Page 77 of Because of Blake
“Yes!” He bounds across the kitchen and upstairs, his feet pounding the steps as he ascends.
Sydney takes a seat at the table, opens the can of soda she got from the fridge, and purses her lips. “So, what’s with all the Christmas stuff by the door?”
Crap.I didn’t even hide it. Couldn’t is more like it.
“Oh, um, Blake wanted to decorate for Christmas. He wanted to surprise you guys after school, but I told him no.”
“Why?”
“Because Christmas was your father’s thing. I couldn’t let Blake take that away.”
Sydney fiddles with the soda can tab. “To be fair, you kind of took it away first.”
“What?”
“You haven’t put out Dad’s Christmas stuff since he died.”
“I know. I didn’t want all of it out reminding us he wasn’t around. I didn’t want to upset you guys.”
“Mom, we don’t need reminders Dad’s gone. We know. It doesn’t matter if his corny snow globe with the creepy Santa inside isn’t on the mantle, or if his favorite song doesn’t come on the radio, or if you stop making his favorite dinner, we will always know Dad isn’t around.”
Her words bring the threat of more tears. When did I get such an astute daughter?
“I think it would be nice to have Dad’s Christmas stuff out. It helps us remember things. Like the one year he tried spraying the tree with that fake snow stuff and got it all over the place?” She looks past me like she’s picturing it in her mind. “You were so mad at him, but it was so funny seeing him covered in that stuff.”
I laugh through my watery eyes. “It was funny, after the fact.”
“So, can we put his stuff out this year?”
“I don’t know, Syd...”
“How about we each pick one thing of his to put out? Then we’ll do all of Blake’s new stuff. It’ll be like mixing new memories with old ones.”
A warmth fills my chest as I stare at my brilliant daughter. “Great idea, Syd.” My toes start wiggling under the table. “But I don’t think Blake will be coming back.”
“What? Why?”
I raise my gaze to the ceiling, blinking back the stinging tears. “Because we had a fight and I sort of threw him out.” I’m almost too embarrassed to tell my thirteen-year-old about it.
“So, call him and apologize.” She says it like it’s so easy.
“It’s not so simple, sweetheart.”
“Why not? Call him, tell him what a jerk you are, and why. He deserves to know why Christmas is so hard.”
“He knows. I told him.”
“Good. So then he’ll forgive you, come up for dinner, and we can all decorate together. Easy peasy.” Sydney gets up from the table, hands me my phone, and walks to the door. “Call him, Mom.”
“Will a text suffice?”
She rolls her eyes. “Whatever,” she says, leaving me in the kitchen alone.
I stare at the phone in my hand. Biting my lip, I unlock the screen. I open up my text messages and the very top one is Blake. He was the last person to text me, telling me he was on his way to pick me up to go shopping for the Christmas stuff. That was the text that started this mess. If he wouldn’t have–
No Maggie. This was all you. It wasn’t Blake’s fault.
ME:I’m sorry.