Nobody told you your rest was selfish.
Then Gerard sent a message directly to you.
“You and Daniel coming?”
You looked at Daniel, who was reading on the couch.
“What do you think?” you asked.
He lowered his book.
“What do you want?”
The question was still new enough to make you pause.
What did you want?
Not what would avoid drama.
Not what would keep your mother happy.
Not what would make Valerie stop posting passive-aggressive quotes online.
You.
What did you want?
“I want to go for dinner,” you said slowly. “Not overnight. Not cooking everything. Not cleaning everything. Just dinner.”
Daniel smiled.
“Then that’s what we’ll do.”
So you wrote in the group chat, “Daniel and I can come for dinner on Christmas Eve. We’ll bring dessert. We won’t be staying overnight.”
Your mother replied with a thumbs-up.
Only a thumbs-up.
But somehow, it felt like a miracle.
On Christmas Eve, you walked into Gerard’s house carrying two pies from a bakery in Nashville.
Not homemade.
Not perfect.
Not exhausting.
Store-bought pies in beautiful boxes that cost $42 each.
A younger version of you would have felt guilty.
This version felt free.
Gerard opened the door wearing an apron, looking stressed.
“Hey,” he said.
“Hey.”
Behind him, the house was chaos. Kids ran past with toy trucks. Sarah shouted from the kitchen that something was burning. Your mother sat at the dining table criticizing the centerpiece.
For a second, you almost stepped into your old role.
You almost put down your purse, rolled up your sleeves, and rescued everyone.
Then Daniel’s hand brushed yours.
A reminder.
Not your house.
Not your job.
Gerard looked embarrassed.
“It’s harder than I thought,” he admitted.
You smiled gently.
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I’m sorry, Elena.”
