Page 79 of The Thorne at My Side
But maybe when a person, who has their own thing going on, sets it aside for a moment to support you they’re showing a deeper kind of love.
A respectful kind of love.
And if it's a two way street, with each of you working on your own things side by side but leaning on each other along the way, that kind of love can last a lifetime.
I sit back on the sofa as this new perspective settles in. I’m so used to jumping to action when something needs doing. I’m accustomed to setting aside my task to complete the more urgent one. Or the one being asked of me. I can feel Liz watching me as I run through different scenarios, reframing them with this new support-not-sacrifice lens. I had never thought of it in this way.
I saw it as everyone sacrificing for the others. My mom with herlaundry schedule and color coded calendar, sacrificing her free time for the family. My dad with his grocery list up on the fridge and expectations that we kids help out sacrificing a full night's sleep so he could leave early and be home to help with dinner. Us kids having to keep up with the chores together, often covering for each other if there was a big exam or project, a game, or social event, sacrificing our childhood because our parents needed help.
For the first time I'm seeing these things as love instead of resentment.
"Well, I like the way you put it but it doesn't matter. Austin hates me, I hate him, and the SMS guy isn't talking to me." I shrug and take a gulp of wine. "Should we go watch whatever sports game is on with Dad and Kyle?” I suggest. “I feel like if we're out of sight when Mom gets home from whatever errand she's running we'll be spared helping with a craft project."
"It's cute you think you'd be spared but yes, let's go." Liz says and we head downstairs together.
???
“Margaret Geraldine Collins, get downstairs and help your father!” My mom yells from somewhere on the first level. I pull the covers down from my ears and blink my eyes open. With a quick lift of my head to peek out my window I can confirm that the day after Thanksgiving dawns with a fresh blanket of snow on the ground. It looks to be about three inches, nothing for upstate New York, but still enough to light up my chest with excitement.
I love snow. Well, I love snow the day after a holiday when you've got nowhere else to go.
Snow in D.C. is a nightmare. Everything turns gray and slushy and the metro platforms are slippery with the snow melt puddles left behind by everyone's boots. You have to carry a spare pair of shoes with you and the radiator heat in the office is always four degrees too warm to be called comfortable.
I hear my dad shoveling the front walk and I pad down the stairs to the front door.
"Morning Dad," I say as I step out onto the porch and wrap myself in my puffer coat.
"Morning Mags, beautiful day isn’t it!" He cheers.
"Need some help?"
“You can choose between shoveling or helping your mother pack away the china until Christmas.” He levels me with a stare that tells me he agrees shoveling is the better end of the deal. "She's delirious with happiness and activity. It means a lot that you're home,” he adds.
I scoff, "How do you figure? The way I see it I've failed in every possible way."
Dad stops shoveling and leans on the handle. "Accepting change, or admitting things didn't go according to plan isn't failure. It's strength. It's a skill. You'd never tell a friend or a colleague to look at this as a failure so stop telling yourself that nonsense."
"Yes, Dad," I say like a teenager but his words hit me in the solar plexus.
"Put on some sensible footwear and help me." He says before he scoops up another line of snow and tosses it off the path.
"Yes, Dad," I repeat but with a smile on my face. I see him smile before I turn around for the door. I slide into my snow boots from high school and walk out tothe garage for the other shovel.
The two of us make quick work of clearing the walkway and the drive and as we’re sprinkling salt and sand down to prevent ice, Liz and Kyle pull up.
“Tree time!” Liz calls out as she steps out of their car. She and Dad wrap each other in hugs and Kyle gets a handshake before they reach me and we hug our hellos too. The front door opens.
“Finally! Everyone is here, let’s get out to Cole’s before all the good ones get picked.”
“Katherine, that boy has enough trees for everyone in Lakeville to have two, it’ll be fine.”
“But they’re all different sizes and shapes and we need the perfect one because it is the kick off to wedding month!”
My dad shakes his head with humor but he grabs the keys and I pile into the backseat. Liz and Kyle drive behind us on our way out to my old high school boyfriend’s farm. Cole MacDonald was a star first baseman for Lakeville H.S. and he inherited his family’s farm a few years ago.
Every year, my family treks out to MacDonald Farm for our Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving. We then spend the day decorating it and eating leftovers. Wish lists are discussed over turkey sandwiches and Christmas music plays from the speakers in the kitchen. I haven’t been a part of the festivities since undergrad when I had the entire week off.
We pull down the road to the farm and it feels smaller than I remember. Everything about Lakeville felt small to me when I lived here. I couldn’t wait to move on to bigger, and better, things. Then once I lived the life of the bigger cities and more important things I barely spent enough time here to feel the smallness of it all. In the last week I’ve gotten waves from people as I pass them, been stopped and asked how I’m doing anytime I’m not in my car, and I was even invited to the next Tome Raider meeting.
