by Gigi Blume
The tree.
The most interesting tree in the world with a trunk and branches and pine needles in a particular shade of green, some on the verge of turning brown and brittle.
“Which one’s your favorite?” I asked.
His face lit up at the mention of it. He made a contented hum, stroking through the branches in search of the one ornament he liked best. “I think this one.”
He cupped a simple glass bulb with his palm and lovingly stroked his thumb over the etched numbers. It was completely clear with a frosted etching of only four numbers. A year. And it was before he was born. A frayed red ribbon made a flat bow on the top that had seen better days.
I inched to see it closer. He didn’t take it off the branch, just cradled it in his palm.
“This was the year my parents met,” he said. “My mom bought it at a craft fair, and she continued to buy one bulb a year to put on the tree.”
I could see a few of them from where I stood. Some were elegant or hand-painted masterpieces and others were simple, like one that just looked like the slice of a tree trunk.
“Georgia and I never gave up the tradition. She brought this one from New York this year.”
He tapped at a tin Statue of Liberty with a holly crown and the current year in raised metallic red.
“It’s a tree of memories, I guess.” He smiled as he took in the sight of all those memories. Some happy and others not so much, I supposed.
“I love it,” I said. “We’ve always had a fake tree because the branches make my dad itch because of allergies. And my mom isn’t sentimental enough to decorate it with crafts we made in school. She has to color coordinate. One year, all her decorations were purple. Even the presents were wrapped in purple paper.”
“Ouch.” He laughed.
“Yeah,” I said, remembering. “That was the year my dad mysteriously had a lot of extra work at the office. They’re funny like that in a passive aggressive way.”
“They sound charming.”
“Oh, they are. It’s almost scary how charming they are.”
“Thanks for the warning,” he said with the most devastating smile. It made my heart gallop to know I was the only one in the room and Will Darcy was still smiling.
“Do you have a fake tree in your house?” he asked. “You’re not allergic, are you?”
“Me? Nah. I’m almost certain my dad made up the tree allergy, so he wouldn’t have to do the whole tree lot thing.”
“What’s Christmas without the tree lot thing?”
“I know, right?” I agreed enthusiastically. “It’s an integral part of Christmas. Like baking cookies.”
“Or going to those neighborhoods to see the lights,” he added.
“Or singing Christmas carols.”
“Or watching the Charlie Brown Special.”
The energy between us was palatable. Who knew this misanthrope of a man could be so much fun? Misanthropes don’t care for things like Christmas lights or cookies or Snoopy. Maybe his grinch heart grew three sizes, or maybe three ghosts had visited him. Or maybe I was wrong about him all along.
Will held my gaze for a long moment, sharing the same heady air particles and probably having his own epiphany about cookies and lights and Snoopy. Then he bent down, reaching for something under the tree branches and came back up with a box wrapped in embossed red paper with a gold bow.
“Merry Christmas, Elizabeth.”
His words were softly spoken and he held out the box in front of me. I stared at it. What the…?
“You got me a present?” I couldn’t imagine he’d actually thought to get me a present. Maybe it was one of those generic gifts that wealthy people keep under their tree for unexpected guests. Like lotion. Or salt and pepper shakers.
“I didn’t get you anything,” I said.
“It’s not a quid pro quo kind of thing,” he said, urging me to take the box. “It’s a gift. Please. Open it before I feel like a complete idiot.”
I laughed, taking the box from him. “I’m sure you have zero experience feeling like an idiot.”
“Not until I met you, Elizabeth Bennet.”
“What?”
His lips curled into a devilish grin. “Just open it.”
I placed my buzzing clutch at my feet, so I could use both hands to carefully loosen the paper without ripping it. For some reason, I wanted to savor every moment like it was the only gift I would ever have in my entire life. I wanted to make it count.
“Are you one of those never-rip-the-paper kind of people?” he said with annoyance laced in his tone.
