“What do you mean interesting?”
“Jameson proposed to me last night?” I say, with hope of having one of those moments.
“What? Are you fricking kidding me?” She says, angrily.
“No, I’m not kidding.” Why is she mad, I wonder to myself?
“What did you say?”
“I said no.”
“Oh thank God! He’s crazy!”
So much for that moment. I turned around and went back to my bedroom. The orange juice I wanted was no longer a concern. Closing my door I sit on the end of my bed, my elbows on my knees, my hands cupping my face and I just shake my head in dismay. What just happened there in that conversation? She was angry? She thinks he’s crazy for wanting to marry me? I thought she’d be happy. All she talks about is wanting me to move out. This would be her opportunity. Fuck my life.
“If he doesn’t buy you gifts, he doesn’t love you.”
December 24, 2001
BACK IN THE DAY, if you went to my grandparents’ house on my mother’s side, you would see my grandfather sitting at a small wooden desk in his den, glasses on doing a crossword puzzle. In the same house at the same time you would find my grandmother doing the laundry, cooking, and cleaning the house all at once. You could hear my mother and two of her sisters arguing, complaining or crying about something in the background. Now, while they don’t claim to be old school Italian I think they scream it!
At my grandparents’ house on my dad’s side everyone is Polish, proud, and pulling their weight. Everyone is working just as hard as the next person. No one is arguing, no one is crying and no one is complaining.
I will not deny that I have some similar qualities to my mom’s side. I will argue with you to prove my point but I will not start crying over it. I have too many memories of seeing and hearing my mother cry over everything and I refuse to be like that. I feel like it makes her look like such a weak person. She can never do anything on her own, she never tries. I don’t want to be co-dependent like that.
Would I like a hug every now and then? Sure a little emotion never killed anybody, but I won’t get that from my dad’s side of the family. They just aren’t like that. I won’t get it from anyone in my own house either for that matter. Certainly not from my mom. My dad will wrap an arm around me for a kind of half hug squeeze thing but that’s about it. You definitely won’t hear ‘I love you’ in my house, either. That thought is actually laughable.
Christmas Eve at the Nowal’s – my dad’s side – is full of smiles, laughter, food, drinks, people of all ages and good ol’ holiday cheer. If there weren’t any gifts everyone would leave just as happy as when they arrived. That wasn’t the case, there were always gifts for everyone, but they didn’t matter. The company and conversation is what we enjoyed. Grandma and Grandpa Nowal were so happy to have everyone in the house at the same time. The kitchen in their home was a good size but they only had one small, round table that only sat four people. On Christmas Eve there are at least twenty-five people. We might not have been able to eat dinner together at the same table or in the same room even, but it didn’t matter. We were all under the same roof and just as happy.
Christmas Eve is one of my top three favorite celebrations (first is my birthday and second is Halloween). I’ve always liked Christmas Eve more than Christmas Day. Always. Ever since I can remember, Christmas Eve was always spent with my dad’s side of the family, and Christmas Day with my mom’s side.
Jameson said he’ll stop over to my house on Christmas night on his drive home from his mom’s family. His parents have been divorced for many years so he’s used to running around on the holidays. This will actually be his first time at my house. Oh my god! He’s coming to my house. He’s going to meet my parents. Fuck!
December 25, 2001
I’m in my bedroom sitting on my bed holding my phone in my hand. Jameson just called and said he’d be at my house in thirty minutes. We got home a while ago from my grandparent’s house and now my parents’ friends are all here, hanging out in the living room. This too, is more enjoyable then being with my mother’s family. The afternoon at my grandparents was spent listening to my mother’s relatives try to come across as more entitled than the next person, eye rolls about presents they didn’t like, for which they were also completely ungrateful, and sitting on uncomfortable plastic covered furniture. For the most part, I like my parents’ friends and I’d rather be anywhere then back with my mom’s family, but I’m content in my room right now.