, too?”
“I do, David.” I squeeze his hand for emphasis, and he takes his eyes away from traffic for a second, gauging if I really mean it. “But it’s different. You have your parents and your brothers, and you don’t see me trying to replace them. Family and a romantic partner aren’t mutually exclusive. I mean, plenty of couples spend the holidays apart.”
“But I don’t want us to be one of those couples.”
We’re both silent for a few seconds, it feels like we’ve reached an impasse.
“It’s just . . .” He hesitates.
“What?” I ask, never one to leave well-enough alone.
“Nothing, never mind. I hate that this one little thing is making us fight like this.”
I know it isn’t his intention, but my brain latches on to the word “little” and it bounces around inside my head like one of those Super Balls from a quarter vending machine. “Little?! Are you listening to what I just told you? These are my people. That’s not little. That’s everything. And you’re one to talk. Your family is Jewish, David! It’s not like Christmas is so important to your family either.”
He scoffs.