by Kelly Utt
Liam and Estella’s house is in Fort Washington, Maryland, not far from the Air Force Base and right on the Potomac River. It’s an older home they bought and remodeled a few years ago. They took it down to the studs and totally redid everything from the ground up, including a cozy outdoor living area near the dock. Estella is a fashion designer, so I imagine that helped when it came time to make remodeling decisions. The result is spectacular. They chose a muted gray-blue color and white trim for the exterior which gives the place a classic coastal vibe. It’s not a huge house, but it’s really well done. It’s an oasis of serenity and calm in an otherwise bustling metro area. I enjoy hanging out here. Luckily, Liam and Estella like to host parties and get-togethers. I’ve spent countless lazy days lounging around the house and evenings drinking beer with Liam out on the dock while being lulled by the gentle movements of the river. No matter what’s going on in my life, this place brings me peace.
As I pull into the driveway, I notice a gold Volkswagen sedan with Virginia plates parked around the side of the house. I don’t recognize the car. And I didn’t know anyone else was coming to dinner. I wonder what Liam is up to. Maybe one of the guys from work needed a place to go for the holiday. My uncle has been known to invite stragglers over on Thanksgiving if they’re away from family and would otherwise spend the day alone.
I’m greeted by the delicious aroma of turkey and dressing as I walk inside the house and close the door behind me. Underneath my wool coat, I’m wearing one of my nicest button-down shirts in turquoise blue with brown corduroy slacks. Estella likes us to dress nicely for special occasions. I brought wine to share and a homemade pumpkin pie for dessert. I feel my face light up just being here.
“Hey, buddy,” my uncle says when he sees me. He’s in the kitchen working on some sort of cranberry dish. He and Estella take a lot of cooking classes together, so, as usual, they’re trying out new recipes. I don’t mind being a guinea pig.
“Happy Thanksgiving,” I say as I set the bottle of wine down on the kitchen counter.
“Get over here and give me a hug, big guy.”
“On my way,” I say cheerfully as I embrace my uncle. He’s wearing dark slacks and a green v-neck sweater. He has a white striped apron tied neatly around his waist. He looks every bit the part of doting husband on this Thanksgiving Day.
“You made us a pie?” Liam asks, smiling.
“Yeah, I did,” I say. “I can’t promise it will taste as good as the ones you and Estella bake, but it was made with love.”
“That’s the best way, George,” he replies. “I’m touched.”
I set the pie down on the kitchen table and take my coat off.
“Yeah, John Wendell was impressed,” I add. “I was working on it when he called this morning, so I told him all about it. He wants me to make one for him when I’m up there at Christmas.”
“Nice,” Liam says. “Hey, we’re eating dinner in the formal dining room, as usual.”
“Of course,” I say. “We want to make good use of that big table and the water view.”
My uncle built the farmhouse-style table with his own two hands when the house remodel was first completed. He did an amazing job, right outside in his own garage. He found some simple plans in a magazine at the home improvement store and knocked it out with no trouble. I think he’ll always be proud of that thing. Nearly everyone who sees it asks if he’d build one for them, too. But he doesn’t want to. He insists it was a one-time event.
“Right,” Liam confirms. “Food won’t be ready for a couple more hours though.”
“Fine by me,” I say. “I don’t have anywhere else to be today. Can I help you in the kitchen?”
“No need right now,” Liam says, looking over my shoulder into the next room.
“What is it?” I ask as I turn around.
Before he can answer, I see Estella walking towards us. She’s beaming, all dressed up in her holiday finest and looking as elegant as ever. Standing behind her is a young African American couple. They both appear to be somewhere around my age.
“George, welcome,” Estella says as she kisses me on the cheek. “I want you to meet my friends, Omar and Bette Henderson.”
