The Mistletoe Promise

by Richard Paul Evans

  I should have had one of those before my marriage, I thought.

  He leaned in closer. “Let me tell you what I had in mind. I’ll pay for all meals, transportation, and admissions. We’ll have lunch together when possible and, in addition to the social functions, I’ll take you to dinner or some holiday-themed event at least once a week, and I’ll send you something, a gift, each weekday up until the end of the contract. Then, at midnight on Christmas Eve, the agreement terminates and we go back to our lonely, pathetic lives.”

  “If I agree, how do we start?”

  “We’ll begin by going through each other’s calendars and determining what events we can attend. It’s two-sided, of course. If you’d like, I’ll attend your events as well.”

  I thought a moment more, then, with his eyes locked onto mine, said, “All right.”

  “All right, let’s do it?” he asked.

  I nodded. “Yes. Let’s do it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Why not? Lunch every day?”

  “When possible. At least every workday. We’re two days in on that now. It hasn’t been too painful, has it?”

  “It’s definitely been interesting. I don’t know about you sending me things.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  “You’ll get used to it.”

  “Do I have to send you things too?”

  “No. I expect nothing but the pleasure of your company.”

  I took a deep breath. “Okay. Get me a contract.”

  “Great,” he said, standing. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “You’re not having lunch?”

  “No. I have a deposition in an hour that I still need to prepare for. I just came down to see you.”

  Something about the way he said that pleased me. “All right, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Thank you, Elise. I don’t think you’ll regret it.”

  A minute later, a food court worker said to me, “You have a cute husband.”

  “He’s not my husband,” I said. “He’s . . .” I paused. “He’s my boyfriend.”

  “Lucky you,” she said.

  CHAPTER

  Four

  I’m not sure what I’ve gotten myself into with this contract, but I’m still looking for the fine print.

  Elise Dutton’s Diary

  The next day Nicholas walked into the food court carrying a leather Coach briefcase. I was sitting at my usual table, waiting for him. He smiled when he saw me. “Shall we eat at Cafe Rio?” he asked.

  “Sure,” I said.

  We walked together up to the restaurant’s counter. “I’ve never eaten here before,” he said. “What’s good?”

  “The sweet pork salad is pretty much my mainstay,” I said.

  “Two sweet pork salads,” Nicholas said to the woman who was rolling out tortillas.

  “Pinto beans or black beans?” she asked.

  Nicholas deferred to me. “I didn’t realize there would be a quiz. I’ll let you take over.”

  “Pinto beans,” I said. “With the house dressing. Cheese, no pico.”

  “I’ll have the same,” he said.

  “Drink?”

  “The sugar-free lemonade,” I said.

  “One sugar-free lemonade and a Coke,” Nicholas said.

  He paid for our meals, then, while I got our drinks, he carried our tray over to a table.

  “This is pretty good,” he said. “I can see why you have it every day.”

  “It may be the most delicious salad ever made,” I replied.

  After we had eaten for a few minutes, he reached into his briefcase and brought out some documents. “Here you go,” he said, holding out the papers. “The contract.”

  “This looks so official.”

  “It’s what I do,” he said.

  I looked it over.

  MISTLETOE CONTRACT

  “Why mistletoe?”

  “You know how, at Christmastime, people show affection under mistletoe to people they’re not necessarily affectionate with?”

  “That’s clever,” I said. “Can we change the word contract? It sounds too . . . formal.”

  “What would you prefer?”

  I thought a moment. “How about promise?”

  “Done,” he said, striking a line through the word contract and penning in the rest. “The Mistletoe Promise.”

  I looked over the agreement.

  MISTLETOE CONTRACT PROMISE

  This service agreement is made effective as of November 6th by and between

  Elise Dutton (Lessor) and Nicholas Derr (Lessee).

  “How did you know my last name?”

  “I’m a lawyer,” he said, which didn’t really answer my question.

  1. DESCRIPTION OF SERVICES. Lessor will exert due effort to provide to Lessee the following services (collectively, the “Services”):

  a.Lunch together each weekday as individual schedules permit.

  b.At least one evening activity per week through duration of contract.

  c.Best effort to demonstrate a caring relationship.

  I couldn’t help but think how every relationship would benefit from such an agreement.

  2. PAYMENT. In consideration of Lessor’s services, Lessee agrees to pay for all dinners, joint activities, admission fees, travel expenses, etc., for the duration of Contract.

  “Travel expenses?” I asked.

  “Gas money,” he said. “Mostly.”

  If Lessee fails to pay for the Services when due, Lessor has the option to treat such failure to pay as a material breach of this Contract, and may cancel this Contract but not seek legal redress.

  3. TERM. This agreement will terminate automatically on December 24, 2012, at 11:59:59 P.M.

  4. LANGUAGE. Lessor and Lessee shall, for the duration of this agreement, refer to each other as boyfriend or girlfriend or by any term of endearment including, but not limited to, sweetie, sweetheart, love, dear, babe, beautiful, cupcake, and any term found acceptable by both parties.

