Married for Christmas (Willow Park)

by Noelle Adams

  “Glad to hear it.” He leaned down to press a kiss into her hair. “Are you sore?”

  “Not nearly as much this time.”

  “Good.”

  She eventually got up to go to the bathroom and make sure Bear was sleeping soundly.

  When she came back to bed, she rolled back over to his side and fell asleep very happy.

  Six

  The following week, she was determined to do better—to enjoy what she was getting out of this marriage and not hope for or expect anything more.

  She’d always had a certain idea about what a home would feel like after she was married, and there was no reason why she couldn’t cultivate some of those feelings—whether Daniel was in love with her or not.

  Her first step toward this end was to cook dinner on Monday evening. In all of her visions of herself as a wife, she would at least sometimes make meals other than canned soup and sandwiches.

  They’d had a potluck at church on Sunday evening after the final practice for the children’s Christmas pageant, and she wasn’t about to bring something she tried cooking for the first time to be tasted by half the church. So she brought fruit salad to the potluck. No one seemed surprised that she hadn’t tried anything more ambitious, but she was determined to eventually do more than people expected of her.

  She spent all of Sunday and half of Monday mulling over what she would to try to cook on Monday evening.

  She finally settled on a roast, since she remembered how tasty and homey it had been when her mother cooked them. It felt like an impressive meal, but the recipes she found looked doable. She went to the grocery store on Monday morning to buy a good piece of meat and all the vegetables and seasonings she needed. She took a long, late lunch break to get it all prepared. She followed the directions exactly and double-checked every step.

  She used the simplest recipe she found, and she was sure she’d done everything correctly as she put it in the oven.

  She was excited. Ridiculously proud of herself. It might not be as easy for her as for other women, but she could prepare a home-cooked dinner for her husband, just like any other wife in Willow Park.

  It started to smell good as it got closer to dinner time. Bear planted herself in the middle of the kitchen to wait. The dog had never smelled a piece of meat being cooked in her house for such a long stretch of time, so it absorbed her attention for the entire afternoon.

  Jessica brought her laptop into the kitchen and worked on some stuff that didn’t require the entire computer set-up in her office. She’d always been good at tuning the world out as she worked. It was one of her gifts, and it came in very handy as she worked from home.

  Her supervisor had just sent her a new project, so she started making plans—the bare bones of the design and the timeline.

  Eventually, she became aware that Bear had started to pace the length the kitchen.

  “Lay down,” she said distractedly, typing as quickly as she could.

  The dog didn’t lie down.

  “Bear, sit.”

  Bear sat, but then popped up again less than a minute later.

  “What’s wrong with you?” Jessica groaned, finally turning toward the dog, who was now standing frozen and pointing toward the oven.

  Jessica gasped and leapt out of her chair. It was past time for the roast to come out. Daniel would be home any minute.

  “Shit!” she burst out, running toward the oven and grabbing the hot pads she’d put on the counter earlier in the day when she’d been careful about every detail.

  She opened the oven, coughing at the wave of heat that rushed out at her. Ignoring it, she grabbed the big pan and dragged it out, coughing more as she did.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit,” she gasped, grabbing the first utensil she could lay her hands on. It happened to be a big wooden spoon.

  She poked the piece of meat. It didn’t look burnt. She was only ten minutes late in taking it out. Surely it wasn’t entirely ruined. She calmed down at this logical conclusion, although she was surprised and disturbed that the expensive roast had ended up half the size it had been when she’d put it in.

  Poking the meat with the spoon produced no verifiable results.

  She pushed the meat too hard with the spoon and the pan started to slide. She reached out to hold it steady, burning her fingers in the process. “Shit!”

  “What on earth is the matter?”

  She whirled around, sucking on her burned fingers and holding the wooden spoon up like a wand.

  Daniel stood in the kitchen, staring at her in astonishment. He wore khakis and a green dress shirt, and his lips were slightly parted.

