I knew she must have spent a lot of time on it, so I said, “You must have spent so much time on it!”
I knew it matched her own Santa-positive outfit. So I said, “We match!”
I knew it had been a hard year for her, so I mustered full-blast cheer to say, “I’m going to put it on right now!”
She started to tell me I didn’t need to do that, but I blocked out all her protestations with the miles of sacrificial yarn that passed over my ears. When I finally found the head hole, I surfaced and took a breath. From far away, I must have looked like a deranged mitten.
“I love it!” I said, rolling up the sleeves so that my knuckles could get some air.
“You do not love it,” Lily said. “I told you not to wear it. It was the thought that was supposed to count.”
“No,” I said. “This is much more than the thought. I have never, ever had anyone knit me a sweater before. Not my parents. Not my grandparents. Not the great-aunts in Florida who have way, way too much time on their hands. Certainly none of my friends. This is special to me.”
“I didn’t knit it all. I just…repurposed.”
“Even better! Less of a wool footprint left on the environment! That’s brilliant!”
I was in danger of putting the clamato in exclamation—not even remotely palatable—so I dialed it down.
“Really,” I told her, reaching over for her hand, making her look at me to see my sincerity. “This is one of the best things I’ve ever gotten. I’ll wear it with pride. Dash-and-Lily pride.”
Once upon a time, this would have made her smile. Once upon a time, this would have made her happy.
I wanted us to be upon that time.
“You really don’t have to wear it,” she said once again.
“I know.”
Before she could say it another time, before the sweat line moved below my forehead, where I could feel it gathering, I walked to the door. Turning back, I asked, “You coming?” Then I added, “I’m sure my mom would love to talk to you. And your father’s looking a little lost in the kitchen.”
Now Lily’s attention seemed to focus. “My father? In the kitchen? That’s not—I mean, he only goes in there when he needs a snack.” She stood up, stepped forward. “If he’s trying to help, we need to stop him. And was my mother in there? She’s even worse.”
“I didn’t see your mom,” I assured her.
We walked down the hallway. When we got to the kitchen, we found it empty.
“I don’t think he did any damage,” Lily concluded after a quick scan. Then she looked at me. “And speaking of damage—I’m sorry about your parents. I was caught up in the spirit of inviting people, I guess. I honestly don’t know what I was thinking. I got confused between what I wanted to happen and what I should have known would happen. I’ve been doing that a lot lately. I know it’s not helpful.”
“It’s fine,” I promised her—but that didn’t land well, because we both knew it wasn’t particularly true. So I rephrased. “I’m sure it will be fine now that the initial shock has worn off. They’ll stay on separate sides of the room. Mrs. Basil E. will keep my dad in check. If anyone can do it, she can.”
This appeared to be the case when we returned to the living room. Boomer had arrived and was talking animatedly with Sofia and my mom. His hand was on her back (Sofia’s, not my mom’s) in that I-must-show-everyone-we’re-linked-by-taking-it-beyond-metaphor way that people in new couples have. If I’d done that to Sofia when we were courting, she probably would have swatted it away, called it condescending. But with Boomer, she seemed to like it. Or at least to not think about it. Somehow, his touch had become natural to her.
My mom noticed this. I saw her see it. I had no doubt she would have liked my stepfather to be here to back her up in the same way, instead of on some business trip.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Basil E. was tsking my father into submission. I hated that he seemed to be enjoying her company nonetheless.
I was aware of the way the room shifted to accommodate my sweater. There were looks, for sure. But as soon as the laughter came into a person’s eyes, another knowledge would counterbalance—the big contextual clue that I was standing next to Lily, and therefore this sweater must be something Lily had done. Because of that—and solely because of that—the laughter died before Lily could hear it. Nobody in the room wanted her to feel anything but right, anything but loved. Although, in fairness, I could tell from his eyes that Grandpa found the whole thing hysterical.