Pie and other compromises

The Christmas beast has crept back into his cave for another year, leaving behind a formidable pile of glitter, gauzy ribbons, torn paper, and gifts that need to be returned. The last of the cookies have been sent off with my daughter-in-luv to her family on the eastern shore, along with the chocolate silk pie and pumpkin cheesecake. Still my fridge is loaded with eggnog and exotic cheeses, parsley and goodness, what’s in this bowl? There will be no mimosas for breakfast as we finished off the champagne last night. There is half a pecan pie on the kitchen island, a sugary indulgence loved only by my husband. My daughter shook her head in exasperation when she discovered I had made him one for Christmas. I don’t even try to explain the strange relationship between her father and I again, especially since I don’t understand it myself. I know my feeble excuses for indulging in a diabetic’s sugar cravings and offering wine to alcoholics do not ring true.

It’s Boxing Day in England, my son-in-laws favorite holiday, an excuse to sit about eating and drinking with no obligations all day. He talked to me on Christmas Eve when his wife, my daughter, was at the home of her new boyfriend’s parents. He talked to her last night for hours and they poured out their hearts to each other like best friends do. She misses him, she tells him she is in love again and terrified of her feelings. He reads her heart, gets her, explains her feeling to her and she is better. I adore him. He’s introducing his new girlfriend to his parents today. Although I know she is not blameless in the breakup of my girl’s marriage I still feel sorry for her as I know it will not go well. They will be civil because they are polite and reasonable people. They will shoot silent arrows across the table into her heart as they are Catholic and love my daughter like their own child. Time will move them like it does all of us though and they will accept her eventually.

My girl has been become more emotional and open in her mid twenties, or perhaps she has learned to talk to me with her heart exposed. She is astonished to find herself happy at home, content with her new job, and most surprising, in love again. Why are we humans always shocked to find ourselves in love? She reads the boy’s philosophy books, loads his music onto her Ipod, reconsiders her Peace Corps career, and asks to be convinced that she is not considering giving up her dreams for a man, again. My husband’s required pecan pie sits accusatory on the counter and the workout clothing I bought him for Christmas lie in the living room with the other gifts. I want to tell my girl something about the biological imperative of love, how the push pull of relationships works, how women even in our enlightened times are usually the one who makes the impossible compromises to make things work. She does not even understand the pie, so it would serve no purpose, and I stay silent. I see in her eyes that she fears her relationship could turn into the one I had for so many years, so I just tell her that she is strong enough to hold her own against anyone. I just hope believing makes it so