  He looked scrumptious, and she was a perfect mess.

  “Nothing,” she managed to say. “I might have overcooked the roast a little.”

  He came over to investigate. “It sounded like the house was falling down.”

  “Yeah. Sorry about the language.”

  “It’s fine. Are you sure everything is all right?”

  “Yeah. I was just all in a rush when I took it out of the oven, and I burned my fingers. I don’t usually use that kind of language.”

  “I said it’s fine.” He frowned at her. “Do you really think I judge everything you do? There’s nothing in the Bible that says you can’t use the word ‘shit’. Believe it or not, occasionally I do too.”

  “You do?” She forgot her roast momentarily in genuine curiosity. “I’ve never heard you say it.”

  “It offends some people, so I try not to use it in public.” He came over to stand beside her near the counter. His frown had turned into a familiar half-smile. “But, you know, sometimes things really are shit, and there’s no other appropriate word to describe it.”

  She smiled at him sheepishly, then turned back toward her roast. “Let’s hope this isn’t one of those times when there’s no other appropriate word.”

  “I’m sure it’s fine.” He peered at the concoction in the pan and pointed out a pale, gelatinous mass. “What’s that?”

  “It’s a potato.” The vegetables hadn’t fared well, for some reason, but most of them looked edible.

  “Are you sure?”

  She groaned at his dubious tone. “Well, it was. I thought I did everything right. Surely ten extra minutes wouldn’t ruin the entire thing!”

  He started to chuckle but clearly bit back the instinct. “I’m sure it’s fine. I don’t mind well-done meat. Do I have time to change clothes?”

  “Yeah. I’ll get everything ready. I’ve got to try to cut this thing up.” She prayed the meat would taste good. It smelled pretty good, and it didn’t look too bad.

  “I don’t mind carving the—”

  “I can do it. You go change clothes.”

  She moved all her work stuff, telling herself that next time she was definitely going to set the oven timer. Why the heck hadn’t she thought of that before? Then she set the table with the dishes they’d received as wedding gifts.

  She lit a candle—not tapers, just a big chunky one that had been sitting on the counter. Then she cut the meat, which was tougher than she’d been hoping. She hadn’t eaten a roast like this in a long time, but she was sure it was tougher than it was supposed to be.

  She covered the meat with au jus, hoping the gravy would soak up and soften it. Then she spooned the vegetables into a bowl, cringing when a couple of the potatoes broke into mush.

  So it wasn’t perfect. But maybe it would taste okay.

  She put it all on the table and then decided the candle might be silly so she started to blow it out.

  “It looks great,” Daniel said, entering the kitchen wearing a t-shirt and a much more beat-up pair of khakis.

  She didn’t blow out the candle, after all, since he’d already seen it. She didn’t think the meal looked great, but he was obviously trying to be nice.

  He said the blessing, and she served the food, intentionally giving him the potatoes that appeared to have the most internal consistency.

&n
bsp; She sipped her water and watched out of the corner of her eye as he took his first bite.

  His face didn’t transform with disgust, so maybe it was edible.

  She watched as he chewed. And chewed. And chewed. And chewed.

  Then she groaned in defeat and lowered her head to the table. “It’s horrible! You don’t have to eat it.”

  He finally managed to swallow, although it seemed to take some effort. “It’s fine.”

  “No, it’s not. It’s nice of you to pretend, but there’s no sense in forcing yourself to eat this mess.” With a sigh, she stirred her meat around with her fork. “I don’t know what I did wrong. Maybe ten extra minutes was just too long.”

  “Or maybe it was just a bad cut of meat,” he said, peering at the roast on the platter. “It probably wasn’t your fault.”

  “It sure cost a lot to be a bad cut of meat.” She cringed at how much she’d paid for it.

  All she’d wanted to do is cook a decent meal and prove she was capable of being a pastor’s wife.

