Chapter 25
Olivia sat on the couch long after Mark had left. Taking food to those people who had been so mean to him. Meaner to him than anyone had ever been to her. Including her parents.
And yet years later, she was still angry at her parents and not including them in her life or in her children's lives because of them warning her, fairly, that Cam might not be the best decision she ever made.
Why had she been so stubborn and stupid?
Not necessarily for not listening to them—she had considered herself in love, and hadn't thought for one second that Cam was anything like her parents were afraid he was.
But she hadn't needed to cut her parents out of her life. Especially after Cam passed.
She touched her phone, running her finger over the edge of it, thinking.
Her stomach twisted, and she almost drew her hand back, but instead, she gripped her phone where it lay on the coffee table, and picked it up.
The number was still in her contacts, although she honestly didn't even know if they were still alive. She'd blocked it long ago and had tried not to think about them since. Her boys didn't even know they had grandparents.
How could she have been so terrible?
Somehow talking to Mark had made her see what an awful person she had been.
Not just a terrible daughter, but a terrible Christian, a terrible child of God.
How could she claim that God was her father and Jesus was her savior when she couldn't even forgive her own parents?
And show love to them, when Jesus said that they'll know that we're Christians by our love.
Mark lived that out. He was showing love to people who had been terribly unkind to him, and he hadn't even given it a thought.
He agreed immediately to take food to them.
He was risking his life—he could get stuck, he could get lost in the snow since the whole countryside looked pretty much the same.
She wasn't going to borrow trouble. Saying a prayer that he would be safe, and being convicted even more strongly that before she asked God for one more thing, she needed to get rid of this thing that was between her parents and her, she unlocked her phone and went to her keypad.
It wasn't hard to remember her old number. The one she’d had for her whole childhood, but her finger hovered over the buttons. It would ring in her parents' house, and either one of them could answer it. Unless they changed their number or moved or whatever people did.
She glanced at the clock. She didn't think they would be asleep yet. Her parents had always been late-night owls.
Before she could think herself out of it, she dialed their number.
She held her breath while it rang once, twice, three times.
Telling herself she'd let it ring one more time before she hung up, and rapidly losing her nerve, she almost dropped her phone when she heard her mom's voice say, "Hello?"
Did they even recognize her number?
"Mom, it's Olivia." There was silence on the line. It felt like forever.
"Harold! It's Olivia!" Her mom said, excitement making her voice tremble. "Harold! Harold! Pick up the other phone!"
"Olivia! Oh, my baby, how are you?"
"I'm just fine. I'm sorry. I was unkind and my meanness was uncalled for, and I'm sorry." There. She got it out. If they were gonna be mad at her, at least she'd apologized.
"You don't have anything to be sorry for. You're our daughter. We love you." It was her dad. Good—he heard it so she didn't have to do it twice.
Wait. Just like that?
"You guys aren't going to be mad at me?" she asked, unbelieving. She hadn't talked to them for five years. Surely they were going to make her pay something, and it wasn't just as easy as saying "we forgive you, come back into our lives."
"He's right. You're our daughter. We're just thrilled that you're actually talking to us. Although I'm a little scared. I don't want to do anything that's going to make you mad again." Her mom sounded worried.
"No, Mom. I'm over that. I was immature and stupid. And nothing you do is going to make me mad. I promise." She hoped she could keep that promise. But really, her parents obviously loved her. They wanted a relationship with her, and it had been her all along, keeping them away.
"I need to know everything. Where have you been? What have you been doing? We haven't heard a thing."
"Why don't you come visit me for Christmas, and we can talk about it all then."
"Where are you? We'll be there." That was her dad.
"We settled down in Mistletoe Meadows, Virginia."
"You've been so close all this time!" her mom said.
"Give us the address. When would you like us to show up?"
She didn't want to get into the situation with her furnace, but she couldn't have her parents coming when it didn't work.
"How about Monday? You can stay as long as you want to, even if it's over Christmas."
"Yes. Thank you. What can we bring?"
"Just bring yourselves. My boys would like to see you." They would be thrilled to find out they had grandparents.
"You have boys?"
"Twin boys. They're four. Cam died before they were born. He didn't even know I was pregnant."
"Oh, Olivia. Why didn't you tell us?" her mom said.
"I have a lot of things to tell you guys. But I do think it'll go better if you just show up. We can talk as much as you want."
"We'll be there. Monday. Do the boys like anything in particular?"
"No. They're just boys. You don't have to bring them anything. They're just gonna be thrilled to know that they have grandparents."
"Who love them. I can't wait to meet them! What are their names?"
She should've known that her mom would want all the details.
She chatted about them for just a little bit, and then, promising to tell her parents everything, and saying that she wanted to know all the things that were going on with them, they hung up.
It was amazing how much lighter she felt. How much better.
Would she still feel that way if it hadn't gone as well?
She had a feeling she would. If she would've called, apologized, admitted what she had done wrong, and asked for forgiveness, even if her parents had been mad and refused to talk to her, she would've felt so much better.
Just getting it off her chest. She hadn't realized how that was bogging her down.
Feeling content and happy, she turned all the lights out, except for a dim one above the stove in the kitchen and the Christmas tree in the corner of the living room, and then sat down on Mark's couch, smelling his familiar scent, and thanking God for his influence in her life.
If it hadn't been for him, she probably wouldn't have called her parents this Christmas.
And it would've been one more Christmas that she would've lost to anger and bitterness.
Her parents already had missed the first four years of her children's lives, and it was all her fault.
But she could try as hard as she could to be more like Jesus—forgiving, no matter what.
Because wasn't that what He did? People who were terribly unkind to him, who were putting him to death, were the very people He was dying to save.
If that had been her, it would've been a no-go.
She would've told them they could go find a different savior, and she would've turned her back and walked away from them.
From her. But Jesus didn't. And it wasn't really that she was supposed to be a better version of herself.
She was supposed to be more like Jesus. That was the goal.