Page 15 of A Love Like Christmas Time
The more she reads, the wider her eyes become. She glances up at me, her mouth agape. The same reaction I had internally as it all unfolded for me.
First, I saw Maisie’s post on Instagram. In it, she, her children and her husband were gathered around a giant turkey with a plethora of side dishes and corny decorations.
Which I have no issue with. What I do take issue with is the fact that I know those corny decorations. I’ve stared at them every Thanksgiving for as long as I can remember.
A swipe on her post revealed all of their smiling faces. Among them, my parents.
The same decorations. The same side dishes. Hell, my mom even wore the same jewelry as the past few Thanksgivings.
The only difference is that this year, I wasn’t invited.
“Thankful for family,” Nic reads the caption out loud, shaking her head in disbelief.
“Oh, it gets better. Go on, keep reading the lovely conversation we had in our group chat.”
Lauren:*Screenshot of Instagram Post*
Lauren: I take it my invitation was lost in the mail?
I don’t even know why I felt compelled to give them the benefit of the doubt. My mother was crystal clear in her announcement that they would not be available for Thanksgiving this year.
Mom: Don’t make a big thing out of this.
Dad: Debora and Frank were overseas for a fundraiser.
Mom: The kids deserved a proper Thanksgiving with family.
Lauren: What am I? Chopped liver?
Mom: Don’t be dramatic. We didn’t have enough space.
Lauren: Wow.
“Enough space?” Nic asks, shocked. “I can see three empty chairs in that picture they posted alone. Are you kidding me?”
“Nope,” I say, popping the ‘p’. “No joke here.”
Caleb appears next to our table and sets down our coffees. “Thanks, Caleb,” I say offhandedly, shyness from before completely forgotten.
“You’re welcome,” he replies gruffly and returns to his counter.
“I love that we don’t even have to order anymore.”
My eyes dart to Nic as she says it, then I rustle in my bag for the bottle that earns me a disapproving glare from Caleb.
“One day," Nic murmurs when he's out of earshot as I twist the bottle open, "he's going to stop serving us, and it's going to be your fault.”
“Please,” I scoff. “Don’t act as if I’m forcing you to drink it.”
"You're making it really tempting to join you; it's basically the same," Nic says, gesturing for me to hand her the bottle.
“Sorry, not sorry,” I shrug. “Anyway, that’s why I got bummed. But I’m over it now.”
“Are you?” She pours some syrup into her latte macchiato and gives me a skeptical once-over.
“You’re right.” I exhale a deep sigh, stirring the syrup into my coffee. “I’m not over it. I’m pissed. It’s one thing not to be invited, but it’s a completely different thing to be replaced.”
“Let me guess-” Nic clears her throat. “You thought that distance would help the relationship with your parents, but turns out it didn’t?” There’s no judgement in her voice, only deep understanding. Her eyes soften as I nod.