  “Then maybe it wasn’t a good recipe you used—maybe it had you set the temperature too high or something.” His voice was casual and friendly, but he was peering at her face in concern.

  She thought it was sweet he was trying to take the blame off her, but it also made her feel even more stupid. “I wonder what I did wrong.”

  “I don’t know anything about roast. All I can do is grill stuff outside. Lila always cooked roast in the slow cooker.”

  It probably always turned out perfectly, too. “I can ask my mom if she’s lucid tomorrow. Sometimes she can remember things like recipes.”

  “If not, just ask someone at church—Martha or Rebecca or someone. I’m sure they’d be able to help.”

  There was no way Jessica was going to ask one of the women at church about why her roast had been a disaster, but she didn’t say so to Daniel. She stood up and picked up both of their plates. “I’ll make us sandwiches.”

  He helped her by carrying the bowl of vegetables and platter of meat to the counter.

  He peered at her face closely. “Are you upset? Anyone could have ended up with a bad roast.”

  “But I’m the only one who did it. I’d tried so hard—” She broke off, since she didn’t want Daniel to know how much time and effort she’d spent preparing this meal.

  He didn’t respond immediately. Just stood, a little too close to her, near the counter. “It was nice of you to make it. I thought you didn’t like to cook.”

  “I don’t. I mean, I don’t mind it—I just don’t know how to do anything. I was trying.”

  She felt stupid and young and incompetent and a complete disaster as a wife.

  She turned away from him—toward the sink to clean out the plates—as she gasped on a ludicrous wave of emotion, one that completely surprised her.

  “Hey,” he said, turning her around with a hand on her shoulder. “I don’t care if you can cook or not. You don’t ever have to cook for me.”

  “I know. But I care.”

  “Well, it was a good effort.” He turned toward the very tough meat.

  His face was perfectly sober, but she could see just the smallest hint of a repressed smile, as though he were hiding amusement.

  “You can laugh.”

  “I don’t want to laugh.”

  “Yes, you do. It’s ridiculous. You can laugh.”

  He frowned at her in annoyance. “I’m not going to laugh when you’re upset.”

  Suddenly, she was hit by a wave of amusement—at how she’d gotten so worked up over something so inconsequential, at his valiant attempt to say the right thing, and at the pitiful outcome of all her meal preparations.

  What was happening to her? Just six months ago, she’d never dreamed she would get so upset over failing to cook a meal successfully. Most of her life, she’d barely even tried to cook, but she thought it was something a pastor’s wife should be able to do.

  Daniel smiled and looked visibly relieved when he saw her shift of mood. “Let’s not have sandwiches,” he said. “I’ll take you out for dinner.”

  “Okay.” She wiped her eyes, feeling better over the whole thing.

  “I’ll clear this up. Did you want to change clothes?”

  She glanced down at herself. She’d been so intent on the meal that she hadn’t even thought about putting on something decent or looking somewhat attractive. She wore sweats, a t-shirt, and no bra.

  “Yeah. I better. You can just leave it. I can clean up later.”

  “Okay.”

  She went upstairs and pulled on jeans and decent top. She ran a brush through her hair and was ready to go in about three minutes.

  As she came down, Daniel was cleaning up—despite her clear instructions not to.

  She was about to chastise him as she stood in the entrance of the kitchen, watching him dump the ruined food in the trash.

  Before she could speak, though, she saw him pick out a big piece of meat.

  He passed it down to Bear, who was begging just at his heel.

  “Shh,” he told the dog, raising a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell.”

  Bear, chomping happily on her meat, did as she was instructed and didn’t say a word.

  ***

  Cooking dinner hadn’t turned out exactly as she’d planned it, but she wasn’t prepared to give up on her goal of pursuing the kind of home experience she’d always envisioned. Her next step toward achieving that goal was to have a festive, cozy time decorating the Christmas tree with Daniel.

