“No, that’s the part I don’t understand. It makes me want to stay.” Miriam sighed, laying her head down on the kitchen counter, the phone wedged under her. “I have this carefully constructed life in Charleston, I have my shop, I have you and Tara. I never have to deal with anything that hurts or is hard. Why would I want to abandon that to try to save a dying business, alongside a cousin I barely know anymore and a woman who kind of hates me? Please explain to me why my heart keeps whispering to me to stay.”
Cole hummed, and she strained to hear him over the street noises from wherever he was. “You’ve been successfully running from this most of the time I’ve known you. Now that these feelings are coming up, they’re probably going to keep surfacing until you work through them. Cass and Carrigan’s were the center of your life in a lot of ways, and then they suddenly weren’t, and you never processed that loss. You’ll have to do that, even if you’re in Charleston. But you could do it at Christmasland! I don’t really want you to move to New York, but I don’t want you to miss a once-in-a-lifetime adventure. Follow your heart!”
“What if my heart is making unreasonable and irrational demands?” Miriam whispered.
“It’s probably about time it did. Okay, I love you more than life, but I was actually on a date who I’ve now abandoned inside a bar, so I have to go.”
“Cole!” Miriam chided, horrified. “You didn’t have to take this call while you were on a date!”
“Eh. It wasn’t going well anyway. Speaking of dates. Have you talked to Tara about any of this?” As protective as he was of Miriam, he and Tara went all the way back to birth, and he looked out for her in his way.
“You know how she is, Cole.” She was still slumped on the kitchen stool, but she’d lifted her head off the counter to gesticulate. “If I manage to get her on the phone, instead of her declining with a ‘can’t talk now, text me if it’s urgent!’ response, it’s all business. Besides, what am I going to tell her? I’m kind of sort of thinking about moving to the Adirondacks? What is she going to do with that? It’s not fair to talk to her until I know what I’m going to do.”
“That is some very twisted logic, my love. Who on Earth is better at thinking through all the logistics of complicated situations than Tara? She could actually help. Oh shit, my date is looking for me. I adore you, call your fiancée, talk to you soooooon.” He trailed off and hung up.
Miriam looked up from her phone to find Mr. Matthews watching her, an eyebrow raised. He gestured her toward the door to the Matthewses’ back apartments. He didn’t say anything, although he must have heard at least part of the conversation, and she was grateful that he always gave her space when she needed it.
Mrs. Matthews was setting up shabbat candles, just as she’d always done on Friday nights when Miriam was little. She used to hope for an invitation into their little family space, with the Matthews kids, for this ritual, and felt so special when she was.
She’d forgotten about that, until now.
Her eyes welled up. Of course Mr. Matthews would know that she needed some time to rest and pray right now. It tore at Miriam that in running from Carrigan’s because there was a chance it might remind her of her dad, she’d missed years of shabbat prayers with her real family, the people who actually wanted to stand as her parents.
While she was here, she could make some of that up to them—and herself.
She left the Matthewses as the final rays of dusk were fading from the sky, with a sense of peace. She had Cole at her back and the Matthewses supporting her. Whatever she decided, she would be loved and have a place to land. The peace lasted exactly thirty seconds, before her mother intercepted her walking up the stairs to her room.
“Oh, Miriam, I’ve been meaning to come find you,” Ziva effused.
Miriam flinched while her mom air kissed both her cheeks. “That’s not necessary,” she said through a tight smile.
Refusing to take the hint, her mom gripped her elbow and propelled her forward, forcing Miriam to walk with her or make a show of pulling away where guests might see them. Miriam had learned very young not to make a show, and her mother knew it.
“I wanted to talk to you about this terrible joke of Cass’s, leaving part of the Christmasland to you. And the Matthews boy, what was she thinking? The help’s child?!” Miriam’s blood started to boil at her description of Levi. She began to speak, but her mother kept talking.
“Obviously you can’t keep the shares.” Her voice was the one she used to get people to do what she wanted, where she was so reasonable no one dared argue, and she was walking a little too fast for comfort. “You have a perfect thing going in Charleston. That woman you’re marrying is a catch, you wouldn’t want to do anything to jeopardize that kind of security, especially since you insist on playing with glitter instead of getting a career.”
It was funny how her mom sounded exactly like her own inner monologue, but somehow when Ziva disparaged her work, Miriam wanted to lash out. She also wanted to tell Hannah and Noelle she was definitely staying, because anything her mother thought was a terrible idea must have some merit. She hadn’t rebelled as a kid, because it wasn’t safe, and her dad had brutally shot down her early forays into rebellion in her twenties.
Now, at thirty-five, she felt herself itching against the audacity of her mother giving her an edict she expected to be followed.
“Thanks for the input, Mom,” she managed, trying to rein her anger in. “I’ll be sure to add it to my own calculations.”
Her mom stopped and looked at her. “Miriam, I know you will never believe this, but I love you and I want the best for you. How are you going to have that up here, playing hotel?”
That placating tone, and that shameless lie—that her mother had ever, for an instant, wanted or even thought about what was best for her—broke the dam of her anger.
“I have had half a life for years because Dad took everything from me, while you watched. He burned down my career, destroyed my life financially, drove me from my family, and you were complicit in that.” Her voice grew louder. “Was that what was best for me, in your twisted mind?” Miriam had never, in her life, shouted at her mother, but she couldn’t—and wouldn’t—stop herself now.
“I won’t talk to you about this when you’re being irrational.” Her mother huffed and walked away.
If the worst her mother had to throw at her was that she was being irrational, she’d won that round. She could tell, because Ziva had felt the need to swoop off dramatically.
“Why do you even talk to your mom?” Noelle asked, appearing from behind Miriam and startling her.
“Were you listening to us?” Miriam demanded, angry at her mother and Noelle’s intrusion.
“You were shouting in the hallways of my home,” Noelle pointed out, her arms crossed defensively.