We’ve talked about marriage before, but always in the abstract. The same way we talk about taking a trip to Italy we can’t really afford, and I don’t have enough PTO for anyway. It’s always someday.
And what do I know about being a wife—or fast-forwarding even further, a mother—with so many years without any family of my own? What if I fuck it up, and end up with nothing? My leg starts bouncing again as these thoughts dart through my mind.
“I don’t think it’s too soon. This is it for me, Han. I mean, we already live together; it wouldn’t really change anything.”
“So why rush, then?” I counter. “Weddings are expensive.”
“I’d talk to my mom. I wouldn’t let her force you into some froufy white wedding, if that’s what you’re worried about. I know that isn’t you. We could get married at city hall and go to a diner afterward for all I care. It doesn’t matter to me. I just want to be with you.”
I look over at him and smile. I know David just wants a plan. He has five-year plans and ten-year plans and spreadsheets to project his retirement savings. Me, I try not to think too much about the future. Longevity doesn’t exactly run in my family. It’s not that I don’t want to be with him, it’s just that things are good right now, so why mess with that?
“Don’t think I didn’t notice that you didn’t give me an answer,” he says playfully. “So . . . ,” he starts again, “if I proposed at Christmas, would you . . . say yes?” He asks the last part quietly, like he’s afraid to hear the answer.
“Not to get sidetracked from the main point here, but we haven’t even talked about Christmas yet. It’s Finn’s last Christmas in New York, and—”
“Wait,” he glances over, his eyebrows knitted together in confusion, “you’re not coming to Christmas at my parents’？”
“You know I always spend Christmas with my friends. I didn’t come last year.”
“But we live together this year,” he says as if this solves everything. His confusion has been replaced by a wounded expression. “And I know Christmas is your favorite holiday. I was hoping we could build a new tradition this year. Together. I just thought after today—”
I cut him off because I don’t want him to get the wrong idea. “Today was lovely! Your family is lovely! But Finn, Priya, and Theo, they’re my family. And our Christmas tradition is a celebration of that. Christmas is important to me because they’re important to me.”
“I know they’re important to you, but I want to be your family, too. My family could be your family,” he says, and though his voice is soft and full of hope, his comment chafes.
“My family isn’t in need of replacing, David. Just because it’s nontraditional doesn’t mean it’s not real—”
“That’s not what I—”
I feel myself getting heated. I need to get this out, to make him understand. “These people have been with me through thick and thin for the past ten years.” I stare at the line of taillights unfurling ahead of us and take a deep breath. “There’s part of me that will always miss my parents. It will never, ever be okay that they’re gone. And for a while I was afraid I’d never find happiness, or safety, or comfort again. I was alone. But they were the ones who rallied around me, and gave me understanding, and love, and vitality. You call June or one of your brothers when you have a hard day, or when you have good news to share. Well, I call them. They’re my family in all the ways that count.”
For a moment, he’s silent. He reaches over and takes my hand. “I should have chosen my words more carefully. I didn’t mean to imply what you have with them is any less valid. I can’t even begin to fathom what you’ve been through—you’re truly the strongest person I know—and I’m so deeply glad you’ve found people who give this to you. But Hannah”—he pulls at my hand, trying to get me to look over at him, which I do—“can’t you see that I want you to feel loved, and comforted, and alive because of me, too?”
“I do, David.” I squeeze his hand for emphasis, and he takes his eyes away from traffic for a second, gauging if I really mean it. “But it’s different. You have your parents and your brothers, and you don’t see me trying to replace them. Family and a romantic partner aren’t mutually exclusive. I mean, plenty of couples spend the holidays apart.”
“But I don’t want us to be one of those couples.”
We’re both silent for a few seconds, it feels like we’ve reached an impasse.
“It’s just . . .” He hesitates.
“What?” I ask, never one to leave well-enough alone.
“Nothing, never mind. I hate that this one little thing is making us fight like this.”
I know it isn’t his intention, but my brain latches on to the word “little” and it bounces around inside my head like one of those Super Balls from a quarter vending machine. “Little?! Are you listening to what I just told you? These are my people. That’s not little. That’s everything. And you’re one to talk. Your family is Jewish, David! It’s not like Christmas is so important to your family either.”
He scoffs.
This was the wrong thing to say. I’ve seen photos of him and his brothers as kids in matching red sweaters tearing into presents wrapped in Santa wrapping paper. While they may not be Christian, June fully bought into the commercialized version of Christmas. I know Christmas is important to him, but why should I be the one who has to compromise? Why can’t he be the one to realize that my tradition is equally as important to me?
We drive for fifteen minutes in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts.
Norwalk.
Darien.
Stamford.
I count ten exits before I try talking to him again.
“David,” I say.
“Just tell me, Hannah, what kind of future do you want?” He glances over and I can see the mix of hurt and anger in his expression. “And what place do I have in it? Sometimes I wonder if it’s always going to be like this—you’re the most important person in my life, but I can’t seem to fight my way to the top of your list.”
“I love you, David. You know that.”
“I do, and I love you, too. But what are we doing? Where is this going?”
As he lobs questions at me my head spins.
I stop myself from saying that I like how things are now, because clearly he doesn’t feel the same way. “I don’t know,” I say, finally. Not to hurt him, which I fear it will, but because the world already feels off its axis with Finn leaving. When I try to picture the future, it’s like looking into the murky blue of a Magic 8 Ball. Ask again later. I feel like the walls of our tiny rental sedan are closing in on me.
“Well, would you do me the favor of letting me know when you figure it out?”
“I . . . ,” I begin, ready to protest, but realize I can’t. It’s not an unreasonable request.
“Sure.”
We drive the rest of the way back to the city in silence.
Back in Tribeca, David drops me off at the apartment while he goes to return the rental car to the parking garage around the corner where we picked it up. I’m pretty sure we’re both relieved to have a few minutes to cool off.