I grin at my phone and add Sandy’s number to my contacts. Not a stranger anymore.
You can call me Gabby
Only my mother calls me that. Despite our differences I’ve found myself missing her as the holidays arrive.
I’m seated on my couch in the middle of aDie Hardmovie marathon when another text comes through from Sandy.
How do you like your potatoes?
In truth she can’t go wrong with them. If I could live off coffee and potatoes for the rest of my life, I would never touch a salad. Damn nutritional values and meal balancing.
Mashed but with all the baked potato fixings. Sour cream, bacon, chives if you have them.
Her reply is lightning fast.
Delicious. I love it. See you tomorrow!
Her enthusiasm is catching, and I switch to a real holiday favorite.
Elf.
Classic.
Oliver
Christmas morning dawns bright and early. Never one for sleeping in, I roll over and do just that. It’s not every day that the love of your life breaks your heart.
Okay so maybe she didn’t break up with me. But still she refused to meet my family. That’s almost as bad. I can understand her reluctance but the fact that she’s not feeling the same headrush that I am is depressing.
I sleep through the morning and just after noon I finally climb out of bed. I debate texting Gabriella, but I don’t want to be pushy. I know she lied, but our relationship is still too new for me to demand an explanation. I’m sure she has her reasons for wanting to be alone.
Alone at Christmas. Her favorite time of year.
I wander around the apartment, taking a shower, and shaving. Strawberries and oatmeal for breakfast.
My phone is stubbornly silent throughout the day. My stomach dances when it pings before I leave for my parent’s house.
Wear the sweater I gave you.
My mother’s text is blunt and to the point. Holidays are her days, and her word is law. My father may have built the company and I may have sculpted it into what it is today but on holidays it’s my mother who is the real boss.
Leaving my white button down on I swipe through my closet until I find the sweater in question. Emerald green with large gaudy Christmas lights attached. It makes me itch just looking at it. I drape it over my arm. I’ll put it on when I get there.
Glancing at my phone one last time I don’t push the button for the ground floor when I get into the elevator. I push Gabriella’s floor.
She’s not going to like this.
But it can’t hurt to ask one more time.
And if she still doesn’t want to go to my parents’ house then we don’t have to go. We can watch more Christmas movies, or maybe bake some cookies. I have been craving cinnamon sugar cookies all month. A quick text should net my mother’s recipe.
Or a phone call. Definitely a phone call if I’m bailing on her Christmas dinner. A text would have me sent to the ER. I feel guilty for just considering cancelling on my mom. Dad will just add it to his mental balance sheet. Probably put it right below dropping out of Peewee football in middle school. The man can hold a grudge.
My mother will understand, she’s always been a romantic. I just don’t want Gabriella to be alone her first Christmas in the city.
She told me about her work’s potluck for Thanksgiving. Soupy mashed potatoes and dry turkey.
Arriving at her door I knock politely. I stand there waiting but the door doesn’t open. Knocking again I wait for a response.
