One More for Christmas - Sarah Morgan Page 0,64

one tactless comment.”

“You think I was tactless?”

“I think you’re not yourself. And if this is how you are around your mother, then perhaps this is a good time to look at that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He put the phone in his pocket. “If there are things you want to say to your mother, then say them.”

“I’ve told you, she makes me feel like—”

“A child. Yes. I get that. And I get that it’s hard, but it’s up to you to rewrite that narrative. We’re always children to our parents. We’ll probably be the same around Tab when she is thirty and fully independent—but if you’re truly going to reestablish a relationship with your mother, then both of you need to put the past behind you.”

“How am I supposed to do that?” How could he make it sound so easy? If it were easy, she would already have done it.

“You could start by telling her that you’re not teaching right now. That you’ve chosen to stay home and raise our child. Surely a woman who writes books encouraging people to make choices will understand your need to make a few of your own?”

Ella could just imagine how that would play out.

“She’s fine with other people’s choices. But she’s only good with her daughter’s choices if they align with her ambitions for us.”

Michael picked up her scarf and put it round her neck. “Then you need to make it clear that accepting your choices is going to be part of your relationship moving forward.” He kissed her forehead. “She doesn’t have to like your choices, but she does need to accept them.”

Ella thought back to that awful day five years before. You’re a terrible mother. They were all carrying on as if those harsh words had never been said. But she hadn’t forgotten the words, and she was sure her mother wouldn’t have forgotten them, either. Could they really move forward and heal their relationship without addressing what had happened?

“I’ll talk to her when I feel the time is right.”

“That time is now. Do you want me to be with you for that conversation?”

“No, of course not. I’m not that pathetic.”

Or maybe she was that pathetic. But if she was, she didn’t want him to see it.

She sat down on the bed. “I was so looking forward to Christmas. It was going to be magical.”

“Honey, have you looked out of the window? It is as magical as can be out there, and your daughter is laughing. Sure, it’s not the way we planned on spending the holidays, but I think it will turn out to be better. I know you’re worried about your mother, but maybe this will be a turning point in your relationship.”

He always saw the potential and not the pitfalls.

“When you drown me with optimism I don’t know whether to hug you or hate you.” But he was right, of course. Tab was laughing, they were staying on the edge of a snowy forest and beyond the doors of the house were real reindeer. It was a child’s idea of a winter wonderland.

He tugged her to her feet. “Give it all you’ve got. If she doesn’t respond, then at least you know you did all you could.”

She knew he was right. She was a grown woman with a job she loved and a family she adored. She was proud of what she did and who she was, so why was she so afraid to be honest with her mother?

“I still want her approval. Why do I need that?”

“I think it’s called being human.” Michael nudged her toward the door. “Join in. Maybe Tab is exactly what both of you need. She might bring you together.”

Ella wasn’t so confident.

She walked with Michael down the wide, sweeping staircase, feeling as if she was being judged by all the ancestors staring down at her from the paintings. What was it like to have family stretching back for centuries? She didn’t even have a photograph of her father, and her mother refused to talk about him.

Maybe Ella should push the issue and try and get her to talk. If she’d come here on her honeymoon, then maybe that was a good place to start.

Kirstie stood stiffly in the hallway. “We’ve laid breakfast in the dining room.”

“Thank you.” Ella turned to Michael. “You go ahead. I’ll go and get Tab and Mom. Oh wait—do you have a carrot?” When Kirstie looked blank, Ella smiled. “My daughter is building a snowman.”

For the first time since

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