Emma ran a hand over her face, as if she wanted to erase all the accumulated fatigue of the day at once, but a heavy knot tightened in her chest, making it hard to breathe. She knew that this conversation wasn’t just about a restaurant reservation or money: it was something deeper, older, something that had remained untouched between them for a long time. Mark was still leaning against the doorframe, visibly annoyed by her silence.
“Emma, please don’t make this a drama,” he said, raising his hands slightly. “I’m not asking for anything impossible. Just one night. One that’s special to my mother.”
“And not mine?” Emma asked, staring at the table as if she could find some explanation there. “It’s her party too. She’s worked all year too. She’s exhausted too. Why should it be worth less?”
“It’s not worth less, but… Anna wouldn’t feel comfortable in an expensive place. I know her. She’d just stand there, stiff and quiet, trying not to bother anyone. Your mother is different.”
“Different, yes, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t feel. Or that she doesn’t want to be with us,” Emma murmured.
Mark looked away and let her gaze wander around the kitchen until it stopped on some unopened bags, abandoned next to the wall.
“Let’s be realistic,” he said dryly. “Remember last year? We had to practically beg him to come. He sat in the corner of the sofa, offered to do the dishes three times, and didn’t even touch the wine. He doesn’t know how to relax in front of other people. You have to accept it.”
“Why do I have to accept it?” Emma asked, looking up at him. “Why don’t you accept that maybe she wants to feel included?”
Mark sighed deeply, a sigh filled with weariness rather than irritation.
— Let’s not start again…
“No,” she interrupted, “this time I do want to start. Every time we talk about our families, only your mother’s wishes matter. She doesn’t want to cook—let’s go to a restaurant. She doesn’t like big gatherings—let’s just the three of us. But what do I want ? What does my mother feel?”
For the first time that night, Mark’s gesture revealed something different: a crack of uncertainty.
— Emma… we can’t please everyone. I’m just trying to keep things peaceful. Really, it’s just dinner…
“It’s not just dinner!” Her voice trembled as she said it. “It’s a decision you’re forcing me to choose. Between your family and mine. Between what I feel and what you expect of me.”
The silence that followed was dense, almost palpable. Emma heard the water in the kettle begin to bubble, a high-pitched sound that heightened the tension in the room. She turned it off immediately; she needed that noise to stop.
“When did you reserve the table?” she asked without looking up. “And why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you ask me?”
“Because… I wanted it to be a surprise for my mother. And, in a way, for you too,” Mark replied with an awkward smile that faded before it could fully form.
Emma slowly shook her head.
— It would have been a surprise to me if you had considered my feelings. If you had included me in the decision. I’m not a child who is informed at the last minute.
Mark took a step back and placed his hand on the door frame, as if he needed to hold on.
— Emma, why are you reacting as if I did it to hurt you?
— Because it hurts, Mark. Because it makes me feel invisible. Like what I feel has no place in this house.
Her eyes glistened with moisture, but she forced herself to hold back the tears. Mark saw it and his voice changed.
— Emma… I didn’t mean to hurt you. I really didn’t. Maybe you’re right. Maybe I didn’t think about how these things would affect you.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm her racing heart. For the first time, she felt that her words were truly piercing him.
“So… can we invite my mother too?” she asked in a low but firm voice. “Just once. The four of us together. No one excluded.”
Mark remained silent for too long. Emma felt that silence tear her apart a little more.
“I don’t know how my mother will react,” she finally admitted. “I know her. She doesn’t like changes. Especially not at the last minute.”
“And mine has to spend the night alone because yours doesn’t want any surprises?” Emma retorted, a soft but sharp pain in her voice. “Don’t you see how unfair that is?”
The words defended her like a wall. Mark closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed his forehead.
— Okay… I’ll talk to her. I’m not promising anything. But… we can try.
Emma felt something inside her give way, not from defeat, but from relief.
— Thank you — she said, barely raising her voice.
“You can write to your mother if you want,” Mark murmured. “Tell her it’s possible. Or that we’re trying. Whatever you think is best.”
Emma took out her phone. Her hand was trembling. She typed: “Mom, maybe we can be together on New Year’s Eve. I’ll let you know as soon as we talk to Maria.” She hesitated for a second before pressing “Send.”
— Mark — she looked at him again — What do you really want? Honestly.
He took a few steps forward and stood beside her.
— I want… a peaceful holiday. I want my mother to be happy. I want you to be happy too. And sometimes… I don’t know how to achieve both at the same time.
Emma saw him differently, less defensively, more humanly. He was no longer her opponent, but a man who also didn’t always know how to do the right thing.
—Then let’s learn together— she said gently.
Mark nodded slowly, as if those words had found a void that had been waiting a long time to be filled.
When Emma finally pressed “Send,” she felt that, despite the storm outside, something small but necessary inside the house had finally found calm. As if, for the first time in months, there was space for both of them. For both of them. For their two families.
