The invitation had been on her kitchen counter for almost two weeks. It was a perfectly nice invitation to a perfectly nice event being hosted by people she genuinely liked…which was precisely the problem. If she didn’t like them, this would have been easy.
She picked it up again.
Cocktails at six. Dinner at seven.
She knew who would probably be there. She knew what she’d wear. She could already picture the evening: arriving, finding familiar faces, ordering a drink, asking people about their children and work and travel, having several lovely conversation, staying through dinner and driving home sometime after ten.
She would have a good time…probably.
She put the invitation down. She didn’t want to go. There. She had thought it.
Immediately, another part of her began building the case for why she should.
They had attended things she’d hosted. She hadn’t seen some of them in months. It would be good to get out. She shouldn’t become someone who always stayed home. And really, what else was she going to do that evening?
That last question seemed particularly persuasive.
Apparently, declining the invitation required evidence that something more important would be happening elsewhere. She looked at her calendar…Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Saturday evening was gloriously, suspiciously empty.
She could go. Which somehow made saying no feel harder.
For years, she’d thought of an empty space on a calendar as availability. If nothing was written there, she was free. Free for dinner. Free to help. Free to attend. Free to say yes. It had never occurred to her that perhaps an empty space could already belong to her.
She picked up her phone to RSVP. She started typing. Thank you so much for including me. Unfortunately…She stopped. Unfortunately what?
She wasn’t sick. She wasn’t traveling. There wasn’t a family commitment. She didn’t have an early morning the next day. She stared at the word unfortunately. Then deleted it.
This was ridiculous.
She was a grown woman trying to determine whether she was allowed to stay home on a Saturday night. She laughed.
Apparently, she was going to need a ruling.
She walked into the kitchen and poured herself another cup of coffee, leaving the unanswered invitation on her phone.
What would she actually do if she stayed home?
Maybe read. Maybe make something simple for dinner. Maybe watch a movie she’d been saving. Maybe sit outside if the weather was nice. Maybe absolutely nothing worth reporting. That thought made her smile.
There had been seasons of her life when an invitation felt like a gift. Young children at home. Work consuming nearly every hour. Years when an evening with adults, a good meal and clothes that hadn’t been selected for practicality felt wonderful. She remembered those years fondly. But she wasn’t living in those years anymore.
That realization didn’t make her sad. It simply made the question different. Did she want to go now?
No. She picked up her phone again.
Thank you so much for including me. I’m going to miss this one, but I hope you have a wonderful evening.
She read it. Too abrupt? Maybe she should add something.
I’ve had a really busy week…Delete. I already have plans…Technically she did, if sitting on her own sofa could be considered a plan…Delete. She ready the message again.
Thank you. I’m not coming. I hope you have a wonderful time. Kind. True. Complete.
She pressed send. For several seconds, she felt strangely uncomfortable.
Then her phone buzzed. We’ll miss you! Let’s get together soon.
That was it. No investigation. No demand for supporting documentation. No committee convened to determine whether her reason was sufficient. She put the phone down.
Saturday evening arrived. At six o’clock, the exact time cocktails were beginning, she was standing in her kitchen wearing soft pants and no shoes, trying to decide whether popcorn could reasonable be considered dinner. She decided it could.
She took the bowl into the living room, turned on a movie and settled into the corner of the sofa. Halfway through, she paused it to make tea. Walking back through the kitchen, she noticed the invitation still sitting on the counter.
For just a moment she imagined the other event happening without her. People arriving. Glasses clinking. Conversations beginning. Someone probably asking where she was. And everything continuing perfectly well. She looked around her quiet house. This was continuing perfectly well too. She smiled.
It wasn’t that staying home was better than going out. Next time, she might want to go. That seemed important. She wasn’t becoming a woman who said no. She was becoming a woman who checked before she said yes. There was a difference.
For years, she had thought choosing meant deciding between competing options. Perhaps sometimes choosing happened a little earlier than that. In the small space between being asked and answering.
A pause long enough to ask herself?
Do I want to? Not Should I? Not Can I? Not Will they understand?
Just:
Sometimes the answer would be yes. Sometimes it would be no. And sometimes she would choose something she didn’t particularly want because love, friendship, responsibility and commitment mattered too.
Choosing didn’t mean she always came first. It simple meant she was fully present when the decision was made.
She carried her tea back to the sofa and pressed play.
A few minutes later, she reached for the popcorn.
And smiled.