A Curve in the Road(49)
We continue hanging ornaments while Winston lies on the carpet with his chin on his paws, looking depressed as he watches us. So much for being merry.
“So have you made any decisions about college next year?” I ask Zack, feeling a somewhat desperate need to talk about something other than our Christmas memories.
Zack bends to withdraw a little wooden snowman from a box and turns to hang it on the tree. “Actually. I’m thinking I might just go to Dal and live at home.”
I gape at him in shock. “Dal. But I thought you wanted to go to Queen’s or Western.”
It has always been Zack’s dream to go away to college and live in a new city, on his own. Dalhousie is an excellent school, but it’s just down the street.
“What changed your mind?”
He glances at me briefly before he bends to pick up another ornament. “I don’t know.”
“C’mon, Zack. We’re always honest with each other.” Well . . . maybe not always. “What’s going on?”
“We just lost Dad. And I . . . I don’t want you to be all alone.”
While I hate the idea of my son feeling responsible for my happiness when he should be excited about his own, I’m proud of him for thinking of others and not just himself.
Then suddenly, I wish that we’d had another child so that Zack wouldn’t feel as if he were deserting me now.
It isn’t the first time I’ve wished I could have gotten pregnant again. Certainly when Zack was little, he often expressed his desire for a baby brother or sister, but it just wasn’t in the cards. But now, with Alan gone, I see how much pressure this puts on Zack, my only child, to be the center of my world. It’s a lot of responsibility for a seventeen-year-old.
“Don’t worry about me,” I assure him, since the last thing I want is for him to sacrifice his dreams because he doesn’t think his mother can handle solitude. “I have Winston to keep me company, and you know how busy I am with work. I have a full life, Zack. It would break my heart if I thought I was holding you back.”
“You’re not holding me back,” he replies without looking me in the eye as he combs through the box for another ornament. “Lots of my friends are going to Dal, and Dal has a really good science program.”
I know he’s doing his best to convince me—and himself—but I can’t let him do this.
“But you always wanted to go away to school.”
“Yeah, but things are different now. I just want to stay put for a while.”
I hang a tiny golden reindeer on the tree and then go to the kitchen to refill my glass of eggnog. “Well, you don’t have to decide anything right now. You have plenty of time to think about it, and you might feel differently in the new year. I just want you to be happy, and if that means you going away to college, then that’s what I want too.”
Yet a part of me relishes the idea of my son staying home for another year because I love him desperately, and after losing my husband, the thought of saying goodbye to Zack is like another knife in my heart.
If not for my mother, waking up on Christmas morning and opening gifts without Alan would have been pure torture for Zack and me, but she arrives on Christmas Eve with a festive cherry cheesecake, a giant can of caramel popcorn, and a bag full of gifts. Winston leaps up from his lounging position on the rug, runs to the door to greet her, and wags his tail happily. It’s a welcome distraction.
Then we all sit together on Christmas Eve and watch The Sound of Music, which again distracts us from the fact that this is, without a doubt, the worst Christmas on record. All we want to do is get through it.
On Christmas morning, we open gifts without much ceremony, as we agreed to keep presents to a minimum and avoid giving each other anything too sentimental. I couldn’t help myself, though. I’ve overcompensated for what we’ve lost and bought Zack all new hockey equipment and a new cell phone, which occupies him for a while as he sets it up. He gives me a lovely silk scarf, while my mother presents me with a basket full of jams, chocolates, and coffee. Zack receives a fifty-dollar bill from her, along with socks and a new shirt.
As soon as the gifts are unwrapped, we move away from the tree and focus on cooking a gigantic breakfast. After the dishes are washed and put away, Zack texts some of his friends on his new phone and goes to Jeremy’s house to hang out in his basement and play the new video game he got from Dave and Maureen.
I’m glad he’s keeping busy and spending time with friends. As for me, I just want to forget that it’s Christmas and move past it as quickly as possible.
Somewhere between Christmas and New Year’s, in the middle of one of those endless nights, I awake groggily to the sound of the garage door opening, then a thump downstairs and the crashing clatter of something tipping over.
Zack pounds repeatedly on my bedroom door. “Mom!” He rattles the doorknob. “Someone’s in the basement!”
Panic sweeps through my bloodstream. I’m so frightened I can’t move a muscle. I can’t even make my voice work to call out to him.
Alan. Why aren’t you here?
My body feels made of lead. I try to scream, but it comes out as a mournful moan.
Winston jumps onto the bed and stands over me on all fours. He licks my eyelids, and suddenly I’m free from the terror paralysis, and I’m able to move. My eyes fly open. I grab hold of the fur around his neck and stare into his face to anchor myself in wakefulness.