  I looked at him incredulously. “Really? Cupcake?”

  “I wasn’t planning on using cupcake.”

  “Then why did you put it in the contract?”

  “In case you were. It’s just an example,” he said. “Granted a poor one. But I don’t know your preferences.”

  “I would rather not be called after any food or animal. Actually, avoid any noun.”

  “Consider all nouns, especially cupcake, stricken from my vocabulary. Does that include honey?”

  I thought about it. “I guess honey is okay. It’s gone mainstream.”

  “Honey, okay,” he said to himself.

  I went back to the contract.

  5. PLATONIC NATURE OF ARRANGEMENT. This agreement does not constitute, imply, or encourage, directly or indirectly, a physical relationship, other than what would be considered expected and appropriate public physical contact.

  “What does that mean? Expected physical contact.”

  “Nothing exciting,” he said. “Hand-holding in public, that sort of thing.” When I didn’t respond he added, “Things real couples do. For instance, we might hold hands at a company party, at least when walking into the party, but we wouldn’t be holding hands when we are alone, since that obviously wouldn’t be necessary to convince others.”

  “I get it,” I said.

  6. CONFIDENTIALITY. Lessor and her agents will not at any time or in any manner, either directly or indirectly, divulge, disclose, or communicate in any manner, any information that is proprietary to this agreement and agrees to protect such information and treat it as strictly confidential. This provision will continue to be effective until the termination of this Contract.

  7. BREACH OF CONTRACT.
If any of the above stipulations are not met, Contract will be considered null and void. No recourse is available.

  ADDENDUMS

  1. No deep, probing personal questions.

  2. No drama.

  “Talk to me about these addendums.”

  “The first is self-explanatory. We do not ask each other any deep, probing personal questions. It’s irrelevant to our objective and will only cause problems. Do you really want me asking deep personal questions about your life and past?”

  I tried to hide the effect the question had on me. “Nope, I’m good.”

  “Exactly. This relationship should be so shallow there’s no possibility of drowning.”

  “Agreed,” I said. “And the second?”

  “No drama. Life’s too short.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Then all that’s left is your signature.”

  I looked at the signatory line. He had already signed the contract. “Why do I feel like I’m signing away my soul?”

  “It’s not an eternity. Just forty-nine days.”

  I breathed out. “All right. Do you have a pen?”

  “I’m a lawyer. That’s like asking me if I have a lung.”

  “As opposed to a heart,” I said.

  “Another fan of lawyers,” he said. He extracted a pen from his coat pocket. It was a nice one—a Montblanc. I knew this only because my ex judged a man by the pen he carried. I took the pen from Nicholas and signed the document.

  “There are two copies,” he said. “One for your own files. Please sign both.”

  “Now you’re really sounding like a lawyer.”

  “I am one.”

  “So you keep reminding me.” I folded the contract in half and put it in my purse.

  When I’d finished eating my salad I said, “I better get back to work.”

  “I’ll walk you to the elevator,” he said. As we waited for the elevator he said, “Don’t forget to bring your calendar tomorrow so we can work out our schedule.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  As the elevator door opened he leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “Have a good day, dear.”

  “Thanks for lunch,” I said. “Cupcake.”

  He smiled. “This is going to be fun.”

  CHAPTER

  Five

  Bad memories can attach themselves like barnacles to the hulls of our lives. And, like barnacles, they have a disproportionately large amount of drag.

  Elise Dutton’s Diary

  Zoey screamed. Cathy, our company bookkeeper, and I rushed out of our offices to see a florist deliveryman standing in the middle of the office holding a massive bouquet of yellow roses. It was one of the largest bouquets I’d ever seen, the kind people were more likely to send to the dead than the living. Of course the man was drooling over Zoey.

  “They’re gorgeous,” Cathy said. “Who are they from?”

  “I don’t know,” Zoey said. “Probably Paul. Or Quentin. Could even be Brody. So many men, so many possibilities.”

  I rolled my eyes at her theatrics.

  “Where would you like them?” the man asked.

  “Oh, just set them there,” Zoey said, motioning to her desk. “It practically takes up my whole desk.”

  “And if I could have you sign right here.” He handed Zoey an electronic clipboard. Her expression abruptly changed. “They’re not for me.” She looked up at me. “They’re for you.”

  “Elise?” Cathy said, not masking her surprise.

  Just then Mark, our boss, walked into the room.

  “Those are pretty . . . massive,” he said, looking at Zoey. “Who now?”

  “They’re not for me,” Zoey said. “They’re for Elise.”

  He looked at me. “Someone’s got a fever for you.”

  I walked over to my flowers. There was a small, unsealed envelope attached to the vase. I extracted the card.

