Merry Ex-Mas

by Courtney Walsh

But women like me tend to operate our lives like we’ve got a browser running with twenty-seven tabs open. There’s a lot of processing going on in the background.

My reasons for leaving haven’t changed. It was never about a lack of feelings for her—quite the opposite. The fact was, I loved Marin too much. And I’m afraid that hasn’t changed.

“Why didn’t you signal me or something that I was going to run into that tractor?” Max chuckles incredulously. “You’re mad at me because you walked into a parked vehicle?”

My mom was a big believer in giving things a chance, a second chance, even a third and a fourth. She said grace was like that, and we should always give grace in abundance. Even to ourselves.

Memories, certain ones, have a way of zipping together the past and the present. What was once completely separate is now entangled. What you felt then, you feel now, and you’re unable to pull them apart.

“You can’t force someone to deal with their grief the way you want them to, Marin,” Mom says.

Time doesn’t heal all wounds. Time gives you distance and perspective. The time we had wasn’t enough, but it wasn’t nothing. I lived twenty-two amazing years as their son. And that was a gift.

“Look, everyone’s got history. Everyone has baggage. If you’re lucky enough to find someone willing to lug it around for you, you should let them.

It’s hard when the one place on the planet with the most pain is the same place that feels the most like home.

Between the two of us—I was the one who was proving to be untrustworthy. And he was proving to be exactly what I told myself he wasn’t—the man I’d always loved.

“It does feel like home. But not just because of the house—because of you. I’m realizing that home, for me, is wherever you are.”