“That’s not so strange. If he were from Zanzibar…”
“But this guy’s a Mounty.”
“Okay, that’s weird.”
When we near the trail’s end Dan asks if he could see me again. I peer past the tan and pearly teeth and find that he’s a nice, handsome man who is interested in me. Maybe he’s embarrassed by the orange and didn’t want to mention it. He probably just got too dark a treatment by mistake. Lots of people whiten their teeth.
My breath steaming out in long puffs, I say, “Yes.”
“You actually looked past someone’s flaws and saw the angel underneath?”
“He’s not a leper, Lindsey,” says Keeley, hurt that I made fun of Dan, albeit in a good-natured way. “He wasn’t that tan in his pictures.”
“I know he’s your favorite out of the bunch, Keel,” says Alicia, sipping her Chardonnay, “but it might not work out.”
“Or it might,” I add and glower across the table at my best friend. She’s been snappish all night, and I can’t figure out why. Whenever the conversation turns to her, she changes the subject or picks at Keeley, the easiest target. Alicia shrugs and Keeley lifts her eyebrows at me. She’s excited that I liked Dan, despite his citrus-hued skin. I even spoke with him on the phone a few days after our date to set up another rendezvous.
“What are you two love doves doing for the, dare I say it, second date?” asks Lindsey. She’s not drinking tonight, which adds to the evening’s thorny mood. She told me she needs to cut back on the booze, and while I support that decision, it sure has made her cranky. Alicia snorts at the comment, and I glare at her again. What’s the damn problem? I would ask, but she will never say anything with Lindsey and Keeley around. I’ll have to wait until later.
“For your information, we’re going to dinner and a movie. The best Oscar bait always comes out around Christmas.”
“You’re not exchanging gifts, are you?” asks Lindsey.
“God no! We haven’t even been on a second date.”
“Does he know you’re not getting him anything?” she adds, mischievously.
“He didn’t mention it,” I sniff and look at the ceiling.
“Right. Better make sure he’s not buying you some lavish gift only to come away empty-handed.”
“He won’t be empty-handed!” says Keeley. “He’ll be on a date with Cassie!”
“I love you too, Keel. What do you bitches want for Christmas?”
“World peace, you know, the usual,” says Lindsey.
“Something sparkly or shiny,” says Keeley.
Alicia doesn’t answer. Instead, she checks her phone for the ninetieth time.
“It’s five minutes since the last time you checked.” She throws her phone in her purse, not looking the least bit apologetic. “What’s going on? Are you late for something? Or are we just not entertaining enough?”
“I’m not feeling well,” she says and pushes her wine glass away. “I have to go girls. Sorry to cut it short tonight.”
“We haven’t even been here half an hour!” shouts Lindsey, and a few Brits patrons glance over. “At least finish the wine. That’s alcohol abuse!”
“I really have to go.”
“I’ll call you later,” I say, but she either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t care. She grabs her purse and is out the door in seconds. The falling snow whirls around her when she leaves, her boots crunching salt on the sidewalk.
“What crawled up her ass and died?” asks Lindsey. She takes the wine glass and hands it to Keeley. “Please finish this or I will.”
“What crawled up both your asses?” I ask, and she smiles. “Seriously, do either of you know what’s up with her?” They both shake their heads and look puzzled. “It must be Brian. Or the kids. She didn’t want to talk about Christmas.”
“Maybe money’s a bit tight right now,” says Keeley, sipping wine.
“Maybe she’s finally getting that divorce I’ve been suggesting,” adds Lindsey.
“Something’s wrong.”
“Holy shit is something wrong. Don’t look, Cassie.”
“What?” I ask and look around.
“Why the hell do people insist on looking when you tell them not to?” asks Lindsey. “Pete just walked in.”
“What?” Keeley and I shout in unison and turn toward the door. Pete enters, snow heavy on his shoulders like dandruff. “You got Brits in the divorce, didn’t you?” asks Keeley, shocked.