  Dear Elise,

  Happy Day 1. I hope the flowers brighten your day.

  —Nick

  “Who are they from?” Cathy asked.

  I looked back up at them. “What?”

  “Who gave them to you?”

  “Just . . . a guy.”

  “What guy?” Zoey asked.

  “My boyfriend.” The word came out awkwardly.

  They both looked at me with expressions of bewilderment.

  “You have a boyfriend?” Zoey asked.

  “It’s new,” I said. I lifted the heavy vase and carried it to my office. Thank you, thank you, thank you, I thought. I couldn’t wait to thank Nicholas.

  Flowers are complicated. The last time I had received flowers from a man was a nightmare. I was in the hospital and I’d just come out of intensive care after almost dying from a burst appendix, but the pain I remember most wasn’t caused by the operation. It was caused by my husband. But I’ll share more of that later.

  I debated over whether or not I should take the flowers home, but finally decided to leave them at the office. I told myself that they were so big I doubted I could get them into my apartment without damaging them. But really I think I left them in the office in defiance of my co-workers’ incredulity. Driving home, all I could think about was that it had been the best day I’d had in a long time.

  The next morning at work I was making copies of a travel itinerary for a group of high school students from Boise, Idaho, when I heard Zoey greet someone.

  “I have a delivery for Elise Dutton,” a man said.

  I walked out of my office. “That would be me.”

  “Here you go,” the man said, handing me a box.

  “What is it?” Zoey asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It’s wrapped.” I opened the box and smiled. “Oh. Chocolate cordials.” I wondered how he knew that I loved them. There was a card.

  Happy Day 2, Elise. So far so good?

  —Nick

  “What are cordials?” Zoey asked.

  “Chocolate-covered cherries,” I said.

  “Why don’t they just call them chocolate-covered cherries?”

  “Because they’re cordials,” I replied. I took one out and popped it into my mouth. It was delicious. “Want one?”

  “Sure.” She looked a little injured as she walked over to me. “Tell me more about this guy.”

  Even though it was the first time she’d ever asked me about my personal life, I didn’t want to share. “He’s really just more of a friend,” I said.

  “Guys don’t send chocolates and massive flower bouquets just to be friends. There’s always an agenda. What’s the lowdown?”

  “His name is Nicholas.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s a lawyer on the seventh floor.”

  “Nicholas what?”

  “Derr.”

  She puzzled a moment then said, “As in Derr, Nelson and McKay? You’re dating one of the partners?”

  “We’re just . . .” The truth was, I didn’t know whether or not he was a partner, but Zoey’s incredulity made me angry. “Yes. Of course.”

  “Oh,” she said. “Well done.”

  “Don’t look so surprised,” I said.

  “It’s just that you’ve never showed much interest in dating.”

  “Maybe I just hadn’t met the right man,” I replied.

  “Nicholas is the right man?”

  “Maybe.” This was already more fun than I’d thought it would be. “I’ve decided to at least give him until Christmas.”

  “You’re giving him until Christmas?”

  “I think that’s enough time to see if I like him.”

  She looked almost stunned. “Okay,” she said. She started to turn away, then said, “Oh, could you trade me lunchtimes today? I met this guy last night and he’s coming t
o meet me.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m meeting Nicholas.”

  You have no idea how good it felt saying no. It was the first time I’d ever turned her down. It was the first time I’d had a reason to.

  A little after noon I went to the food court. Nicholas wasn’t there yet, so I ordered my usual salad and sat down at my usual table. Nicholas showed up about ten minutes later.

  “I’m sorry I’m late,” he said, looking stressed. “Long-winded client, antitrust stuff. Too dull to discuss.”

  “It’s okay,” I said.

  He sat down across from me. “How’s your day?”

  “Good,” I said. “Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful.”

  “Like you.”

  I smiled a little. “And the chocolates.”

  “Do you like chocolate?”

  “All women like chocolate. It’s like female catnip.”

  He grinned. “I hoped as much.”

  “You don’t need to spend so much, you know.”

  “I know,” he said simply.

  “Are you going to get something to eat?”

  “No, I’m sorry. I know we were going to go through our schedules today, but my morning fell apart and I have to get back to that meeting. I just didn’t want to leave you hanging down here alone.”

  “It’s okay, I’m used to it.”

  “You shouldn’t be,” he said. “Is tomorrow okay?”

  “Same time, same place.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye, Elise.”

  “Bye.”

  He got up and walked away.

  Maybe it was a small thing, but the fact that in spite of his busy schedule Nicholas had come down to meet me meant even more than the flowers and chocolates.

  Back when I was still married, my husband, Dan, invited me to lunch, then forgot about it. I waited alone for almost an hour before calling him.

  “Sorry, I forgot,” he said. “I got distracted.”

  “Am I that forgettable?” I asked.

  “Don’t talk to me about forgetting,” he said.