Chapter 10 - CHRISTMAS
Hazel asked:
“What time are you coming Christmas Eve?”
Amber stared at Garnet.
“Coming where?”
The room went quiet.
Garnet closed his eyes.
Months earlier, Hazel asked:
“You’ll be here first Christmas after the wedding, right?”
Garnet said:
“Of course.”
He did not consult Amber.
Later Amber suggested a Vermont trip.
He said:
“Maybe.”
He did not mention Hazel’s promise.
He hoped one plan would disappear.
Neither did.
Old Garnet would have translated.
New Garnet stayed inside the discomfort.
“I promised Mom before we discussed it.”
Amber looked furious.
Then:
“And I didn’t tell you.”
Hazel asked:
“So you’re not coming?”
Garnet said:
“We haven’t decided.”
Hazel looked hurt.
She survived.
Then Amber said:
“I don’t want the whole holiday there.”
Garnet said:
“I do want to see my family.”
They negotiated.
Christmas Eve dinner with Hazel.
Christmas morning alone.
Vermont after Christmas.
Nobody got the pure version.
That was normal.
Then Hazel created her own rule.
If Garnet answered:
maybe,
she would treat it as:
not confirmed.
No plans built on ambiguity.
Then another issue.
The emergency house key.
Amber wanted it back.
Hazel returned it the next day.
No argument.
Amber looked almost suspicious.
“That’s it?”
Hazel smiled.
“That’s what you asked.”
Then Hazel asked:
“What if there’s an emergency?”
Garnet said:
“We’ll give a key to our neighbor.”
Hazel felt a sharp sting.
Being the emergency person had symbolic meaning.
Role.
Importance.
She almost argued.
Then stopped.
“Okay.”
Amber spent months expecting every boundary to become war.
Some did not.
Then Amber asked Hazel to meet for coffee.
First private meeting since the wedding.
They did not apologize immediately.
Good.
Amber said:
“I don’t trust you.”
Hazel answered:
“Same.”
Then Amber explained her fear.
Her mother Diane had yielded too much in her own marriage.
Amber grew up believing:
if she did not defend the edge of her life early, someone stronger would define it for her.
Hazel’s opinions felt dangerous before they became commands.
Hazel said:
“I am not your father.”
“I know.”
“And you are not your mother.”
Amber looked down.
That mattered too.
Then Hazel admitted:
“I judged you before I knew you.”
Amber looked up.
Why?
Amber was polished.
Certain.
Fast.
Garnet changed around her.
Hazel interpreted:
controlled.
Maybe Garnet was simply becoming a partner badly.
Then Amber said:
“You called me high maintenance.”
Hazel froze.
She had.
After Amber rejected three restaurant options.
Dismissive.
She apologized.
Amber believed her.
Then Amber asked:
“Did you ever want him to leave me?”
Hazel thought.
Once.
After an invitation fight, Hazel told her sister:
“I hope he wakes up.”
Not proud.
How did Amber know?
Garnet.
He had carried that sentence too.
The women looked at each other.
For months, they treated Garnet as the poor man trapped between them.
He had also been the courier delivering the sharpest possible versions of each woman.
Then Amber said:
“I think we’ve been fighting partly through him.”
Hazel answered:
“Then let’s stop.”
Neither knew yet whether they could.
The first real test came sooner than expected.
Hazel booked a birthday dinner for Garnet without asking him.
May you like
Amber had already made private plans.
This time, Garnet would have to confront his mother directly.
