Chapter 10
Ellyn
“I thought you said you weren’t doing any decorations for the house this year?” Meghan says as I pull out the miniature Christmas tree I purchased at the craft store.
We’re in my home office where I’ve just gotten her to agree to help me set up the decorations.
“Well,” I say, drawing out the pause.
“I reconsidered, and thought based on what I do for a living, it would be a good idea to do a little something. For my videos.”
“The videos …” She also stretches out her words.
“It’ll be great for the analytics. Viewers are drawn to new décor,” I explain, not looking her in the eye.
“Hmhm.”
“Also, these items were just sitting there on the shelves looking lonely.”
“Right…”
“Don’t you start, little girl,” I finally say, pointing at her. “I know that inquisitive, suspicious tone of yours when I hear it. I am not one of your little witnesses on the stand.”
She tosses her head back, laughing.
“It used to be ‘I’m not one of your little friends’ now it’s ‘I’m not one of your little witnesses.’”
I shrug. “Times change.”
“Apparently.” She takes a beat to sober up. “Can I ask you a question? For real?”
I raise an eyebrow. “Ask.”
“Why were you so adamant about not decorating for Christmas?”
“Am … I still am adamant about not doing it. This is just for my office.” I gesture to the items I purchased.
“Okay, why are you still so determined not to decorate? You used to go all out when I was younger. All of my friends would say how our house was the best one in the entire neighborhood.
“And the Christmas parties you and Dad used to throw were talked about until summer,” she comments.
The reverie in her voice tightens a band around my chest.
I don’t want to destroy my daughter’s happy memories by telling her how exhausted and drained I always felt during the holidays. She doesn’t need to know how her dream holidays were sometimes my nightmare because of the sheer weariness they brought on for me.
Not only was it physically draining, but the mental load it brought on due to the nonexistent appreciation. Not from my kids. They were children and I didn’t expect them to fall over themselves in gratitude beyond a ‘thank you, Mom.’
It was the lack of support or appreciation from my supposed partner.
“Is it because it’s just you?” Meghan asks.
“Yes,” I tell her, grabbing onto the partial lie like a lifeline. “Once you return to school, it’ll just be me here and it feels like a lot of work for only one person to enjoy.”
Meghan nods but still looks as if that answer doesn’t quite satisfy her curiosity.
I distract her by reminding her that she has an hour and a half before the car I requested picks her up to take her to the airport, so we need to get a move on with the decorations.
An hour later, we’re seated at the dining table, having an early dinner of Thanksgiving leftovers before Meghan leaves.
“I should take these items back over to Joel’s now that the holiday is over,” I tell Meghan while glancing between the table and kitchen island.
“I don’t think he gave it to you for you to return after the holiday is over,” she comments. “Oh, but maybe you should return his cowboy hat.”
She points to the black Stetson that sits in the chair by the island where Joel left it a couple of days ago when he last stopped by.
“I’d forgotten about that,” I mumble, staring at the hat. “He probably needs it.”
“Or maybe he left it on purpose.”
I give Meghan a curious look. She shrugs.
“Do you know what they say when a cowboy lets you wear his hat?”
I hesitate in even furthering this conversation. But, in the end, I can’t stop myself from asking, “No. What do they say?”
“That he’s staking his claim.”
I damn near choke on the apple cider I’ve just taken a sip of. “Meghan Renee Chamberland, why on Earth would you say that?” I ask after coughing the cider out of the wrong damn pipe.
“It’s true,” she says nonchalantly. “When a cowboy wants to stake his claim, he puts his hat on it.”
I roll my eyes while wiping my mouth. “He didn’t put his hat on me. He left it here by accident.”
“He left it after dropping off some completely unnecessary Thanksgiving decorations. After multiple days of checking up on you.”
“Because he saved me after a nasty spill in my bathroom. Are you forgetting that part?”
“Are you forgetting that he didn’t have to keep checking on you? Especially since he knew you weren’t alone because I was here?”
“Or he was just being neighborly.” I point at her, shaking my finger. “That’s the problem with your generation now. No one knows how to be neighbors anymore.
“Joel is from a different generation, a different school of thought. Where people who live next to one another help each other out.”
“Oh, there are some things he wants to help himself to, alright.”
I throw my cloth napkin at her. “Meghan Renee, I’m going to wash your mouth out with soap.”
She dodges the napkin while her body shakes from her guffaws.
I narrowly miss clutching her as I lunge across the table, but she jumps just out of my grasp to stand with her empty plate to the sink.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I grumble when she comes over to retrieve my plate. “You don’t even know what you’re talking about,” I continue to fuss while she remains snickering even as she washes the dishes at the sink.
“And you better not have those nasty ideas in your head up there in New York either. Keep your head in those books!” I insist.
“Your father and I pay a lot of money to that damn school for your education in the law. Not to be worried about nobody staking a claim anywhere.”
Meghan casually walks over to me with a plate of sliced coconut cake on a plate. It’s leftover from yesterday’s dessert.
“Are you done?”
I snatch the plate and fork away from her. “Are you done?” I mimic.
She bends down to kiss my cheek. “I have to finish packing before the car gets here. Enjoy your cake.”
I swat her on the butt as she rushes out of the dining area.
“Don’t know what she’s talking about,” I mumble while chewing on my first bite of cake.
Even as I deny it out loud, though, my eyes roam over to the hat silently resting on the chair, as if it’s calling my attention.
“What are you looking at?” I ask the damn hat.