The Words We Leave Unspoken(65)

I actually feel like everything is going to be okay. For all of us. For now.

“Can we go outside?” Max asks, his enthusiasm infectious.

I turn around and raise my eyebrows in plea at Gwen who is standing in the kitchen, drying the last dish from dinner with a festive red dishtowel. My mother is standing beside her in a bright green Christmas sweater, wiping down the counter and John is putting the clean dishes away behind them.

Olivia runs over to the window and looks out. “Can we, Mom?” she begs.

“Of course, but we’re all going. Grab your coats and gloves.”

“Woohoo,” Max and Olivia holler in unison as they run to get their coats.

I walk toward the entryway to grab my own coat and watch John pull Gwen into his arms and plant a kiss on her lips as I pass. It brings a smile to my face but makes me long for Grey, which surprises me. I know that he’s in California with his family, and according to the memo I read at work, he won’t be back until after the New Year. I think of him now, picturing him in a huge house on a steep cliff in the warmth of California. His mother and father are probably wearing matching Christmas sweaters, as they all sit around a piano and sing Christmas carols. Grey, his two brothers and doting parents. They probably go to church too. Midnight Mass, they’re probably Catholic. The scene runs through my mind as I realize how little I know about Grey.

Outside on the back lawn, we stand in our warm coats, hats, and gloves and marvel in the white magic. The air is still, an eerie quiet, creating a sanctum of serenity that is ours for the taking. The snow is starting to accumulate on the ground but not enough to roll around in it. With arms out and faces turned up, we watch the snowflakes as they float down from the night sky. They seem to be falling in slow motion. Max tries to catch them on his tongue and, before long, we’re all trying to catch snowflakes on our tongues. We look absolutely ridiculous but I couldn’t care less. I feel so happy in the moment that I could cry, but I don’t. Instead I laugh. And it must be infectious, because soon we’re all laughing, even my mother. And it’s hard to ignore the urge I have to take a picture and send it to a certain someone with a caption that reads “White Christmas.”

Later, after John has read “Twas The Night Before Christmas,” in front of the fire and Max and Olivia have left cookies and milk on the mantel for Santa, I sit by the fire with my mother while John and Gwen put the kids to bed.

“Do you remember your dad reading that same story every Christmas Eve?” my mother asks.

I shake my head, unable to recall the memory.

“Well, you were pretty young. Gwen probably remembers. He loved Christmas. Always made a big deal about everything. Bought you girls extravagant gifts that we couldn’t afford.” She pauses and then laughs. “He even littered the front yard with reindeer poop one year when Gwen started questioning things.”

“Huh, I don’t remember,” I say, wishing I had more good memories of my dad, of my childhood. And then I ask, “Why didn’t we ever talk about Dad before?”

“I just thought it would be too hard. And I think I was afraid of the questions you would ask, if I opened that door.” I understand what she means. She didn’t want the truth to come out. But now that the lid has been blown off that can of worms, I guess nothing is off limits.

And then I ask, “Mom, how did you know that you loved Dad?” A simple question that every daughter probably asks their mother at some point, and for the first time I feel like we can share a typical mother-daughter conversation.

She scoots closer to me on the sofa and considers my question in silence. And then she says, “I think what you really want to ask is how you’ll know if you’re in love with Grey. And I think that only you can answer that. But let me ask you this. Tonight, when you stood outside catching snowflakes on your tongue, I saw something in your eyes that I haven’t seen in a long time. You looked at peace, almost... dare I say, happy. Were you thinking of him? Did you wish to share that moment with him?”

I don’t answer her. I just look into my mother’s eyes. I feel like for the first time, she really sees me and I realize that, despite our distance, she knows me, like a mother should know her daughter. I lean the side of my face against her shoulder and she grabs my hand and holds it in her own.

And then she whispers, “That, my dear, is love.”

My heart hurts in my chest the minute she says it, and I know the truth right then. Maybe I’ve known the truth all along but didn’t want to see it. Maybe I was afraid of what it might mean, afraid to even admit it to myself. But I know now, without a shadow of doubt.

I’m in love with Grey.





Chapter 36





Gwen


I walk into the family room and see my mother and Charley having a moment on the couch. Part of me is happy to finally see them getting along, to no longer have to play referee to their constant bickering, but another part of me is somewhat envious. I have never been close to my mother. I love her and I know her in a way that Charley never has, but we’ve never confided in each other or had any kind of intimate relationship. It seems in the past few weeks that Charley has grown closer to our mother than I have in the ten years since I reconciled with her after Olivia was born. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel left out.

“Come here Gwen, sit with us,” my mother says, holding her hand out to me when she notices me standing in the room.