The Conversation
Write It. Edit It. Publish it.
This about 600 word piece is for the December WEP prompt “Over To You.” It’s a fond farewell to a great idea that has had a long and successful run.
She placed the star at the top of the tree, then climbing down the step ladder, she stood back, nodding approval. That was the last piece to make Christmas perfect. Almost. Good job. Well, an okay one. There were a few touches she’d left undone, but truthfully, she didn’t have the energy to do more.
Now that the decorating was done, she could pour that glass of wine and have the conversation she’d planned all day. She uncorked the special bottle of Pinot she and Mike had bought last year, congratulating herself on holding back on opening it until this moment.
Pulling out the chair from the end of the dining room table, she settled onto the familiar seat and took a first sip from her glass. It was good. Mike always chose the right vintage. She should have told him that. Now, as she savored the hint of blackberry with the chocolate finish, the familiar clutch of regret tightened in her chest. She sighed, then she looked up at the chair opposite her.
“So, I have something to tell you.” She leaned back. “First and most important. I’m sorry. I should have said all of this before now..” She sipped her wine. Fortitude. She needed more almost every day. “I wish it had turned out differently, and I accept half…no, more than half of the”—she searched for the word—“the responsibility for everything that went wrong. I should have been a better person. Actually, make that, a better wife.”
She closed her eyes, seeing what wasn’t there, what had happened in the past and was fixed by the firm cement of time. She stood quickly, bumping the table, and the wine glass nearly toppled. She saved it by seconds, then paced holding it like a lifeline.
“In Greece…We were in Olympia. Remember? You were standing by one of the columns under the cold gray sky. You wore your black leather coat and looked more like a modern Byron than the man I’d just married. I took your picture. Remember? It’s in one of the old albums.” She’d never forget that moment, and she’d always meant to tell him how special it had been. Seeing him there. Loving him.
She stopped pacing in front of the china cabinet filled with years of collected pieces glowing under the lights. She stroked her hair, somewhat surprised that the glass no longer reflected a smiling girl with sun-bleached blonde curls. Instead it mirrored an older woman with cropped hair the color of the pewter bowls inside the cabinet. She shook her head and turned back to face the dining room.
“Well, I knew then that I’d never love anyone but you.” She reached out and touched the back of the chair at the end of the table, the chair facing hers. “I didn’t tell you. I should have.” She took another sip of wine and held the glass out as if she wanted to make a toast. “And there’s more. I never understood all that you did for us to keep our family safe and the house functioning. Well, you never said.” She waited a moment, thinking. “No. That’s not exactly true. You told me. I just didn’t listen.” She paced again, then took her seat. “For not telling you I loved you enough times, for not listening carefully to what you said”—she swallowed and took a moment before going on—“I’m apologizing.”
Again, she held out her glass. “Now it’s over to you.”
How much she would give to hear his answer, but there was only silence—there was only an empty chair.
She glanced through the door at the Christmas tree and wished second chances were possible. Knowing they weren’t, she filled her glass and let the memories roam freely inside her as she went up the stairs to bed.