The Dinner Before Christmas
Doyle Kennard Royston blinked and looked across the dining table. Disbelief colored his eyes. “It’s impossible.”
“It’s Christmas. Anything is possible,” Edward Terrence Royston replied in that hoarse baritone voice Doyle was so familiar with, until it ended abruptly two months ago, owing to a heart attack at the dining table. The very dining table they were both sitting at the moment.
“I must be dreaming. How else can this be possible?”
“Is it important?” his father answered with a question. Some things never change. “Right now, you are having marital problems. That is more important.”
“How did you know Laura and I were having problems?” his worldly mind was still working hard to make sense of what had happened.
“I just told you that you are having marital problems and your response is ‘How did you know Laura and I were having problems?’ Leaves little imagination why my daughter-in-law is angry with you,” his father snorted. “Well, if it is so important to you, then we are in Matrix and I didn’t die. I unplugged myself but I plugged back in again because you are making a mess of your marriage.”
It was Doyle’s turn to snort. “What do you know about our marriage?”
“You’re right. I don’t know much about your marriage. But I know what it means to be married. And I know your temper as well!” Edward’s voice rose.
It was always easier for them to fight than make peace. Their relationship was of a dormant volcano — there was no telling when eruption would happen. Then Doyle noticed his father making an effort to calm himself down.
“Son,” his father’s voice softened. “I know I haven’t been there for you for most of your life. But I do know one thing. You’ve got a gem there. Don’t lose her like I lost you! We spent many precious years apart, never understanding each other’s heart. Don’t repeat my mistake!”
Doyle closed his eyes to his father’s passionate plea. Not his ears, only his eyes. “Why are you still helping her after your death?”
“She mended our relationship. I’m returning the favor. You’ll eventually realize it’s to your benefit. Let go of your pride, son.”
Little Carson sat at the dining table, his legs swinging and his spoon scooping up the disgusting peas. They were simply the greenish version of deer poop. He did not dare to make too much fuss though. Mum and Dad were behaving weirdly and getting annoyed easily for the past few days. He definitely did not want his privileges taken away, especially since Christmas was coming soon.
He missed his Gramps and more importantly, the order he would restore to Mum and Dad. So for the past few nights, he had been saying prayers at dinnertime, not just to God but to Gramps as well. Mum and Dad did not understand the need for two candles but they indulged in his request.
“Laura,” Dad paused. Mum raised her eyebrow but said nothing. “The dinner is wonderful.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Dad replied. Another long pause. “I’ll be setting up the Christmas tree and decorations.”
“Okay.”
They continued their dinner in dead silence of the winter. Carson held his breath for as long as he could before letting it out. He could not see his breath yet. Good sign.
Dad’s eyebrows did that funny dance whenever he was uncomfortable. “Is there anyone else you want to invite?”
“No.”
Dad sighed. “Laura,” he began again. “I don’t know how to say this but, I’m sorry. I was being stupid and pig-headed and I just, you know…” his voice trailed off.
Mum raised her eyebrow again. “That wasn’t so difficult to say, was it?”
“Well, I just — ”
“Make sure you don’t hang the decorations the wrong side. And there better be a star on the tree.”
Funny how apology was difficult to give but forgiveness was easily offered. Their silly little fight was over and Doyle did not even remember what it was about.
The candle winked at Carson, like the merry eyes of his Gramps.
A continuation (of sorts) to this story:
This is a response to the Imagà Imaginings prompt by Kathy Jacobs.