“Hello,” I say as I reach out to shake Omar’s hand, then Bette’s. Now I know who the gold Volkswagen belongs to. Omar is a meaty, dark-skinned guy with a shaved head and broad features. He’s about as tall as I am, but he’s much more muscular. He must lift some serious weights. Although he looks intimidating at first glance, Omar has a big, friendly smile which lets you know he’s a good-natured guy. He’s wearing a tan blazer and a red tie. Bette is almost as tall as her husband and is built like a runway model. She stands much taller than most women, and her unusual height gives her a commanding physical presence. It’s very alluring. She, too, is wearing nice clothing for the occasion, a black and white dress accessorized with bold jewelry and silver, high-heeled boots. I’m sure Estella is loving the fact that her friends look so fancy.
“Bette is a colleague of mine,” Estella explains. “She owns a chic boutique in Georgetown that carries my women’s clothing line.”
“That’s great,” I say.
“And my darling husband,” Bette says, looking over at Omar and placing one hand on the back of his neck. “He’s working on a Master’s in Criminology at Howard University. He aims to be employed by the federal government one day, and he thinks this degree will give him an edge.” Her voice is almost sing-songy. She sounds genuinely proud of her man.
“It’s good to meet you both,” I say.
“Omar and Bette are joining us for dinner,” Liam adds, his voice carrying from behind me.
“Great,” I say. “The more, the merrier.”
Any friends of Liam and Estella’s are friends of mine. I wonder why he didn’t tell me they’d be here though. Maybe they’re a last-minute addition. Or maybe he wanted me to meet them for some reason. I enjoy getting to know new people, so either way, it’s all good. The five of us chat for a while standing up, then Liam suggests that Omar, Bette and I sit down in the living room and turn on some football while he and Estella finish up meal prep. He again insists he doesn’t need help in the kitchen, so we do as he suggests. When we turn on the TV, the familiar sounds of eager announcers and cheering fans take over the room and provide a relaxing backdrop for me to get to know the Hendersons. Omar sits down on the sectional first. His wife follows immediately behind and situates herself close against his side. She crosses her legs gracefully as Omar drapes one strong arm across her legs. It’s as if he’s proudly claiming her as his own. And she’s proudly displaying herself as his alone. I get the idea they have a hard time keeping their hands off each other. I sit down in a chair nearby and make myself comfortable.
“So, George,” Bette begins. “Estella tells me you work with your Uncle Liam in the Air Force?”
“That’s right,” I confirm. “We’re lucky enough to be coworkers and friends.”
“That’s really special,” she replies.
“Yeah, man,” Omar adds. “Not many uncles and nephews are all that. You two have got it good.”
“For sure,” I say. “I wouldn’t trade him.” Liam steps into the doorway when he hears his name, then smiles and turns back around when he realizes we didn’t call for him.
“He’s quite a guy,” Bette says.
“Now, I heard that,” Liam says playfully from the other room. “I thought you were talking about me.”
“Only good things,” Bette hollers back as we chuckle together. It helps to break the ice.
I’m curious about Omar and Bette’s life and we have plenty of time, so I figure I might as well ask some questions. “How long have you been married?” I begin.
“Two years,” Omar answers as his wife lowers her head then reaches up to gently stroke his cheek. “The best two years of my life.”
“Awe, sweetie,” Bette says. “They’ve been the best two years of my life, too.”
“Nice,” I s
ay. I imagine I could easily end up feeling like a third wheel in this situation. Mr. and Mrs. Henderson are clearly enamored with each other. I’m willing to bet they’ve been told to get a room a time or two.
“And if you don’t mind me asking,” I continue. “How old are the two of you?”
“We don’t mind at all,” Bette says. “Omar is twenty-seven and I’m twenty-six.”
“That’s pretty much what I thought,” I reply. “We’re all right about the same age. I’m twenty-six.”
“I know what you’re thinking,” Bette says. “Never thought I’d get married so young. I was twenty-three when we got engaged and twenty-four when we tied the knot. But when I met this beautiful man, I knew I couldn’t let him go. What was I going to do?”
“We were young. That’s a fact,” Omar adds. “And we’ve never for a minute regretted our decision. I’m head over heels in love with this remarkable woman.”