“Not until I met you, William Darcy.” I gave him a wink, and I swear he turned into butter. Then I savagely ripped at the paper, crumbled it into a ball and threw it at him.
“A bit of my family tradition,” I said with a laugh. “California snowballs.”
My family wasn’t just boring fake trees and purple decorations. We had fun. Every year, after we unwrapped all the gifts, we’d have a snowball fight with crumpled up wrapping paper. We called them California snowballs.
Will gave me his best you’re on, sister expression and tossed the paper in the tree. When I opened the box, my heart stopped. It was beautiful. Nestled in a cushioned bed of silk was a blown-glass bulb with a hand-painted scene of a pirate and a maiden. The pirate looked very much like the Pirate King, and the maiden wore the same dress as I did in the show. What’s more, was that the face bore a striking resemblance to me. At the bottom of the hand-painted image was the year. He got me a year bulb. Not just any year bulb, but a custom-made art piece he likely ordered weeks before. I didn’t know if I wanted to implode spectacularly or throw my arms around him to rival any wonderfully sappy Hallmark movie. It was too much. Why couldn’t it be soaps or lotions?
At length, when I hadn’t spoken for some time, he asked, “Do you like it? Too weird? I’m not good at painting faces.”
Hang on now. He painted this? Now, I really wanted to implode.
“It’s… it’s… amazing.”
Good one. Here I was standing next to Michelangelo, and all I could come up with was amazing.
He shifted on his feet and shrugged in a school-boy-with-an-art-project sort of way and grinned at the floor.
“Something to remember me by,” he said shyly. “Or not. Whatever.”
“Thank you,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure I wanted something to remember him by if it meant needing an object to have a piece of him in my life. You don’t need to remember someone if they’re right there next to you. And so I looked up at him through my lashes and smiled. “I choose whatever.”
He lifted his eyes to meet my gaze and studied my face, reading the meaning behind my words. He drew closer to me, gently trailing a feather-light touch over my hands holding the box. It had to be an enchantment. It was all there in the air between us, in front of a colorful memory tree. Magic Christmas dust descended on our heads, a chorus of angels serenaded us, a harp sounded from somewhere, and the earth vibrated where we stood.
No.
The earth wasn’t vibrating. That was my phone, which was in my clutch, currently on my feet. I read somewhere that one should never put their purse on the floor because it hurts your finances. I didn’t consider myself superstitious, but I wasn’t about to take my chances. So I’d placed it on my toes.
“Maybe you should get that,” he said, swallowing hard.
“Huh?” I was still somewhere in lala land.
“Or…” his eyes dipped to my mouth. “Shut it off.”
Right. My phone. Shut it off.
I snatched the clutch from my feet and pulled out my phone. Such a remarkable little device. It was capable of so many useful things. The world at your fingertips. But presently, it was nothing but annoying. What the Bottom couldn’t wait long enough to—
“Whoa.” My eyes went wide at the sight of the little red notification icon. My phone never saw that much action on my birthday, let alone a Saturday in January. “Holly called me
seventeen times. And she left fifty-eight text messages.”
Will took the box from beneath my arm and ushered me to the sofa. There were also several texts and calls from Cole and Jane. My heart sank to my gut. My first thought was for my sister or my parents. My brain didn’t have the rationale to think there was no connection between Holly and my family. But they were all I could think about.
“Is everything okay?” Will asked tentatively.
“I hope so. And then I’ll kill my friends.”
I hesitated before reading the texts. I didn’t know what to expect, but I knew I wouldn’t like it. It wasn’t good. The most recent text from Holly was the first one I saw. It simply read Beth, I’m serious. Please call ASAP.
I scrolled to the top. My heart sank even more. Words flashed before my eyes.
Lydia. Worried. Missing. Jorge.
I went through every text, trying to make sense of her shorthand. It was one big blur. The room started to spin, and I suddenly felt the color drain from my face in a clammy sort of way. The phone slipped from my fingers and dropped to the floor.
