Christmas Wabi Sabi
It was hard to believe December was here again. Suddenly it was Christmas time. Only without Keiko.
“Christmas without Keiko isn’t Christmas,” Lucy observed, lying on the couch with Gabriel on her stomach.
Keiko was already in New York and she was furious with us. Spitting mad, as they used to say (and I could actually hear her spitting as she screamed at us over the phone — she was so scary, I almost cried). I could see why she was so mad. Because Lucy had only decided at the last minute to stay in Portland. Too late to tell Keiko. Keiko was still demanding that Lucy fly back. But Lucy wasn’t budging: she was out of a job and still recuperating from her throat infection — Christmas in New York, especially Christmas with Keiko, was pretty overwhelming even in the best of circumstances. All Lucy wanted to do was lie around on the couch and watch mindless television. And it was wonderful, being pampered and fed by my mom.
“This has been the worst year ever,” she’d lament. Gabriel, ever the echo, barking in agreement.
But Keiko was never very good at seeing the other guy’s point of view. To her, this was betrayal, complete, absolute betrayal. We’d ganged up together against her.
I did have a feeble excuse for Keiko, about why I couldn’t fly out for Christmas. I’d started a new job. I was now working part-time at the brewery with Connor and the gang. Answering phones, running errands, greeting customers — all that fun stuff. And it was working out pretty well, which surprised me. Because it’d just seemed like such a recipe for disaster when Connor first suggested it.
“You’re serious?” I’d said.
“Yeah.”
“What would I do?”
“Learn to brew beer.”
“I don’t think that would be a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because of you.”
“Me? What about me?”
“You know. You, me, us.”
“So what about us?” Connor asked. “What’s going to happen with us?”
“So there isn’t an us?” I asked.
“You told Melanie to make me chicken mole. That pretty much puts an end to us.”
“Melanie never got back to me about that,” I said.
“No. She wouldn’t. Because I asked her not to.”
“Why?”
“Because I’d like us, that is me and Melanie, to have some privacy to see what will or what will not develop.”
“Oh.” Well, that was gratitude for you. I guess people are right: no good deed goes unpunished. Although, I suppose I wouldn’t be too thrilled with me, either, if I were Connor.
Lucy was taking bets that they’d ended up sleeping together after the chicken mole. Stina agreed. Mole was pretty powerful stuff.
“You little matchmaker,” Lucy teased.
“I just hate seeing people go down the wrong path,” I admitted.
“They sort of have the same eyes,” Stina commented. “And the same forehead.”
“Same body types, too,” I added.
“Hey, she’s pizza and he’s beer,” Lucy said. “What more do you want?”
Lucy and Stina were becoming inseparable. Lucy was even helping out at the chew toy museum.
“Gabriel absolutely loves it there,” Lucy told me.
“Taking a baby to a candy store,” I said. And then, suddenly, out of nowhere, I think of Mr. Gregory. See his kind face laughing at the thought of Gabriel at a chew toy museum. “I wonder where Mr. Gregory is spending Christmas this year.”
We still hadn’t heard a single word from Mr. Gregory. I guess I was hoping, since it was Christmas, we’d maybe get an anonymous card and it’d be addressed to Gabriel so we’d know it was Mr. Gregory.
“That’s just the way men are,” Lucy stated. “Out of sight, out of mind. Look at the way they can just abandon their children, without a single look back. Scary.”
“I hope he’s okay,” I said. “I hope he’s some place warm and friendly like Rio. He really didn’t do well if the weather got too cold.”
Stina was strumming her guitar. Lucy put her magazine down and listened.
“What are you playing?” she finally asked.
“I’ve been working on a Christmas song,” Stina said.
“That’s so neat,” I said.
“I’ve always wanted to write a Christmas song,” Stina explained. “I just thought this year, maybe this year, I could really do it. And I think I have.”
“You’re so wonderful,” Lucy said, all starry-eyed. “You can do anything.”
“Well, you haven’t heard the song yet,” Stina said, blushing.
“Will you sing it for us?” I asked.
“Okay. I think it’s ready,” Stina said.
Stina began playing an intro. It had all the frosty window quality you’d want in a Christmas song. And then she began singing:
I wonder if you’re the same,
Wonder if you feel the same
Looking at the Christmas tree,
The lights flickering all along the Christmas tree
Wondering if you feel the same
Waiting, waiting
For the snow to fall,
Waiting, waiting
For the snow to fall
It feels like this Christmas we’re the same
Out on frosty nights, the air so gray.
