Emotional Turmoil
My husband holds my hand tightly, even though his face remains impassive. I want to go home and forget all of this. He then approaches my hair and kisses me, signifying that everything is okay.
The rest of the night goes smoothly; we sing Christmas carols, with my father on the tambourine and my husband on the drum. The clock chimes at midnight, and we turn on the television to watch the Midnight Mass celebration in honor of Jesus' birth.
"Merry Christmas," my husband whispers in my ear as he hands me a present.
"Merry Christmas," I replied, leading him to the mistletoe where I could kiss him passionately.
"Excuse me, but aren't you going to get Juan's Tió?" my father asks, holding a camcorder.
"I'll do it," Carlos says, stepping away.
I feel a void in my chest as if all of this will one day become a cherished memory... I can't understand why I'm so emotional about everything, especially this year. Before long, my husband returns with the Tió, placing it in the center of the room under a big red blanket. I put our son next to the log and gave him the magic wand to make it "poop" the presents. Then everyone in the room prepares to sing:
♫Almonds and nougats,
don't poop sardines
for they're too salty.
Poop turrones
for they're better.
Poop, Tió,
almonds, and nougats.
If you don't want to poop,
I'll hit you with a stick.
Poop, Tió! ♫
Juan hits the Tió frantically, laughing with each strike. My father records everything while my husband is going to see our son. He takes Juan in his arms, hugging him tightly against his chest. I observed every detail of this moment, father and son, and for some reason, it brings back a sad memory: that Carlos might not be Juan's father.
The night continues with everyone at the table, eating and chatting happily, sharing stories of past Christmases. Then I heard my phone ringing in the other room. It must be someone apologizing for not coming to the party, so I excused myself from the table and went to the other room. I pick up my phone, and on the screen appears a local number, so I answered:
"Merry Christmas... Doce."
"X?" I asked, shocked.
"Is there anyone else who calls you 'Doce'?" X replies from the other end of the line.
"What do you think you're doing?" I asked nervously, glancing at the door to make sure no one is eavesdropping on our conversation. "What do you want?"
"I just called to wish you a Merry Christmas," X replies, sounding cynical. I notice his breathing is heavy, and he's whispering. He's probably calling me from some hidden room so that no one, especially his wife, knows. The thought annoys me.
"I've already been wished a Merry Christmas. Good night," I said, about to hang up.
"Wait," X pleads. "It's not just that. I need to talk to you."
"About what? What do you think there is to talk about between us?"
"About us."
"Look, you know what, I'm going to hang up the phone."
"If you wanted to hang up, you would have done it without telling me. Dália, you know we need to talk."
"But on Christmas? When it's time for family? Is that when you want to talk to me?"
"I tried to talk to you before, but you disappeared. What do you want me to do? Well, I need to talk to you... I miss you. My marriage is a mess, and all I can think about is you... being with you. Dália, when I saw you again, I felt everything we had before. I know you felt it too. And you're right; we shouldn't talk over the phone. Let's arrange to meet in person."
"Where are you? With your family?"
"Yes, we're spending Christmas together. Why?"
"You've always been good at giving advice, so I'll return the favor and do the same for you. Go back to the table and be with your family. Tell those words to your wife, and I'm sure your marriage will get better, at least for today. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go back to my family, where I belong."
"I will if you tell me you don't feel anything for me. Tell me, Dália, and I'll stay away from you forever."
I feel my body on fire; my reason tells me to say those words, but my heart screams not to. What do I do now?
"Goodbye, X," I hung up the phone.
I return to the table, sitting next to my husband, who laughs at a joke just told. He kisses me and continues paying attention, while I keep thinking about X's words. I need to find a way to put an end to this; I can't react like this every time he talks to me or flirts. I know that just hanging up the phone didn't solve anything, but I wasn't ready to say goodbye to him. What's wrong with me?
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