Enough

'What do you mean they've cancelled Christmas? They can't do that. What about all the preparations I've made?'

'My mother says it's not her fault if you plan 6 months ahead for something they don't even celebrate.'

'But they said they were coming and then tell you to tell me they're not. On the 24th. That's not fair.'

'It's just that in the Netherlands we don't really celbrate Christmas if there aren't any kids.' I could tell he was running out of patience by the way his nostrils started to flare.

'Well that's sad.'

'It's not sad! It's just that my mother doesn't feel like celebrating twice that's all. After the 5th there's not much point really.'

'Ok I get it. Your mother doesn't like me.'

'I can't believe we're having this conversation again.'

Then he stormed off, slamming the door behind him. I took another sip of sherry and got back to forcing the sage stuffing into the highly expensive only-raised-on-organic-grain turkey which I'd sourced on a small farm on the Belgian border. even if the in-laws weren't coming, i wasn't going to let such a bird go to waste. He just can't stand anybody criticising his mother, that's all. She is one of those practical self-righteous Dutch ladies of a bygone era who thinks everybody should bend over backwards for her every single time. She has never liked me. Not Dutch. Not good enough for her son. And it didn't help that i couldn't have children. Well, couldn't any more.
I picked up my glass of sherry and let the dark sweet liquid warm my insides attempting to replace the emptiness. My baby. The graveyard. I no longer cried, all the tears had been shed decades ago. My mother-in-law never said it was my fault, the accident, losing my girl but I knew what she thought of me; weak, not a fighter, not Dutch enough. Actions speak louder than words, they say. 

I poured myself another generous sherry and started on the mince pies.

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