One More for Christmas(20)
Ella felt a pang. She wanted to stay home and spend an evening with them. She wanted to make popcorn with her daughter and sit snuggled together in their little unit of three where she felt loved and accepted.
“I need to get changed.”
Michael extracted his tie from Tab’s grasp. “You look great. Why would you change?”
“Because I can’t go to the hospital dressed in jeans and a sweater.”
“There’s a dress code to visit a hospital?”
“No, but there’s a dress code to visit—” she almost said my mother, but stopped herself in time. “I just need to change, that’s all.”
She was on her way up the stairs when Michael’s voice stopped her.
“Ella?”
She tightened her hand on the rail. “What?”
He joined her on the stairs. “You’re changing your clothes for your mother?”
“I am.” And that was only the beginning. She didn’t just change her clothes for her mother, she changed her personality. And she hated the person she became.
“You should wear what you like.” He stroked her hair back from her face and kissed her. “I’ll come with you. If it’s tough, I’ll defend you. Tab has taught me some useful skills for slaying dragons. I promise not to faint no matter how much blood there is.”
She tried to smile. “Thanks, but I’m better doing this alone.”
“Why? I know she hurt you, but it’s been five years, Ella. We have a daughter.”
“I know. I know all that.”
“There has to be a way to heal the rift. Whatever your relationship with your mother, she is Tab’s grandmother.”
“And what? Is that supposed to mean something?” The thought of exposing her daughter to her mother made Ella’s heart tighten with panic. “I’ve told you, my mother knows how to be a CEO. She knows how to advise on your career and tell you where you’re going wrong with your goals. But be a grandmother? That’s not something she’s qualified to do. Don’t think my mother is some cuddly, caring person. That’s a mistake I made constantly, still do, and I have to fight against it every day, because if I don’t, I get sucked back in and what I end up with isn’t a relationship, it’s a bucket of disappointment and a massive ache in my chest. I won’t put Tab through that for the sake of having family.”
“You have family, Ella.” He pulled her close. “You have me, and Tab and Samantha.”
“And that’s all the family I need. Quality not quantity, right?”
“I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“I know. And I don’t expect you to understand. My mother has never, ever been proud of a single thing I’ve done.” She swallowed. “She has never once said she loves me.”
He kissed her. “I’m proud of you. I love you.”
“I know. Thank you.” It should have been enough, but it wasn’t. A part of her, a small part that refused to be quiet, still felt like a failure. If you couldn’t please your mother, what did that say about you?
“I know you were hurt that she didn’t want to come to our wedding—it hurt me, too, if I’m honest because it made me angry that she wouldn’t be there for you—but it was more than five years ago and maybe this is a good time to try again. It’s Christmas. Season of goodwill. Is she not remotely curious about the man her daughter married?”
Ella buried her face in his shoulder so that he couldn’t see her red cheeks.
How had she managed to mess things up so badly?
Ella knew her mother wasn’t curious, and there was a perfectly good reason for that. She didn’t know Ella was married. She didn’t know she had a granddaughter.
Ella hadn’t told her.
And the reason she hadn’t come to their wedding was because Ella hadn’t invited her.
Gayle
She was thirsty, but she couldn’t reach her drink. The pain in her head sliced from forehead to jaw, a vicious stabbing so relentless she would have given anything to be able to hit Pause on it for a moment. She had no say over when she took painkillers. Someone else made that decision. Gayle hated leaving other people to make decisions for her. Decisions were personal. She hated feeling helpless. She’d vowed never to feel this way again, and yet here she was, feeling it, and it was frightening how quickly all those toxic feelings trickled back into her life. She felt weak and feeble and it terrified her. She preferred to believe she was invincible, but this whole place was a reminder she was human. The footsteps, the relentless beeping of the machine next to her or the stomach-turning smells of disinfectant and plastic. Couldn’t someone at least light a scented candle? And the people around her talked in abbreviations the whole time so she only caught a fraction of what they were saying. It was all ICU and TBI, FBC and MRI. She was a patient, not a person. Why didn’t people teach doctors about communication?
It turned out that as well as a head injury, she had bruised ribs. Her chest felt as if she’d been crushed by an elephant. The dizziness was terrible, as was the headache she’d had since she woke up. It felt as if someone was constantly bashing her over the head with that stupid award.
Since she’d arrived at the hospital, she’d been subjected to numerous tests and questions. Her answers had been a desperate attempt to grasp back a little control. Yes I feel fine (lie). No headache (bigger lie). Despite the fact she was sure she’d given all the right answers, no one was letting her go home.