Upon hearing this, Bette leaps onto her husband’s lap and kisses him deeply. It’s a little awkward for me to watch, but mostly, it’s sweet. Liam walks back into the room while the Hendersons are still entangled. He pauses when he sees them, then looks at me and winks. I’m getting the idea that he and Estella invited Omar and Bette over so I could see a happily married couple my own age. If my uncle’s plan was to make me long for the love of my life even more than I already do, it’s working. I want her to be here with me right now. I want to drape my arm over her legs as she sits close against me on the sectional. I want to tell everyone how in love I am. I want her to leap onto my lap and kiss me deeply. I don’t want to spend another Thanksgiving Day without her.
Our cozy holiday dinner goes off without a hitch. The food is scrumptious. Even my pumpkin pie is a hit. When our bellies are full of traditional goodies, the Hendersons say polite goodbyes and head home. Once they’re gone, Estella takes her shoes off and settles into a corner of the sectional to unwind with a novel. Liam and I retreat to the dock to gaze at the full moon which is gorgeous tonight. Its reflection on the water makes the river’s gentle waves especially soothing. The outdoor air is blistery and cold, but thanks to a couple of heaters and our winter coats, we’re warm enough. We sit together in silence as we polish off the rest of the wine bottle. When I stand up to leave, Liam speaks a single sentence.
“George,” he says. “She’s out there.”
4
Necessarily Destiny
As the weeks go by and the days grow shorter, I continue to contemplate what life has in store for me. It’s mid-December now, and the trees have let go of the final remnants from last season’s foliage. The first snowfall should arrive soon. Each new day carries a biting wind which wraps me up and reminds me of the fragility of the human experience. So many things could go wrong. Yet all I have to do is look around at the many happy couples and families in order to know that things could also go right, the pieces falling inextricably into place within a cosmic design that’s beyond my understanding or imagination.
I received word from my superiors about a potential duty assignment in Uzbekistan. They want me to head up a drone unit that will run support missions against al-Qaeda in neighboring Afghanistan. I have to decide by January first, and if I accept the assignment they want me to go right away. They say they’ll allow me time to complete my dissertation and then come back to D.C. in May to walk in my university’s graduation ceremony and celebrate the occasion with my extended family. They assure me my professors will cooperate with this plan. The position would be a huge opportunity to advance my career and to potentially make a critical difference in the War on Terror. It would mean living overseas for the next few years though. And Karshi-Khanabad Air Base isn’t the Ritz. I’m told I’d be given a two-year assignment with a strong likelihood of being extended, assuming things go well. I don’t have to accept the assignment, but it’s an attractive offer and my commanding officer knows it. We haven’t even discussed the alternatives. I figure I’ll mull it over while I’m on leave and give them an answer when I return.
Today is Friday and I’ve just left the George Washington University engineering department’s research lab for the last time this semester. I’ll travel north to Ithaca to spend the winter holidays with my mom and grandparents once I tie up a few loose ends next week. But first, I have a Christmas party to attend tomorrow night with my Air Force colleagues. It’s being held at an upscale hotel ballroom and we’re supposed to wear a coat and tie, so I’m on my way to Patriot Park mall to pick something up. I call Estella on the way and jokingly tell her I’ll try to select an appropriate outfit on my own, but that I might have to ask her for help. She offers to remain on standby and promises not to laugh too hard if I make a mess of things. I’m wearing a black turtleneck sweater Mom got me a few years ago that features white snowflakes in a row, so I sort of hope Estella doesn’t end up having to join me this evening. I honestly don’t know if the sweater is fashionable or not, but I feel a little self-conscious about it.
