It was messy. Our Thanksgiving that is.
Not because we actually made messes, not in the physical sense that is.
Family-less once again on Thanksgiving we headed to the ski town of Girdwood for our own little Thanksgiving. Checking into the grand Alyeska Hotel… I don't care, we're treating ourselves. This is our once a year gift to each other.
From the upgrade to the top floor, to the complementary bottle of wine on our bed we were in heaven.
But life isn't a fairy tale. I'd forgotten to upload the Black Friday items to the company website before I left work, frantically wondering how to fix my error, asking the friend watching our home could she please, please, please hurry to my house and turn on my computer so I can access my work? Leaving Adam sitting at the hotel bar, alone, while I rushed down to the lobby.
Why is the internet so fucking slow????? Sorry, I'm almost done, almost, no I swear, almost!
Completed I tried to shake it off. The rude interruption into this perfect weekend. Leaving a bad taste in our mouths.
It was as delightful as last year. The wonderful restaurant perched on the top of a mountain. Yet as perfect as it all was, it was also less than perfect. We bickered. Hurt one another. Snapped. Placed blame. Said we were sorry. Settled. Enjoyed. Re-erupted. It was supposed to be, wanted to be, but it also just, was. Two people who love each other, who are simply unable to connect.
In the gondola on the way down we were that couple in the corner, talking in what I can only hope were hushed tones, angry. Too many expectations, too many cocktails, too much like life.
We fought on Thanksgiving. At our perfect weekend, on our perfect night, at our perfect dinner. The night we'd looked forward to for months, turning into a war of words.
We continued in our room. Talking, explaining, and soon, understanding. Apologizing, knowing, learning.
It wasn't the perfect night, but it was life. Our life. A life where sometimes we hurt each other, sometimes we don't think, sometimes we say something we don't mean. But then we talk, and we figure it out, we learn and we say we're sorry. And we mean it.
In the morning we woke to a perfect day, in our perfect hotel room, in our perfect Alaskan resort just as we'd planned. In the silence I whispered, "I guess this means we finally had a real Thanksgiving."
"What do you mean?" he softly replied.
"We fought on Thanksgiving. Like a real live messy red blooded family. This means we're officially a family now you know, fighting on Thanksgiving," I explained.
We ordered breakfast and enjoyed our final moments in the room. Remember this. Only this. Right now is all that matters. We're here, we have this view, and we love each other.
It wasn't how we'd pictured it. But it was real life. It was great, and terrible. Lovely and spiteful. And in the end we knew that we were still the same two who'd arrived. We loved, we fought, and we hopefully learned.
Maybe next year the stars will align better and there wont be a single squabble. Or maybe there will be. Either way we'll still be our family of two at the end of it all, so really, it doesn't matter either way.