“No shit. He agreed to stay away. This is our place,” growls Lindsey, ready to pounce and tear his eyebrows off. I have no idea how to react. When we split up, Pete and I named places neither of us could go, because the other might be there. He chose some bars close to his apartment, and I picked Brits. It’s my favorite place besides home; my refuge with my girls after a rough week, my Cheers, my Central Perk. He hates Brits! I want to shout, scream at him to get out, but I think Keeley and Lindsey will beat me to it.
He spots us as he heads to the bar and pauses mid step. He looks at each of us: Keeley red and reeling, Lindsey feral and snarling, and me whiter than even I thought I could get. Shit, Lindsey’s going to ruin her manicure. He doesn’t seem surprised to see us and sidles past without a second glance. Mortified, I hang my head and sip my drink.
“Don’t you dare look embarrassed! He should not be here! This is not right!” Lindsey stands up, but I grasp her arm and hold tight.
“Don’t start something. He came here to see me sweat.”
“Of course, he did! Give me my purse!”
“You don’t have a gun, do you?” squeaks Keeley, shocked at Lindsey’s fury.
“No, I’m just going to beat him senseless with it!”
He saves her the problem by coming up beside the table and saying, “Hi girls.” Lindsey’s eyes bulge cartoonishly, and as I picture her striking Pete with a giant hammer, Keeley grabs her and runs. “We should go to the ladies, Lindsey.” My support system flees, and I’m left with my ex, the great and terrible. I hope they don’t take too long in the bathroom. Maybe they’re lurking nearby, ready to expedite him from the area should I signal.
“What are you doing here Pete?” He looks good, too good, fabulous. Shit, I thought I could try and hate him. It’s not working! Joel was right. I’d let him kiss me if he wanted. Must hate Pete, I say over and over in my head. My panic must have registered on my face, because he answers, “You didn’t call me back after Halloween.”
“Stalking me in my own territory now?”
“It’s the only place I knew you’d be. I’ve been coming here for weeks waiting to see if you’d show up. The bartender is starting to get suspicious.” His smile is like summer. No! Stop looking at him! That was always your problem!
“I thought we agreed you would never come here.” I’m trying to be like steel, but I feel like butter in a microwave. “This is my place.”
“Don’t be like that—”
“Like what? Pissed?” He did this so often. He made me feel bad for being angry with him. How many arguments did he defer by pulling the same tactics over and over? It won’t work tonight. “You shouldn’t be here. Lindsey’s ready to shank you.”
“I saw,” he laughs, as if that’s the most absurd thing in the world. Lindsey may be small, but she’s scrappy, and always goes for the crotch. “You wouldn’t let her kick my ass, would you?”
“I’m considering it.”
“Come on, Cass. It’s me.” The man I loved who left me for someone else. Keep saying that. The man I loved who left me…
“I don’t want to talk to you.”
“I’ll leave if you promise to see me.”
“I don’t want to see you.” All I had to do was wait for the girls to come back. They would rescue me. Please rescue me.
He smiles his most infectious grin and touches my hand on the table with gentle fingers. I remember those fingers and nearly faint. Why is it that only Pete can make me feel this way? Is he magical? It’s a dark, dangerous magic; impossible to res
ist.
Where are those bitches?
“Say you’ll call me.” I tried to call you so many times after we broke up, like when we were a couple and you never answered unless you wanted something from me. I called you once two years ago so drunk that I almost forgot I called you, except the evidence was on my phone, and Alicia cursed me for months. You never once tried calling me until Halloween, now that I’ve lost the weight you helped me gain and wore a costume that made me look like a comic book hooker. Never once.
Despite every alarm clanging in my brain I say yes. Lindsey will strangle me when she gets back from the bathroom.
“Where the hell were you?” I yell into the phone, ignoring the traffic light. A horn honks behind me, but I push the thought of angry drivers away and focus on Alicia. She answers right away, so I know she’s not busy. She probably didn’t have to leave the bar so soon either. “If my best friend had been there, I might have been able to resist him!”
