Page 110 of The Hockey Grump Saves Christmas

And it is. I should have nipped this in the bud a decade ago. I should never have let the holiday habits get so entrenched that at twenty-eight years old I have to make an awkward I Don’t Like Christmas And Never Have declaration.

“But what don’t you like about it?” Dad asks.

“And have apparentlyneverliked about it?” Mom adds. There’s an edge to her voice now, likethe hurt that morphed to defensiveness is morphing to pissed-off-with-me-ness.

“I guess it all goes back to when I was a kid and you’d get me all those gifts even though I knew you couldn’t afford them.”

“Didn’t you like them?” Yes, Mom definitely has an undercurrent of pained anger.

“It was hard to like them when I knew you didn’t have the money. And there were more important things like groceries, or the electricity bill, or car repairs, or whatever.”

And now I know what it looks like when my mom’s heart breaks in two. It looks like her clutching the chest of the oversizedI’m Cruisin’T-shirt she’s wearing as pajamas and sucking in her lips.

“We thought we were doing our best for you.” Dad’s getting a bit huffy. “But all the time youhatedit?”

Oh, God, no. This is why I’ve never mentioned it before. It can all so easily be misconstrued. To me I was being a thoughtful, unselfish kid. To them I sound ungrateful.

“I know you were doing your best, Dad. I get it. I totally get it. And I appreciate it more than you can know.”

I lean back against the sofa. This is going even worse than I ever imagined. How the hell can I salvage it now?

“So you gave us this cruise to get us out of the way so you wouldn’t have to spend Christmas with us?” Mom asks, her voice cracking, her eyes red-rimmed and so shiny I have no idea how she’s holding back the tears.

“That’s really not how it is, Mom. I gave you the cruise because I like giving you nice things. Nice things you were never able to have for all those years when you wereworking so hard for so little reward and spending hours on end taking me to practice and games.”

“And we just wantedyouto have nice things at Christmas.” Her voice is so quiet it’s almost like she’s talking to herself.

Dad shuffles closer to her and puts his arm around her.

“All you had to do was say if you didn’t want to come for the holidays,” Mom says. “You didn’t have to just pretend every year.”

She leans out of shot to reach for something and comes back with a tissue to wipe her nose.

I have never hated myself more.

“I just wanted to make you happy.” Yet what I’m doing right now is the exact opposite. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And you both love all the Christmas stuff.”

“We just want you to be happy too, son,” Dad says, and kisses the side of Mom’s forehead as she dabs the inner corner of her eye.

“The last thing I wanted was to upset you, Mom. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay.” She lifts her head and sniffs. “At least we know now. So, no more Christmases.”

“No, that’s not what I meant either.” Jesus, this is out of control and on a rapid downward spiral of frustration. “I just meant…” I let out an exasperated sigh. I don’t even know what I meant or what I wanted to achieve any more. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned any of it.”

“Well, we don’t want you living a lie,” Mom says.

As much as she’s breaking my heart, that is objectively a bit dramatic. “Mom, I?—”

“We should get some sleep,” Dad says—to Mom, not to me. “We have snorkeling early tomorrow.”

I really don’t want to end thisconversation on bad terms, but it’s clearly going nowhere other than down the drain right now. Dad’s right, we should probably all sleep on it.

“Snorkeling sounds amazing.” I try to be all cheery and upbeat and like I haven’t really just sledgehammered both their hearts.

Mom nods. “Good night, sweetheart,” she says. “Take care of the shoulder.”

And we all give feeble waves and hang up.

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