Our hands in mittens, our wishes wrapped,
Almost touching, almost wishing
As we stop and walk on icy streets —
It’s Christmas
And I wonder if you’re the same,
Wonder if you feel the same
Looking at the Christmas tree,
The lights flickering all around the Christmas tree
Wondering if you feel the same
Waiting, waiting
For the snow to fall,
Waiting, waiting
For the snow to fall
And I wonder if you’re the same,
Wonder if you feel the same,
Wishing, wishing
For the snow to fall,
Wishing, wishing
For the snow to fall
The snow to fall…
Lucy and I both loved it.
“It’s so beautiful,” I said. “Where’d you get the inspiration?”
“I guess it was that day.” She turned to Lucy. “That day we were in downtown and all the Christmas lights were up and it was suddenly so cold as we were walking together — ”
My mom and Marc were falling in love, and now Lucy and Stina? Lucy hadn’t said anything. But maybe she was only now beginning to feel it, catching it at the edges. She did look a little surprised.
I thought about Fen.
The next day, something really odd happened. I was all alone in the house. It was maybe around six, six-thirty and Crowe comes knocking at the door.
Seeing him, I was so startled, I blurted out, “What are you doing here?”
“Is it alright if we talked for a few minutes?” he asked shyly.
“I guess so,” I said. I was disarmed by his shyness and wasn’t thinking.
“Can I come in?” he asked.
“Um — okay.”
I’d been working part-time at the brewery now for about two weeks and Crowe and I had come to a workable truce. He still occasionally stared at me, but mostly, he kept himself in the background whenever I was around, which I was very grateful for. Now I was thinking maybe it wasn’t a truce at all. Maybe he’d just been biding his time, waiting for me to let down my guard before attempting another psychic attack.
Crowe and I went into the living room and sat opposite each other again. I suppose I should have been nice and asked him if he wanted anything to drink, but I just wanted him to leave as soon as possible. I don’t suppose I should have even let him through the front door. But what can you say when someone’s at your door and asks to come in?
“So,” I said, prodding him. “Anything specific you want to talk to me about? Something to do with beer, I imagine.”
“No. Not really,” he said. “I just came by to give you something.”
He opened his small messenger bag and got a gift-wrapped box out.
“Don’t tell me we’re doing secret Santas,” I said. Because I really hate the whole secret Santas business.
He slowly shook his head. “I bought this for my girlfriend. Last year. We broke up before I had a chance to give it to her. It seemed stupid to throw it away so I thought you could have it.”
“Oh, no. No. Thank you.”
He seemed shocked that I’d refuse.
“Why don’t you donate it to one of those charity places,” I suggested. “It’s tax deductible.”
“Why are you being such a bitch?”
I sat back, stunned by his attack. And then it came to me, what was really going on: “You’re trying to turn me into your girlfriend. That’s what’s going on, isn’t it? Oh, my god. You think I’m channeling your girlfriend or something. You’re going for some sort of do-over. Do you realize how absolutely creepy you’re being?”
Apparently he hadn’t. Crowe’s face turned very white. It was like he’d turned into a black-and-white photo. I felt sorry for him because all this was so unintentional. Something in me had so reminded him of his girlfriend that he had lost all his sense of place and time and propriety. Maybe he’d even lost himself. You do that in love.
Luckily, Crowe’s drama was one of those quiet art-house films with little action. Crowe retreated with his head down. Without a word he took his gift-wrapped box and walked out of the house.
I sat back down, my legs shaking a little. It’d been so odd and disturbing; I laughed just to take the edge off.
When the phone rang, I let it ring a long time before picking it up. It was Fen. Immediately he knew something was wrong.
“You okay?” he asked.
“Yes. No.” I told him about Crowe and what had just happened, also about that time at the cafe.
“You lock all the doors, right?” Fen asked.
“Yes.”
“Good. I’m flying out.”
I thought he was joking. “That’d be so great.”
“No. Really. I’m flying out. I should never have let you go. You should have told me what was going on.”
“It’s okay. Really. Connor says Crowe is a good guy.”
“I don’t care what Connor says. I’ll get a ticket and fly out as soon as I can. Keep all the doors locked, okay?”
“Okay.”
“And stop working at the brewery. Okay?”
“Okay.”
And that was that. Fen was flying to my rescue. I felt so touched. But I hoped Fen wasn’t really flying out because who could afford a last-minute plane ticket so close to Christmas?
Excerpt from Buy Her A Diamond Before It’s Too Late. Buy at Amazon, B&N, iBookStore, Kobo, etc.
