At first, I told myself it was what families did. I told myself a full house was a blessing. I told myself that one day I would miss the noise.
But the more people came, the less anyone helped.
They unloaded their bags and went straight to the table.
“What’s for dinner, Deborah?”
“Do you have extra towels?”
“Is there more coffee?”
“Could you pick up decaf tomorrow?”
“Do you mind if the kids sleep in the den?”
“Do you still have the big roasting pan?”
The questions always sounded small by themselves.
Together, they became a job.
My grocery bills doubled, then tripled. The electric bill climbed from extra heat, extra laundry, extra showers, and lights left on in rooms no one was using.
The water heater struggled to keep up, and I was the one taking lukewarm showers late at night after everyone else had gone to bed.
No one asked if I needed help with the cost.
What they gave me were compliments.
“You always make Christmas so special, Deborah.”
“We love coming here.”
“Nobody does the holidays like you.”
Words were easy.
Not one of them reached for a sponge when the sink was full.
Not one of them said, “Let me handle the turkey next year.”
Last Christmas was the year I finally understood how far things had gone.
