Page 119 of My Merry Mistake
He turns to my mom and pumps his eyebrows twice. Eloise laughs.
Finn and Dallas get out of their cars as another one shows up at the end of the driveway.
“So. Who exactly do I have to blame for inviting him today?” I ask. “To join in ourfamilytradition?”
As if on cue, everyone points right at my mom.
She holds her hands up in front of her. “After dinner on Thursday, Finn got another call from his folks. I got to talking with his mom—who is just lovely, by the way—and I promised her I’d invite him to all of the holiday festivities.”
“You’re friends with his mom now,” I say dryly.
“Yes, I have her number. We were just texting this morning. We have so much in common! She invited us to stay at their ranch—have you seen the view?” Mom stands and waves as Gray parks next to Dallas. “She hates that he’s alone for the holidays, and I would too if one of you were far away.”
Leave it to my mother to make it impossible to stay annoyed.
“They really should’ve carpooled,” I mutter. “It’s better for the environment.”
My sisters exchange a look. That’s when I see Gray’s daughter, Scarlett, is with him. Eloise rushes off the porch and pulls her into a giant hug, and that’s when I notice Finn is not alone.
I stand when I see a thin, dark-headed girl and her two brothers exit his Jeep.
Grace.
I’d thought about her a lot since the day Finn took me to the tutoring club. Twice, I’d wanted to go back—to reach out to Tasha and see if there was something I could do to help out over the next couple of weeks—but both times, I chickened out.
I’m not sure I’d be good at tutoring kids. Or talking to kids. Or being around kids.
Mom raises a hand. “Welcome, everyone! And Merry Christmas!”
Yesterday, we decorated our parents’ house for Christmas—another Hart tradition. Staying in pajamas, heating up leftovers, unpacking all of the binned-up decorations, and dousing the entire house in holiday cheer. I still remember how us girls would fight over who got to hang this one ugly, orange handmade shell ornament.
I did not inherit my Scrooge-ish tendencies, that’s for sure. They came to me all on their own.
Every year, my parents try to outdo what they did the year before. Swaths of greenery thread through the porch railings and hang from the eaves of the roof. How my dad got up there, I don’t even want to know. When the sun goes down, that greenery will twinkle with white lights. Big, beautiful wreaths are hung from every window, tied with thick, red ribbon, and there’s a huge Nutcracker standing guard by the door. Inside, they cleared space in the alcove of the front windows for what is certain to be “the best Christmas tree we’ve ever had.”
And it will be. Because it always is.
I stand back and watch my family for a few seconds, charmed by the spirit and simplicity of it all, and I wish that Christmas feeling was the kind of thing you could purchase. Or at least bottle up. It would be easier than trying to manufacture it when I feel so out of sorts.
I haven’t gotten into the holidays for a long time. Partly because I was always alone, but also because I was just so busy.The holidays almost felt like an unwanted interruption in my work week.
The pressure I put on myself to do more, to get more done, drove out the holiday spirit. While my family found ways to stretch the holidays out, I kept mine short and sweet, relishing the time alone while everyone else was distracted.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
The truth is, once again, I was heading disappointment off at the pass. The build-up of Christmas never paid off for me.
Maybe I just wasn’t looking hard enough for the wonder.
But yesterday, being back home with my sisters and my parents, watching our childhood home transform into a Christmas wonderland, I saw hints of it. I started to understand.
I don’t want time with my family to be the casualty of my ambition anymore.
I stand and zip my coat, watching as Finn introduces Grace and her brothers to Scarlett. Then he walks over to my parents, and to my surprise, signs, “Thank you for the invitation” as he says the words aloud.
Dad’s face beams. He hits my mom on the arm, and points at Finn, then signs, “You’re welcome here anytime.”
Finn turns to my mom with a questioning look. “I’m still getting the hang of it.”