“Oh, no, no, no, no.” I let my head fall between my knees, which wasn’t easy considering my dress was in the way.
“Beth?” Will’s voice sounded far away. “Don’t faint. Can I get you some water?”
I nodded with my face still in my dress. All I saw was a blur of gold fabric.
“Okay,” he said in a crisis negotiator tone of voice. “I don’t want you to faint while I’m getting you some water. I’m going to lie you down.”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “I just need to throw up. Totally fine.”
“What happened?”
“It’s all my fault.”
My thoughts ran a mile a minute. What would I do? Will ran to get me a bottle of water, and I took a few sips before frantically pacing the floor. “Stupid Lydia. It’s all my fault.”
Will stopped me, holding me in place by the shoulders. He leveled his eyes to mine and spoke slowly and gravely.
“Stop right there. Whatever happened, we’ll figure it out. But you need to stop blaming yourself.”
Stop blaming myself. No. Not possible. What was Jorge doing on the Mexico trip anyway? I nodded for him to pick up the phone off the floor.
“You won’t say that once you read the texts.”
He slowly stepped away from me and picked up the phone. He showed no expression in his face save for a tick in his jaw. He would understand the story soon enough. How Lydia and Jorge left Cole’s boat and went into town. How they never returned. How Holly thought they’d partied too hard to come back, but then she noticed Lydia’s phone—and all her things—in the cabin.
Lydia never left her phone behind. Another day passed and by the evening, they were worried. Jorge didn’t answer his calls. A search in town came up null. They weren’t in the usual places. Then by some wild coincidence, a taxi driver saw them inquiring at all the hotels. He’d given Jorge and Lydia a ride out of the tourist side of town and to the outskirts. He didn’t think it was strange until he saw Jorge walking the streets the next day. Lydia wasn’t with him, but he looked chummy with two dangerous-looking men.
“Jorge,” he said in a whisper. A sad, regretful whisper.
“I didn’t warn Lydia,” I cried. “I’m the one who befriended him. I’m the one who invited him to our house. He wouldn’t have even noticed Lydia if it wasn’t for me. It’s my fault.”
Will didn’t speak to refute my self-flagellation. He didn’t confirm or deny it.
He didn’t say anything at all. It was as if he calculated how best to get rid of the problem—AKA, me. He didn’t need the publicity this would bring to his career, and any association with Lydia or her roommate was bad press. If it got out, he could shrug it off and call it an unfortunate situation, that she was just an acquaintance. But me, her friend and roommate, would be asked countless questions.
At length, he said, “I won’t keep you any longer. I suggest you listen to the voicemail messages while I get you a car.”
And that was that. He walked out of the room and, although I knew I’d see him again in the show, he likewise walked out of my life. I didn’t blame him. Who in their right mind would want the kind of drama that followed me around?
A thorough examination of the rest of my texts and several voicemails said little else, more of the same information in varying degrees of detail and hysteria. Jane would return home the next day, and Lydia’s sister was notified. I hoped they were all overreacting. Lydia was a grown woman and didn’t exactly have the best reputation for reliability. But a pestering voice deep inside kept telling me bad things happen to people when they’re too reckless. Especially in foreign countries.
Will returned in a whirlwind with Stella in his wake. She carried my backpack purse and sandals, and they both looked like they meant business.
“I’ve been looking for you for twenty-five minutes,” she said, ushering me quickly from the room. “Cole got ahold of me through Fitz and told me everything.”
“I didn’t know Jorge was going with them on the trip,” I explained. “I could have warned them.”
“Nonsense,” she said. “There’s nothing you could have done.”
“Do you think Lydia is in some kind of danger?” I asked, hobbling along while she and Will whisked me toward the front door.
“I don’t doubt it, knowing Jorge,” answered Will.
“Nora’s flying in right now,” said Stella. “She’ll be coming to your house.”
“Nora?”
“Lydia’s sister.”
“Oh. Okay.” The smart sister.