  She’d always imagined families—bigger families than her and her mom—having warm, joyous times trimming the tree, filled with laughter and intimacy. She’d always wanted that for herself.

  That Wednesday evening was the children’s Christmas pageant. The program was just an hour, however, and she and Daniel agreed to decorate their tree after the pageant.

  Jessica was very excited.

  She’d always gotten a tree for her little house in Charlotte, but she’d had to decorate it by herself. One year she’d invited friends over to do it with her, but it hadn’t been the experience she was hoping for. She thought this evening would be different.

  Daniel had to stay at church longer than she did to talk to someone after the pageant, so she came home and got everything ready.

  She made hot cider and got out the Christmas cookies she’d made that afternoon—the cookies were from pre-prepared dough and she’d sat vigilantly in front of the oven so she wouldn’t burn them. Then she put on Christmas music and pulled out the boxes of ornaments both of them had collected over the years.

  A church member had given them the tree, and it was a really good Fraser Fir they’d set up in the living room near the fireplace.

  When everything was prepared, she waited impatiently for Daniel to get back. The living room was cozy, and the evening was cold. With the festive music and all the ornaments surrounding her, it really felt like the holidays.

  Daniel came in a few minutes later. He wore black trousers and a dress shirt, since he always wore something decent for church events. He grinned at her as he walked in and reached down to grab four of the cookies as soon as he saw them.

  He ate them all, one after the other. They were obviously good, since he didn’t have to make a pretend face of enjoying them.

  She laughed and shook her head at his appetite. “Do you want to change clothes?”

  “Nah. No need. I don’t think it should take too long to get this done.”

  Well, that wasn’t too promising. She’d been hoping they could make a whole evening out of it—really spend time together and enjoy the holiday spirit.

  She told herself not to be disappointed, since he clearly didn’t know she’d built up the evening in her mind. “Okay,” she said casually. “Just don’t blame me if you get glitter on your pretty shirt.”

  He glanced down at his French blue shirt. “Pretty?”

  She giggled at his expression and got up to grab the lights.
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  Everything went smoothly. They didn’t squabble or get bogged down in annoyances. Nothing awkward or tense occurred. Daniel was kind of quiet, though.

  She tried to think of funny things to talk about, thinking he might be hit by poignant memories of decorating Christmas trees with Lila, and he started to smile more.

  Pleased he was warming up, Jessica’s excitement built up again, but then his phone rang. He glanced at the screen before he took it.

  She could tell something had happened, just by the tone of his voice.

  She resigned herself to the end of the evening when he said, “I’ll be over there as soon as I can.”

  When he hung up, she gave him a questioning look.

  “Paul Hanson had a heart attack.”

  “Oh no,” she gasped, forgetting her own disappointment. “Is he all right?”

  “He’s still alive. They’ve taken him to the hospital. I should get over there.”

  “Of course. Leave right now. Do you want me to go with you?”

  “No. There’s nothing for you to do, so you might as well stay here and finish this up.”

  She blinked. “Oh. We can do it later—”

  “No. It’s fine. You finish up. I’m not sure what time I’ll be back.”

  “Okay. Call and let me know how he is, and let me know if I can do anything for Rachel.”

  He left, and Jessica slumped to the couch, looking at the partly decorated tree.

  It was fine. This was part of being a pastor. You got called at any hour of the day when an emergency happened to someone in your congregation.

  Daniel didn’t have a choice, and she certainly didn’t begrudge his responsibilities.

  It would have been nice if he’d wanted her to wait so he could finish decorating the tree with her, but that was no big deal.

  She might be married, but that didn’t mean she would have warm, happy, holiday evenings.

  She really should know better by now.

  ***

  The next day Paul was doing better—still in the hospital but evidently not about to die.

  Jessica worked all day, and Daniel spent some time at the hospital and the rest of the time in his office. In the evening, he had a new member’s class at the church, which had dinner as part of it, so she didn’t even get to have dinner with him.