One More for Christmas

“I told them he died. I didn’t think they needed to know the rest. I’ve never told anyone, not a single soul. Until today. You’re easy to talk to, Mary McIntyre.”

Mary’s hand tightened on hers. “In your situation, I think I would have done the same. Not told them all of it.”

“Truly?” She, who had navigated the past three decades without seeking anyone’s approval, was pathetically grateful to have one of her decisions endorsed.

“Their father was dead. What was the point?”

“That was my reasoning, but now they’re asking—or Ella is. She’s a romantic. She wants to know about my relationship. My honeymoon. She thinks I’m traumatized because I lost the love of my life. They think the fact that I have no photos, and no memorabilia of any kind, is a sign that I can’t think about him. Which is true, but not for the reasons they think. And now I’m trapped by my own lies.”

Mary frowned. “You didn’t lie. You just didn’t disclose the truth of what your life was like before he died.”

“And maybe I should have done. Although I don’t know how, or when, I would have done that. What would I say? By the way girls, that father you never met? He liked to push me down the stairs.”

Mary shook her head. “At what point should we stop protecting those we love? That’s the question.”

“One of many questions.” Gayle fiddled with the cookie in front of her, facing an uncomfortable truth. “Maybe I’m the one I’m protecting. I survived by not looking back. You’d think after all these years I’d be ready to look, but I’m not.”

“Why would you want to look at something as ugly as that? You don’t have to apologize for it or feel guilty. You have a right to protect yourself. I think it’s called self-care.”

“The irony is that I was determined to be the best parent possible. I was determined that the girls would have all the skills they needed to survive in life. Not pony rides and ballet lessons, not that I could have afforded those anyway, but classes that would help them. Extra tuition in math, reading programs. When I bought gifts, it was always books and puzzles. I didn’t wrap them in padding, even though I wanted to. I taught them to pick themselves up when they were knocked over. I taught them to heal their own bruises. I wanted to teach them self-reliance.” She rubbed her fingers over her forehead. “I wanted them to know their own strength, so they would never lie awake in the dark trembling, afraid they couldn’t meet life’s challenges.”

“You’re a wonderful mother, Gayle. The girls are lucky to have you.”

She was a fraud. A total fraud. “Up until a few weeks ago, the girls and I haven’t spoken for five years.”

There was a protracted silence and then Mary reached across the table and took her hand. “Oh Gayle—”

“Our last meeting—I upset them. I said the wrong thing. It wasn’t just wrong, it was hurtful. My own experiences have made me—inflexible. And afraid.” It was so hard to admit it. So hard. “Everything I’ve achieved—everything I am, was driven by fear. I was afraid to love, so I stayed single. I was afraid to trust, so I did things alone. I was afraid of not being able to support my family, so I put everything I had into my work. Fear. All of it was about fear. And if that wasn’t bad enough, I let my fear dictate the way I raised my daughters.” She could see everything so clearly now. “I didn’t know it, but Ella was pregnant that last time we met up. Because I was always so judgmental and disapproving of her choices, she was afraid to tell me. And Samantha was so angry with me—protecting her sister. I see that now.”

Mary stood up and fetched a glass of water. “Here. Drink this.”

She picked up the glass and drank. “I was upset. They were upset. I expected them to reach out and apologize, but they didn’t. And I was too stubborn, and lacking in self-insight, to reach out to them. I was convinced I was right and they were wrong.” Regret poured into her. “I pushed my own children away because of the way I was. And the gap grew wider, and Ella, my sweet Ella, didn’t know how to bridge it because so much was changing in her life. At what point do you tell your mother that you’re married with a child? It doesn’t get easier to do that—it gets harder. And she should have been able to tell me that.” A great lump wedged itself in her throat. “I wasn’t with

her for the biggest events of her life. I wasn’t with her when she married Michael, I wasn’t there to help her when she was pregnant, and I wasn’t there for her when she gave birth. I’m a terrible mother.”

“That’s not true, Gayle. Not true.”

“It’s true. I thought I was doing the right thing, but now I see I wasn’t.” The lump grew bigger. Emotion filled her, starting in her heart and spreading through her body. “I was scared, and it’s a terrible, horrible, awful feeling. I didn’t want them to feel that way.”

“How does that make you a bad mother?” Mary’s hand tightened on hers. “And as parents our responsibility is to make our children independent. You did that. You did a good job. Your daughters are strong, capable, admirable women.”

Gayle’s chest felt full. “Yesterday I watched my daughter playing with her daughter.” Tears filled her eyes. Mary’s face blurred in front of her. “There was no purpose to it. No educational goal. They were simply having fun together, enjoying each other’s company. They laughed. They hugged. They talked to each other about everything and nothing.” She almost choked on the words. “There were no teachable moments, just joy for the sake of joy. I never made time for that. I used to think there was no time for that. But how can we be too busy for happiness? How?”

The tears spilled over, big fat tears of regret that stung and scalded. She tried to stop them, but the barrier she’d built had weakened and now there was nothing holding them back. She felt raw and vulnerable. A drowning swimmer with no life preserver. A skydiver with no parachute.

“Gayle—”

She felt Mary’s arm come round her, but that simple act of kindness simply accelerated the outpouring of emotion. She’d never talked to anyone like this before, but now she’d started she couldn’t stop.

“I never built a snowman with them. I never did that.” She was drowning in her own tears. Choking on them. She couldn’t catch a breath. Her head was filled with all the things she hadn’t done and hadn’t said. “Not—once. No—” She hiccuped, sucked in air. “No snowman. We didn’t—” it was hard to breathe “—bake cakes together at weekends—we didn’t dance—I don’t know how to dance.” All the things she hadn’t done multiplied in her head, replacing every last good opinion she’d ever had about herself. She felt Mary’s grip tighten, and instead of pulling her hand away, she clung, holding tight, the arms of her new friend the only thing preventing her from falling right to the bottom of the dark pit lined with her own maternal failures.

Mary rocked her like a child, and she cried until she felt sick from crying, until her body went limp.

“There.” Mary’s voice soothed. “You’ve been through so much, and frankly I don’t know how you’ve held it together. You’re a true inspiration.”

“How can you possibly think that?”

“How can you not think it?” Mary sat down next to her, but kept hold of Gayle’s hand. “I don’t know what I would have done in your situation, how I would have coped, but I know I wouldn’t have achieved what you’ve achieved.”