Page 25 of Seeds of Christmas
RHIANNON
Our first night at the motel is uneventful. I’m about to crash out because I’m so damn tired when my mother calls. I contemplate letting it ring out, but then decide to answer in case it’s an emergency since I might not have signal the next few days.
“Rhiannon! Oh honey, finally! I’ve been trying to reach you all day!”
I should have ignored it. Should have let it go to voicemail again.
“Yeah, I told you I was going away. I might not have signal all week, Mom. What’s going on?”
“What’s going on?Sweetheart, Matthew came by yesterday—well, he brought us all gifts. Can you believe it?—and he told us everything. How you two have been talking, how you’ve been working things out, how you just needed this time away to think clearly?—”
My blood runs cold. “Mom, stop. That’s not?—”
“And, honey, I’m so relieved. I’ve been so worried about you, making such a rash decision, throwing away a perfectly good relationship with an amazing man over nothing?—”
“It wasn’t nothing.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend, and I immediately regret it. I can practically feel her bristling through the phone.
“Well, whatever it was, you’ve clearly worked through it. Matthew was saying you might be coming home early? New Year’s Eve? His parents are having their annual party, and it would be so nice if you both?—”
“Mom.” I close my eyes, trying to find the calm I don’t feel. My heart is beating very fast, and for a split second, I’m tempted to go along with it.
It would be so easy to say it’s true.
So easy to go back with him. It’s not that bad. He’s not a bad guy, not really. It would make Mom so happy. I could be happy. Happy-ish.
But even as I think it, I know it’s not true. I know what going back would mean—making myself smaller, quieter, more perfect. Watching every word. Walking on eggshells. Pretending the version of me he loves is the real me.
“I’m not getting back together with Matthew,” I say, but my voice wavers. “We haven’t been talking. I don’t know what he told you, but it’s not true.”
Silence. Long enough that I check to see if the call dropped.
“Rhiannon.” Her voice shifts, takes on that disappointed tone I’ve learned to dread. “Are you really going to do this? Push away someone who loves you? Someone who’s trying?”
“He doesn’t love me. He loves the idea of me. The version he can control.”
“Control? Rhiannon, that’s—” She sighs, that particular sigh that means I’m being dramatic, unreasonable. “Honey, every relationship requires compromise. Matthew is a good man from a good family. He’s stable, he’s successful, he adores you?—”
“I just don’t think we’re right for each other,” I say, but my voice is getting smaller. Why does she always do this? Make me feel like I’m the problem?
“He wanted you to reach your potential. That’s not criticism, that’s support. And honestly, sweetheart, you can be very sensitive. You know how you get when you’re stressed, seeing problems that aren’t there?—”
“Mom—”
“All I’m asking is that you think about it. Really think about it. You’re throwing away three years. Three years, Rhiannon. Do you know how rare it is to find someone who wants to build a life with you? Someone who sees a future?”
I feel myself crumbling. This always happens. She’s so certain, so convinced she’s right, and I’m just... tired. Tired of fighting. Tired of explaining. Tired of feeling like I’m the unreasonable one.
“I just...” I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. “I just need space right now.”
“Space to do what?” Her tone sharpens. “I should think you’ve had plenty of space to think Rhiannon, but maybe you do need some more if you’re going to keep playing with your life.”
“Maybe you’re right,” I hear myself say. “Maybe I do need to think about it more.”
What am I doing? Why am I saying this?
“That’s all I’m asking, honey.” Her tone softens and I grip my phone harder. “Just think about it.Talk to him.Hear him out. Maybe he made some mistakes but his heart is in the right place. He loves you.”
“Okay,” I whisper, because it’s easier than arguing. Because it is freezing cold, and lying on a crappy motel bed, I can’t think straight, and I just want this conversation to end. “Okay, I’ll... I’ll think about it.”