“You’re an adult. You can think for yourself.” She sounds annoyed, but I care about that as much as that last stop sign. At least there aren’t many drivers out tonight. Too much snow.
“Obviously, I can’t. Lindsey and Keeley left me alone with him for two seconds, and I agreed to call him! What am I supposed to do now?”
“You don’t have to call him. Just pretend you don’t remember his number.”
“I tried that, you asshole. He wrote it on a stupid coaster. That brown ale does sound good though…”
“Don’t drift off. Throw the stupid thing away. ‘Oops! I lost it and now I never have to speak to him again.’ It’s a winning situation.”
“I can’t believe you. First you act all condescending and weird on the one night a month we get you alone, and now you’re acting like this isn’t serious. You know Pete. He won’t stop until I call him. He’ll stalk me from Duluth to fucking Tanzania!”
“Let’s not drag the good Tanzanians into this,” she says. “You let Pete follow you and coerce you. It’s not some mystical power. You just don’t know when to say no.”
“I don’t know how to say no, you mean.”
“That too. Just ignore him—”
“And he’ll go away? I’m not one of your kids.” When I say that she starts bawling, and I’m startled. Alicia doesn’t cry easily. Oh crap! I’ve hurt her feelings! What did I say?
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it! I—”
“I’m pregnant,” she sobs, and I imagine snot bubbles blowing in her nose. That used to happen when she drank too much and blubbered all over our apartment.
“Isn’t that good news?” She has three children, but Alicia always dreamed of a huge family, ever since we were little. She had a Barbie Dream House that she filled with her brother’s tiny Army men, saying they were Barbie’s and Ken’s kids. There had to be at least twenty green fatigued guys in that Dream House. Imagine the laundry.
“NO, IT’S NOT GOOD NEWS!” she shouts back and cries some more. She’ll drown if she doesn’t get a grip.
“But you said last year you might want one more,” I say, trying a gentle delivery. I never know how to handle hysterical Alicia. She’s the caretaker. The role-reversal is not a good thing. “Have you told Brian?”
“No! I can’t get the words out! You’re the first person I’ve told!”
“Where are you?” She’s not home, because her husband and kids would wonder what was wrong. I hear no concerned voices in the background.
“My mother’s house.”
“You drove all the way to Shakopee?”
“Don’t lecture me! You’re driving around too!”
“You could have stayed at my place. I have a spare bedroom.”
She sniffles and doesn’t answer for a moment. Faded music plays in the background, maybe a late-night game show. Her mom is nuts for Wheel of Fortune.
“I didn’t think of that,” she finally says. “I need more Kleenex.”
“I can’t help you there. I’m pretty far away.”
“I was talking to my mother, but I think she fell asleep. She didn’t even budge when I started yelling at you.”
“Tell me exactly what’s up. You need to talk to someone who’s not comatose.”
“It’s been a hard year. Brian’s not getting as many jobs, and I thought about going back to work at the realtors, but if I’m pregnant I can’t work. Money’s so tight I can barely afford a month’s groceries. I shouldn’t have gone out tonight. And the other kids are too young to help with a baby! I suppose Mickey could babysit a bit, but don’t older siblings resent that?”
“I did. One summer I had to drive Joel to driver’s ed, even though the year before I had to ride my bike or walk, and you know how I am on a bike. One day it poured, but Mom wouldn’t let me skip. Then stupid Joel gets a freaking chauffer.”
“Thanks for that colorful anecdote. It made me feel so much better.”
“You’re welcome, sarcastic pants.”
“And Oliver’s barely three. What am I going to do?”
“Wait a minute! You were drinking wine!”
“Is that all you’re worried about? It wasn’t wine it was white grape juice. I told the server to switch it for me, so you guys wouldn’t suspect.” Clever girl, I think in my finest British accent. Very clever. We definitely would have known something was up. “I have bigger problems than faux wine.”
