Page 86 of The Bright Side of Christmas
“Why is it always assumed I can just drop everything and help?” I snap.
“What?” Jesse asks.
“Everyone assumes I’ll justdrop everythingand fix every single problem. That I’ll cancel whatever I may have had going on to help out. You don’t even bother toaskanymore! It’s like I’m just someone you all go to when youneedsomething, but no one ever thinks about whatIneed. Or what I can handle, or what Iwantto do!”
“Wow, Wren, calm down,” Madden says, eyes wide and tinged with humor, which makes my anger bubble over even more. I stand then, take a step toward him, and push him on his chest. He’s sitting and topples a bit, catching himself on his hands.
“No! I won’t calm down. I’m tired! I’mexhausted! I haven’t had a full night’s sleep that wasn’t plagued by my to-do list scrolling through my head in a long time. God, I don’t even know how long it’s been. The summer? Because I’m always doing things for everybody else! Everyone just assumes I’ll do it. Popcorn garland? Oh, Wren can stay up late three nights in a row and string popcorn until her fingers bleed. After-school care? Wren loves those kids! Of course, she’ll take oneveryone’sduty for it! Bottle-feeding fuckingkittens? Let’s ask Wren, even though she doesn’t even know anything about fucking kittens!”
My brothers are both staring at me now with wide, shocked gazes, and my eyes are starting to water, my throat beginning to burn as months’ worth of frustration, disappointment, and exhaustion explode from me.
“I am so fuckingtired. No one ever asksmeif I need anything!”
“Wren, honey,” my mom says softly, and somewhere, I register that she and Dad are nearing me with that look you have when you step toward an injured, wild dog, but I don’t stop.
Ican’tstop. It all spills out.
“The only person who ever cared was Grandma; she was the only one who cared if this festival was good, if the school was decorated, and if every kid on the gift tree got something, and if the fucking streets were all decorated, and she did it foryears flawlessly.Now I’m stuck doing it, and everybody assumes I’m just going todoit and do it just as well as her for my first time and not need anyone to help me at all, while also continuing to doeverythingforeveryone.” I take in a jagged breath that hurts as it enters my lungs, as I fight back the tears that have wanted to spill over all day.
“And even though I’m terrified of disappointing everyone, I’m doing it. I’m doing it the way she would have wanted, to make her proud, but she hadmeto help her, and I haveno one to help me now. And I scared off the one person who tried to convince me to put myself first! Not even all the time! He just wanted me to set boundaries once in a while so I wouldn’t burn out like I amright freaking now!And now I’m probably going to die alone, and this is the first time in twenty-seven years that the festival won’t have music, as someone so kindly reminded me, and the first time in sixty that Blue Bird Lane won’t be totally lit up, and I’mfailing!”
A tear falls, and a part of my mind is together enough to note with relief that the only people in the room right now are my family. I’m not sure if Mom and Dad ushered them out when they noticed I was breaking or if it’s been just us for a bit, but I’m relieved all the same. My shoulders drop with exhaustion, like that outburst took the very last drop of my strength from me. “But sure, I’ll watch Emma while Jesse goes and gets his dick wet.”
“Wren, I—” Jesse starts, eyes filled with remorse.
“Stop. It’s fine. It doesn’t…” My voice trails off as I put my head in my hands, a million thoughts and feelings flashing through my mind. Grief and disappointment and heartbreak and fear all course through me on loop, and my breathing comes in shorter and shorter gasps as I try to keep it together. I know my brothers are staring at me, shocked and bewildered and unsure of what to do, and that’s not fair to them. I shouldn’t be doing this right here, right now. It’s not fair that I’m directing this outburst at them.
I need to get it together. I need to take a few deep breaths in and?—
“Wren, honey, come here,” a familiar voice says, and when I lift my head, I see him.
My dad.
The quiet, easygoing man who does what my mother asks without question, who shakes jingle bells outside every kid’s house on Christmas Eve to make them think that Santa is here just to keep the magic alive. The one who quietly delivers trees and lights to houses that remain unlit, the one who grew up with my grandmother telling him nothing is more special than Christmas spirit and community.
The one who lost his mom nine months ago.
His eyes are warm and knowing, and he opens his arms for me. Like I’ve done a million times in my lifetime, I run into my dad’s arms.
“Dad, I messed up,” I say, sniffling and biting back tears. That single statement encapsulates so, so many things, but I don’t have to expand: it’s my dad. He knows.
“No, you didn’t, sweetie. You were doing what you thought was right, trying to make everyone happy. But you need to learn to say no every once in a while. That would solve a lot of these problems,” he says, rocking me back and forth and rubbing a hand on my back.
“I know,” I whisper.
“And you need to share your problems.”
“I know,” I repeat. A long beat passes, and I think he’s just letting me collect myself before he speaks again, and I realize he was actually weighing his words.
“This isn’t what she would have wanted for you.”
My body goes still at the familiar words, but in my dad’s arms, I don’t feel the same uncalled-for anger I did in my living room when Adam said it. Instead, I feel a terrible mix of guilt and grief washing over me.
I pull back to stare at him. “That’s not fair—” I start anyway, he shakes his head, pulling me in tighter, his voice going lower.
“I miss her, too, honey. So much. And I know this is your way of keeping her alive. And I’m sure she’s up there watching and in awe of all you’ve accomplished by yourself. But she’s also frustrated that you haven’t asked for the help you need, that you look like you could fall asleep standing. She was always busy this time of year, but what you don’t realize is that all the years you saw her running this thing, she was retired. Sure, she was taking on a lot, but she didn’t have a classroom of kids to manage every day.” I scrunch my nose. “She also said no and delegated more.If she saw how thin you were, wearing yourself down, she’d be worried, Wren. This isn’t what she would have wanted.”
I let a lot of time pass as his words sink in, creating and discarding a million different responses before one slips through the cracks.
