I made the mistake of accepting Matt the Grace’s invitation to Christmas dinner. It was because of that niece of his, who’d reported to the grapevine about my family traveling over the holiday. And the whole handbell choir already knew Margo wasn’t including me in her family celebrations.
They knew, because she’d invited all of them to her parents’ big party.
So I showed up at Matt the Grace’s house on Christmas, utterly out of place among the crowd. Tempted to find a quiet corner, as if I was visiting my own family. The problem with that plan was the lack of quiet corners. His house was all glittering lights and garlands on the doorways and festive touches and strangers whose names I’d missed while trying to find where to place my bowl of fruit salad.
In the midst of it all, Matt the Grace and his wife look perfectly at ease. She rounded up a few people so I could explain why we all called her husband Matt the Grace.
“That’s not his legal name?” I deadpanned.
Paul jumped in. “Until I started ringing with them, I was sure he was exaggerating about the name. But every one of them calls him Matt the Grace, like they’ve never heard any different.”
“Well, most of them haven’t.” I sipped my eggnog. “But first of all, we do have two people named Grace in the handbell choir. The three of them were the only ones who showed up for my first ringers’ rehearsal. Before long, Matt said I should just call all of them Grace to stop me stumbling over who I was trying to talk to.”
“You didn’t call us anything,” Matt the Grace jumped in, because the man didn’t miss a chance to be contradictory. “I had to do something or my permanent church name would have been D5 E5.”
I laughed with the crowd, who seemed to understand at least the basics of music notation. “Nah, once we had a few other ringers, I’d have started calling you B4 C5.”
Matt the Grace flexed to show off his low bell ringer’s arm muscles, and took the center of attention away from me. Thank goodness.
His son Paul guided me to the appetizers and I shook off my mood. “Thanks.”
“You looked a little in need of rescue.”
“That obvious?”
He winced a little. “There’s a Three Graces text thread that Dad insisted on reading aloud after Margo’s party. I made all of them promise: no trying to set you up until spring at least.”
I palmed my face. “Fantastic.”
He shifted a bit. “Sorry. It’s so weird, because outside of choir, Dad isn’t the type to meddle, but when he and the other Graces get together …”
“Yeah, I know. You’re fine. They’re fine.” I stopped short of claiming I was fine, since we both knew it would be a lie.
Margo wasn’t in a place to want the things I did. She had places to go with her life, and mine was right here, rooted in Rockport. I didn’t need to explain all that to Paul. He obviously knew enough to make him sympathetic. Or maybe my eyes radiated the kind of sadness people thought it politer to not mention.
Paul hustled off to check on his side dishes, and I found a spot tucked beside the Christmas tree to linger, studying what was clearly decades of homemade ornaments. I’d always presumed that someday, I’d have a similar collection to replace generic baubles on the short artificial tree I’d anchored in the living room in case Parsley’s tail knocked it over.
Right now the only personalized ornaments hanging on it were a framed picture of Parsley’s first Christmas, and the bell I’d gotten Margo and never had a chance to gift her. It was all another opportunity to question the assumptions I’d build up about my life.
I managed to slip away before dinner was served. Matt the Grace walked me out, promising to return my fruit salad bowl in the new year.
“I’m sorry if my family was more than you bargained for,” he said as we approached my truck. “I love them, but they can be a little overwhelming.”
I mustered a smile. “They’re great.”
And that was the truth. I was used to being the outsider, the one who didn’t quite fit in. It didn’t bother me as much as it used to. I had my friends, and my dog, and that was enough. I didn’t need an invite to my sister’s team road trip, or a particular woman with streaks of bright color in her dark hair, to celebrate a holiday with me. I was full up on eggnog and cheese balls and gingerbread, and Matt the Grace insisted I take a foil-covered plate home with me.
“There’s always room for one more at our table,” he said. “It doesn’t have to be a holiday.”
I should have been touched, but all I could think was that if this established family could always be so flexible and welcoming, maybe making perfect fits was the wrong goal. If I wanted Margo—and I did want Margo—I had to tumble down that tower she said I’d built, and walk back to her on my own two feet.
I didn’t have to be a Grace, and I didn’t have to settle for someone who wasn’t Margo. We could find our own way together, even if that meant leaving this town I’d hoped would become my own. But what felt important for my future wasn’t my job, and wasn’t Rockport, and wasn’t staying a carefully proscribed distance from my parents.
I’d mixed all that up with my longing for heart-string things like my dog, my music, and my future collection of handmade ornaments. And most importantly, for the partner who would share it all. Who would help me truly find out what it felt like to belong.
So Merry Christmas to me, and to the faith that lifted me up while I worked out a new way to go after my dreams.