Chapter 13 - The Ledger on the Wooden Table
I asked for ten o'clock and I got there at nine-forty so I wouldn't have to walk in while anyone else was deciding where to sit.
The house smelled like lemon cleaner and cold air from the back door. The wreath was still on the shuttered window, a little dry at the edges now. The framed photos were the same. I stood in the dining room for a minute and listened to the refrigerator hum from the kitchen before I took my coat off.
I wore my gray cardigan over my light blouse. I wanted to look like myself, not dressed up for a fight. I set my tote on one of the dining chairs and pulled out the folder, the bank printout, and my notebook with the hours.
Mark came in from the garage in his blue button-down, sleeves pushed up. He nodded at me and didn't try to hug me. "Thanks for coming," he said.
"I asked for this," I said. "You didn't invite me."
He pulled out the chair at the head of the large wooden table. I took the side facing the window so the light wouldn't be in my eyes. We heard Linda's car in the driveway, then her heels on the wood floors. She came in wearing her dark blazer, hair combed, lipstick fresh. She set her purse down hard on the table and then caught herself and moved it to a chair.
"Well," she said. "We're here."
I laid everything out before anyone could start with how we've all been stressed. The catering ledger from the last three years on the left. The cancelled deposit slip in the middle. The labor list on the right in my own handwriting. Forty-one hours. Shopping, wrapping, cooking, cleanup, rides, tree, lights, cards.
"I'm not here to rehash lunch," I said. My hands were steady. I smoothed the corner of the deposit slip the way I'd smoothed that white napkin. "I'm here to put the facts on the table."
Mark looked down at the numbers. Linda crossed her arms, then uncrossed them.
"I paid the deposit every year," I said. "Two thousand four hundred this year. Nonrefundable after December first. I cancelled it December fourteenth after you both told me to stay home for Christmas. I lost four hundred dollars on the cancellation fee."
Linda glanced at the slip. "You didn't have to cancel without asking us."
"You told me not to come," I said. "I wasn't going to leave my card on an event I wasn't invited to."
That landed quiet. The daylight moved across the wood. Somewhere upstairs a floor creaked.
Mark rubbed the back of his neck. He looked at the labor list longer than the money. "I didn't know it was that many hours," he said.
"You didn't ask," I said. Not sharp. Just true.
He exhaled and looked at Linda, then back at me. "At lunch I let you take it," he said. "When Linda said you'd ruined the mood last year by being tired, I just sat there. I let them put you at the small table because I didn't want a fight at the table. I told myself it was easier to keep the peace."
"Easier for who?" I said.
"For me," he said. "I didn't want to choose in front of everybody. So I let you take the blame. I'm sorry. I know sorry doesn't fix it, but that's what I did."
My throat tightened. I nodded once so he knew I'd heard him without letting it become absolution.
Linda shifted in her chair. Her fingers drummed once on the table, then stopped. "I said you should skip because I wanted a nice Christmas," she said. "I wanted to host and have it look right. Your vegetable plate and your wine glass off to the side, it photographed better when you weren't —" She stopped.
"When I wasn't what?" I said.
"When you weren't tired in the middle of it," she said quietly. "I wanted control of how it looked without paying what it costs. I thought I could do it cheaper. I thought ordering in and asking everyone to bring something would be the same."
"It wasn't," Mark said.
"No," she said. She didn't look at him. She looked at my notebook. "I didn't know about the rides for your mother-in-law. I didn't know you stayed to mop after."
We sat with that. I didn't pick up the papers. I left them flat under the light.
"I appreciate you saying that," I said. "Both of you. But I'm not agreeing to anything today."
Linda frowned. "So what was the point of —"
"The point was to hear the truth in this room," I said. "Not a vague apology at a holiday table. What actually happened."
May you like
Mark nodded slowly. Linda pressed her lips together and didn't argue.
I slid the folder closed but left the three pages on the wood between us. Neither of them reached for them. The wreath ticked faintly against the shutter when the heat kicked on. We were still at the table, and there was no plan yet for what came next.