“You need to tell Brian, that’s the first thing.”
“What if he’s mad? He loves the kids, but they tire him out.”
“He hasn’t been working as much, maybe he needs this time with the kids. You’ve shouldered the parental burden for nine years! Don’t you think it’s time he put in some hours?”
“You make it sound like community service.”
“And I can watch them sometime, or Keeley. Not Lindsey. She’s a terrible influence.”
“Jesus, they’d be drunk or found outside Tijuana selling tortillas or something.”
“There’s the jokester I know! Brian is a great dad. He needs to help you out. It’s time he took Mickey fishing with him in the spring and taught Sonja how to throw a softball. My mom and dad traded weekends with Joel and I, to teach us something useful or fun. Mom useful, Dad fun. Sure, they ended up divorced and I’m a helpless cause and Joel’s dating a supermodel moron, but it was fun back then.”
“You’re right. I don’t know why I didn’t say anything. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. You’re obviously stressed out to the max.”
“You have no idea. I didn’t even ask you about Dan or how skiing went. I’m so sorry.”
I chuckle, thinking of Dan picking me up out of a snowbank. It happened when we first started on the trail. Did I tell you how gracefully I tripped on my left ski and toppled into a drift?
“That’s okay. It was fun. He’s really nice and very considerate.”
“Not at all like fake Sam?” We both snicker and I think her tears are drying up.
“Who picked that guy?”
“Quiet! He seemed great online. A bit shy but not pushy or rude at all. A few cats but nothing too shocking. People are so secretive.” Sweet, trusting Alicia. We should all know that too many cats mean trouble.
“You only learned that from fake online dating?”
“Shut your face.”
“Never.”
“Don’t worry about Pete either. If you don’t call him or give him the time of day, he’ll eventually give up. You need to be strong. Don’t let him pester you. Call Lindsey and she’ll break his kneecaps.” Great. Now my best friend, the kindest soul, is suggesting bodily harm. There might be something there.
My dad is subdued this Christmas Eve. Joel’s presents sit stacked near the sliding glass window that leads to the small deck, three packages neatly wrapped in blue snowman paper. He stares at the boxes and says, “I’ll just send them to him.”
“Daddy,” I start but have no idea what to say. Nothing will calm the sadness on his face, his eyes downcast and brows d
rooping. I’ve rarely seen my dad so distraught. He looks forward to Christmas like every sane person, but it’s extra special for him: this is the one time a year all three of us are together. Joel is so cruel for doing this. I can’t stand Mom most days, but I attended most of Thanksgiving. It’s about keeping the family intact. Joel doesn’t seem to care about that. May those three lonely gifts stab him three times in the chest.
“It’s okay. He was busy with work.” I can’t tell him that all non-Scrooge enterprises are closed for Christmas, but he already knows. He’s trying to keep a happy face for me. It is not working. “And flights are so expensive this time of year.” He could have purchased a ticket months ago. God damn you, Joel.
“At least we’re together,” I say and pat his shoulder. He’s wearing the same thing he wears every Christmas: a reindeer sweater Joel and I gave him when we were in grade school. I’m amazed he kept it so long. Mom never wore the stuff we gave her. We finally got old enough to realize the gifts were ugly.
“I’m happy you’re here, sweetie. I wish Joel could have made it, but I made us a great dinner.” I’m skeptical, because I inherited my take-out ordering skills from my father. We can dial like crazy but should never be trusted with ovens and stovetops. “I saw that face. I’ve been practicing. Sandy is a great chef.” Of course. Sandy taught him how to cook.
“What’s her specialty?” I ask, faking polite conversation. She probably knows how to mask brimstone and spite in anything. Just like Julia Child.
“She’s great at everything, to tell the truth,” beams Dad, brightening for the first time this afternoon. Once again, I’m annoyed. Why can’t he be happy with just me? “She’s a deft hand at the stove but knows how to bake too. And she introduced me to wedge salads, balsamic vinegar and these little cake things, sounds French…”
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