When we arrived at the front, a car was waiting to take me home. It wasn’t Enrique, but a guy I didn’t know. I was unceremoniously deposited in the backseat, along with my things and bid good luck by Stella.
“Listen,” she said. “Georgia doesn’t know what’s going on. I think it best we keep it that way.”
I nodded in complete agreement, but also in such a haze, I would have agreed to shave my head. It was happening too fast. Once the car door was shut, I saw Will run into his house.
Run.
Apparently, he couldn’t get away from me fast enough. No goodbye, no sentiments of concern, no encore to that kiss. Kitty wasn’t amused. And let’s not even talk about the hundred different ways to say I told you so. Because Jeff wouldn’t shut up about it the whole ride home.
28
Hold, Monsters!
Beth
“So,” said Holly in the most uncouth manner. “You’re the smart one.”
Lydia’s sister Nora had been in my apartment all of one hour when Holly arrived. I stayed up to wait for her, believing she’d come straight to my apartment from the airport as Stella had said. But Nora was far too polite, as I soon discovered, so she spent the night at the airport hotel. She made up some kind of excuse that it was too late, that she was so tired and couldn’t possibly stand a thirty-minute cab ride. But I could tell she was way too prissy to crash on a stranger’s couch. Especially a friend of her sister, and remembering her previous roommates, I didn’t blame her. No doubt she expected Lydia to hang with the unrefined crowd. If so, Holly just proved it.
The poor girl didn’t seem to know how to answer Holly. Was it a question or a statement?
“Lydia tells us you’re studying at Harvard,” I said in an effort to smooth over Holly’s indelicate ice breaker.
“Uh… yes,” Nora answered distractedly. Her thoughts were in a galaxy far, far away. Who knows what was going through her mind. She was probably fearing the worst. I reached over the kitchen table and cupped my hand over hers. She hadn’t touched the peppermint tea I gave her. No doubt it was too cold by now. Probably tasted like toothpaste.
“We’ll find her,” I said in the most reassuring voice I could muster. “Holly’s boyfriend is in close contact with the US Consulate, and our friend Denny is searching all of Jorge’s usual hang outs.”
She slumped in her chair. “I fe
el so helpless. I’m not making any more progress here than I would have in Cambridge.”
“I know it feels that way, but it’s better you’re here,” I said. “For when she comes home.”
“We’re really glad you came,” agreed Holly.
Nora reluctantly nodded and sipped her cold tea.
“Do you want me to get you a warm cup?” I offered.
She shook her head and declared it was fine.
“Maybe you’d like to look through Lydia’s things for a clue.” That was a feeble suggestion on Holly’s part, but Nora agreed to it, if nothing other than to have some useful occupation to pass the time.
Most of the day was spent in the same manner. Nora quietly searching for answers in Lydia’s messy belongings, on crumbled receipts and post-it notes. She must have checked Lydia’s social media accounts every five minutes. She was restless. I totally got it. I’d be much worse off if something ever happened to my sister. As it was, I felt completely responsible, irrationally so or not.
By late afternoon, Jane came home. She wouldn’t answer my inquiries about how her audition went. Her only concern was for Lydia and tending to Nora’s comfort. Somehow, Jane was able to relate to her better than Holly or I. It was a special kind of talent. And it was so Jane.
My mother, on the other hand, had her own special kind of talent. Gossip. She’d gotten wind of the news through the mysterious grapevine in which she lived. Her timing was impeccable as usual. She called while Nora was telling us a tearful story about Lydia getting lost in the super mall when they were little. I didn’t want to be rude, but I felt I had to answer Mom’s call. It was one of those ‘hug your loved ones’ moments. I’d have felt guilty to ignore her call.
“Oh, that poor girl,” she cried. “I liked her so much.”
“You met her once, Mom.” I paired my Bluetooth earbuds, so I could be hands-free. Doing stuff like cleaning or organizing my bookshelf while on the phone relaxed me. It helped ease the hour away.