The mall parking lot is jam-packed when I arrive. It appears the entire population of the D.C. metro area has decided to go Christmas shopping all at once. Good thing I don’t mind crowds. When I walk inside through the sliding glass doors, the first thing I notice is a sappy Christmas love song being played over the speakers. I’m think the singer is Harry Connick, Jr. I used to think only women listened to love songs. The young, single men I’ve known like rap, rock, or heavy metal. Their music is hard charging and fast. It feels like a reflection of their personalities. I’m no exception. I’ve long preferred a rapid drum or bass beat, wailing guitars, and edgy lyrics. These days, though, I find myself listening to slower music, usually featuring male singers who are longing for love or celebrating newfound love. It occurs to me that these men wouldn’t be able to sing these songs with such emotion if they didn’t feel it. Like me, they’re ready to fall in love. Or like Omar, they’ve already fallen in love and they want the world to know it. I’m not saying I’ll give up my favorite rock-and-roll tunes, but it’s time to expand my horizons.
I make a beeline for the big department stores and browse through their men’s clothing departments, then decide I’ll stop by the food court for dinner before I get too serious about the task at hand. The mall is running on extended hours to accommodate holiday shoppers and I’m hungry, so I might as well fuel up. I have plenty of time to find what I need for the party. Besides, I can always come back tomorrow morning if necessary. I have nothing else planned.
As I ascend the escalator in the center of the mall, the savory smell of warm food greets me. I already know I will choose my favorite, General Tzo’s Chicken, so I select a path towards the Asian food booth and slowly weave through the dense crowd to get there. On my way, I pass a carousel where kids smile gleefully as they bob up and down on wooden horses. Proud parents wave from the side as their little ones are carried around and around. I stand in line for my chicken quite a while which gives me time to look over the sea of people and take it all in. I’m usually the tallest person in the room. I have somewhat of a bird’s-eye view of things. I’m not frustrated by the wait. Have a Holly Jolly Christmas begins to play as I finally get my tray of food and turn to search for a place to sit and eat. I wade through row after row of two-seater tables before an Indian man and his little boy stand up and exit, leaving me an opening. I quickly place my tray on the laminate tabletop and ease down into the chair on one side. Then I see her, sitting alone at the table next to mine.
She’s radiant. Like a beam of light. Her golden-brown hair falls just below her shoulders and frames her elegant long neck and her jawline. She’s out of my league, that’s for sure. I remember thinking about my physical ‘type’ and how maybe I’d know it when I see it. Well, it’s right in front of my eyes. This young woman is the most glorious creature I’ve encountered in my entire life. I can feel myself grinning from ear to ear, while simultaneously, time seems to stand still. I’m in complete and total awe right now.
“Hey,” I manage, noddi
ng in her direction while smiling like a fool.
“Hey, how are you doing?” she says back, warmly.
“Good, um, good. Good,” I stammer, wishing I’d been able to keep it to just one ‘good.’
She chuckles. She has a textbook in front of her and appears to be studying. Although she’s looking down at it but doesn’t seem to be reading anything. Maybe she likes me, too. God, I hope so. My gaze rests back on this beautiful young woman and I’m pretty sure her face is flush with excitement when she notices me smiling at her again.
“Are you from around here?” she asks. “Need any directions, or restaurant recommendations, or anything?”
“Nope. I'm good,” I say. Another ‘good.’ Dammit. She laughs heartily out loud this time and covers her mouth with her left hand. No ring.
I look down, so she looks back down, which only lasts about ten seconds until I’m staring at her again. I can’t help it. I can not take my eyes off of her. She’s magnificent.
“So what brings you to the mall tonight?” she asks, smiling.
* * *
Before I can answer, she looks down again at her book and cocks her head to one side. She doesn’t make a sound for a minute as if she’s perceiving or assessing something. I hope I haven’t said anything wrong. I don’t want this interaction to come to an end.
“Are you in the Air Force?” she asks.
“Yep,” I answer. It must be the short haircut and the proximity to a plethora of military duty stations that gave it away. But this woman can ask me any question she wants, obvious or not. I’d answer a thousand questions for her, any time of day or night. I’m enamored in a way I’ve never experienced before.
“Is your name George?” she asks.
“Yes,” I say slowly, wondering if she knows me from somewhere. I can’t imagine that I’ve ever seen her before, because there’s no chance I’d forget that pretty face.