Page 19 of The Holiday

“And your parents?”

“In New York,” Matt says. He gives an eager nod. “My sisters and their kids are all up there with them, but this year we’re down here. All good, though—they’re very cool about splitting up holidays.”

“I suppose you have to be, once your kids are adults, right?” Heather looks to Dave for confirmation.

“Mom never was,” Celia says as she breezes into the open living space, depositing a platter of scrambled eggs mixed with bits of prosciutto and aged cheddar cheese. “She hated that we spent some holidays away once we were grown, right, Dad?”

Dave clears his throat next to Heather, shifting on the couch almost imperceptibly. “Well, she did love having everyone around for Christmas,” he says evenly before turning to Heather. “Hey, did you see the snow is gone?”

Heather looks out the windows and through her lanai to the sand beyond. Sure enough, the sky is gray and overcast, but there is no falling snow.

“Oh, I love that it snowed on Christmas Eve,” she says wistfully. “That was magical.”

“Next year we can spend the holidays in Vermont, if you want. Then you’ll have snow for sure,” Dave says. He smiles at his soon-to-be bride as he takes a swig of his own coffee. “We can do anything we want.” Dave gives Heather a long look as he reaches over and laces his fingers through hers. As he does, Heather notices that Celia is watching with a look on her face that seems intentionally devoid of emotion. “I’ll take you on a cruise, or we can go find snow, or we can just stay here.” He looks incredibly pleased with himself as he squeezes her hand in his. “I’m just happy that we’ll be spending every holiday from now on as husband and wife.”

Heather is sure that she hears a sigh from Celia as she turns and heads back to the kitchen, but Dave misses it completely.

“Sweetheart,” Heather says, composing her face into a calm, casual smile. “I think I’m just going to help Celia get breakfast on the table while you boys manage the kids and the toys here.” She stands up, taking her coffee with her. At her feet, the kids play happily, totally oblivious to the fact that their grandfather’s upcoming wedding might be upsetting their mom.

Heather sets her coffee on the kitchen counter. Celia’s back is to her, and she’s moving around efficiently and brusquely.

“Can I help?” Heather offers.

Without turning, Celia shakes her head. “I’ve got things in here. I’ve run a much bigger kitchen than this for over a decade now.”

“I have no doubt that you can handle it, I just wanted to pitch in.” Heather waits. She understands the delicate dynamics of a father and daughter, and she’s married into enough families to know that not everyone will be pleased when the paternal figure of the group chooses a younger bride.

Celia turns to her, but keeps her gaze averted. “Uhhh, I guess you can carry those dishes out to the table.” She waves a hand in the direction of a colorful fruit salad and a basket of warm croissants.

“Celia…” Heather isn’t entirely sure what she wants to say, she just knows that it’s Christmas, and she wants the younger woman to feel better about the fact that they’re going to be bound to one another in the coming years. “I really appreciate you coming down here for the holidays, even though you’re missing Christmas at home. I know it means a lot to your dad.”

Suddenly, Celia sets a spatula on the counter and leans both hands on the island. Her eyes are flashing as she looks right at Heather. “My dad is one of the most important people in the world to me,” she says quietly. “Now that I’m an adult, he’s more like a friend than he is my dad, and I talk to him on the phone for an hour at least once a week.”

“That won’t change, Celia.”

“It will.” She nods quickly and angrily. “He’ll start being ‘too busy’ to talk, and then he’ll keep getting older, needing more care, and I won’t be close enough to be there for him.” Her anger seems to soften into worry right before Heather’s eyes, and she can’t help but feel for Dave’s daughter as she thinks about her father aging and needing more from her. Heather hadn’t been fortunate enough to have a father who lived past the age of fifty, but she can imagine her concern for him if he was still alive, living somewhere miles away and needing her.

“I promise you that no matter what, I’ll keep an open line of communication with you when it comes to your dad,” Heather says gently. “If he needs anything at all, or if anything…changes,” she says, swallowing hard as she tries not to imagine Dave ill or compromised in any way, “then I’ll call you immediately.”

Celia shrugs and turns away from her like a petulant teenager, which, in this moment, Heather can imagine her being. It’s funny the way that, even as an adult, your parents and family can turn you into a kid again and unveil the same old scrapes and bruises that have always been there.

“I just don’t want to lose him,” Celia says quietly. In fact, Heather is almost sure she didn’t hear her, but then Celia turns her head back over her shoulder and looks in Heather’s direction. “My mother has only been gone for three years.”

While Heather already knows this, seeing the pain that Lila’s death caused her daughter is a different thing than just hearing that she’d died. Dave had watched his wife die, and his pain and loss had been tempered by the exhausting and unpredictable course of her disease. He’d been there for the day-to-day needs and the rapid decline of the wife he’d loved, so for him, there was a sense of release—for both him and for his beloved wife—at the end. For Celia, there was nothing but the loss of her mother.

“I know,” Heather says in a voice so soft it feels like it’s coming from deep inside a cave. “And I know you all loved her so much. She sounds like an incredible woman.”

“She was,” Celia says quickly. Behind her on the stove, the oven timer beeps a warning. Celia ignores it. “My mother was the center of our family. She never missed anything her children did, and she was always available if you wanted to call and talk. She made every holiday special, and I never ever heard her and my dad fight.”

Heather realizes that Celia needs to talk this through, but the fact that she’s being lectured on Christmas morning by a grown woman who wants her to understand what big shoes she has to fill—or perhaps Celia wants her to understand that she’llneverfill them—stings.

“No one is trying to replace your mom, Celia.”

“I’m not a child. I understand that,” Celia bites back. As soon as the words are out of her mouth, she looks regretful. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. This is your home, and we’ve invaded,” she says, looking around and clearly finding it lacking. Undoubtedly, Lila would have done things differently. Perhaps decorated more lavishly, or insisted on living in Providence to be closer to her kids.

“Does your brother feel the same way that you do about this?” Heather ventures. Dave’s son, William, has opted to stay at the B&B with his wife, and they’ll be over later in the afternoon to celebrate Christmas.

“My brother doesn’t care. He’s a total hippie. He lives in an ‘artist’s colony’ in Santa Fe, for god’s sake. As far as Will is concerned, Dad could shave his head, convert to Buddhism, and become a monk. He’d be like ‘Right on, dude.’” Celia snorts. “Sometimes I’m not even sure we were raised by the same people.”

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