All That and Then Some

ALICE - Islands In The Stream

I STEWED ON THE prospect of jetting off to Italy the entire way home from the Christmas Tree farm. The timing had me deeply torn. On the one hand, I understood that going to the Carvil corporate retreat was a critical show of partnership and would help us cement the relationship between our companies. On the other, I plain didn't want to go — especially if it meant leaving on Boxing Day. That long, shapeless week between Christmas and New Year is, in my mind, exclusively reserved for sleeping in, doing puzzles, drinking caesars with brunch, encouraging the kids to go sledding so I can have the tv, and, perhaps most importantly, eating my way through five metric tonnes of cheese. I had a bad feeling about abandoning my family smack in the middle of cheese-eating week!

The whole idea was setting off tiny warning sparks of the old Sunday dread in me, as though my 5-year vacation was about to be over. It signalled the end of being my own boss and I felt the loss keenly now that there was a timeline on my freedom.

Ugh.

I spent the long car ride thinking about PowerPoint templates for the presentation I'd have to give, hardly able to crack a smile at all when Tim tried to impress Vivian by leading a round of "Good King Wenceslas" in the backseat.

I MIGHT BE IMAGINING it, but I think Hippy Harry's being a little chilly with me and that just doesn't make sense at all when his whole schtick is loving acceptance. I thought everything was smoothed over between us when I arrived for my regular therapy appointment and the first thing I did was compliment his new curtains. He nodded and mentioned that they were flame retardant, and we both laughed awkwardly.

Good, I thought. Water under the bridge. Letting bygones be bygones.

But once I was in the standard lying down position with the usual rocks balanced on my chakras, I noticed that he was being unusually challenging. Every problem I trotted out for discussion, he seemed to bat back at me like an aggressive tennis player.

Why do you think Vic might be annoyed with you?

Were you surprised by Vivian's reaction to finding out that you had, in some way, sabotaged her relationship again?

Does your daughter keep secrets from you because you have a track record of not honouring her lived experience?

Why is your instinct to refuse to call your son by his chosen name?

Why do you think you equate the request to give a presentation at a corporate retreat with "the end of independence?" Some of us would love to fly to Sicily on a private jet.

"Okay, that's it...." I say, sitting up abruptly, causing crystals to clatter to the floor. "What's going on with you, Harry? I feel like I'm being bullied."

He leans back and steeples in fingers in that maddening way he has.

"Alice, I'm not bullying you. I'm simply holding up a mirror and asking you to look into it."

I feel my chin crinkle like a child who's just been told she can't have dessert unless she eats her brussels sprouts.

"But I don't want to. I'm not the problem here."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, I'm not sure!" I cry. "I'm not sure at all. But I pay you to tell me I'm okay!"

Harry lifts an elegant finger. "You are okay, Alice. You're a little self-centred, but ultimately, you're perfectly okay. Your biggest worry is that you're too happy with the life you've made for yourself and you think the rug might get pulled out from under it. Only what you can't seem to see in the huge, gilded mirror is that you're the one who's pulling. Stop pulling. Just stand on your rug. Be one with your rug." He pauses to see what impact his speech is making on me.

"I don't want to leave my family on Boxing Day," I pout.

"Then don't."

"But then we won't get the money from Carvil Foods."

"Then do."

Argh. He's annoying when he gets like this.

"You know, Harry, I like it better when we do the affirmations. Let's do the ocean of calm one."

Harry discreetly peeks at his watch. "Actually, our time's up, Alice."

"But," I try to milk one last little bit of therapeutic hippie wisdom before I'm ushered out, "I want to talk more about this rug. Help me to visualize it. Is it, like, a dusty Turkish sort of thing? I know for a fact it's not a white shag. Maybe it's Berber?"

Harry gently lifts my elbow, helping me up from the floor.

"I don't know, Alice. But it's big enough for your whole family to stand on. Big as an island. There's room for them all, but you have to invite them ashore."

We pause, looking at each other.

"I should have stuck with the single metaphor, right?" he asks, tucking my fifty-dollar bill into his sleeve.

"Probably," I say.

It occurs to me that I won't see Harry again until the new year. After the retreat. After everything changes. By then, nothing — not my rug and not my island — will be the same as it is at this moment. But I see now that it's up to me to decide how they will change.

Impulsively, I throw my arms around him.

"So long, Harry."

"And thanks for all the fish," he says, cryptic as ever.