Eight Years Ignored, Christmas Denied, 50K to FaceTime My Grandson Novel – When my son got married, my daughter-in-law made one rule, Christmas visits needed reservation. Whoever booked first, her parents or us, that’s where the newlyweds would spend Christmas. For reasons nobody ever explained, eight years went by, and my husband, Ben Burton, and I never “got the slot” even once.
This Christmas Eve, the family group chat filled up with photos, everyone gathered around a table, smiling, plates piled high. Ben and I sat there holding our phones, feeling stupidly sad. When we stayed quiet for too long, the others figured out why. My nephew tagged my son: [Riley, if you count it up, you haven’t come home in eight years, right?] [You’ve got a kid now, and your parents haven’t even met their grandson yet!] [Make time and come back sometime.
We miss you too.] Riley didn’t reply. Instead, his wife Rachel sent a voice message. Her tone sounded half-joking through the speaker, but for some reason, that usually gentle voice felt sharp today. “Mom, we’re still spending Christmas at my parents’ place this year.” “Sorry, but we had no choice, my parents booked us back at the start of the year. We really can’t turn them down.” “Try booking earlier next year, okay?” … The chat went dead silent, like someone hit mute.
My face burned, like I’d been slapped through the screen. I closed my eyes and got up to wash the dishes. Behind me, Ben’s voice sounded worn down. “What if I get up early tomorrow and call…” “…to book?” I paused, didn’t answer, which was basically an answer. I knew what Ben wanted—see the grandson and clear our son’s name. Riley hadn’t come home in years, and the relatives had plenty to say.
Some deemed him as an ungrateful wretch, a live-in son-in-law; some said Riley must’ve had “reasons,” and that Ben and I must have done something wrong to offend Rachel. But we’d met Rachel three times total. And we’d given them half a million dollars as gift money when they’d gotten married. That night I went to bed with my thoughts in knots. I didn’t sleep properly until the back half of the night, and Ben tossed and turned beside me. But at dawn, he still got up and made the call. I checked the time.
Five a.m. His hearing wasn’t great, so he had the phone on speaker. Riley’s voice came through, thick with sleep and irritation. “Book what? Do you know what time it is?” “You’re old and up all night, so nobody else gets to sleep either?” With a beep, he directly hung up. When I got up, Ben was still staring blankly at his phone. He forced a smile that looked worse than crying. “It’s fine. I’ll call again later.” We threw together some pasta, ate without tasting a thing.
By eight-thirty, I figured they had to be awake, and I called again. This time, ut was Rachel answering. “Taylor, Riley’s cooking for my parents,” she said, the reproach already baked into her voice. “It’s early. What do you need?” I pretended not to hear it. I chose my words carefully. “Rachel, I’m calling to book you two for Christmas next year.” “Oh, sorry taylor. When Riley and I got up earlier, my parents already booked it.
Too bad. You were just a little late. They said it at eight.” “What?” I blurted. “But Ben called at five!” Rachel let out a cold little laugh. “We weren’t even awake at five. That rule is to see which side cares more about our little family.” “And now we know,” she said, voice turning hard. “You’ve done a terrible job!” “We’ve worked all year. We finally get to sleep in, and you two only care about ‘booking.'” “It’s Christmas. You called at the crack of dawn and harassed us. That proves you don’t care about us at all. So that call doesn’t count!”