One Hot December

by Tiffany Reisz

  “I want that, too,” Ian said. “I’m ten years older than you are so it’s only right that I warn you that I’ll want to get married sooner rather than later. I think I even want a kid—one at least, two at the most. Those things are important to me. And if you can’t see that happening with me—”

  “I can,” she said.

  “You can?”

  “Yeah. With you I can see that happening. It scares me but in the good way, the way I get scared when I get a good idea for a sculpture and I don’t know if I can pull it off or not but I have to try.”

  “This feels real, what you and I are doing,” he said. “I need it to be real. I don’t want to dick around. I don’t want to screw this up. I want the real thing with you and I want it now. We’ve waited long enough to get serious with each other.”

  “I feel the same way,” she said. “It’s a relief to hear you say it.”

  “How would you feel about me giving you the key to my place?” he asked. “That way it won’t be breaking and entering when you wait outside the bathroom while I’m in the shower.”

  “I think I like that idea.”

  “What do you think about moving in with me up here?” Ian tensed. He knew he was pushing things with her but right now with the snow under their feet and the stars over their heads like an umbrella, he felt like he could say anything to her.

  “Are you in love with me?” she asked.

  “You know I am.”

  “Say it.”

  “I’m in love with you, Veronica Redding. I am deeply in love with you. I spent the last six months trying not to be in love with you, and there were days when it was physically painful to be around you and not tell you what I feel. It felt like I had a vise clamped on my heart and now it’s finally off. All the pain in my chest is gone. I know it’s kind of soon to mention all this, but I’ve spent six months not being able to take a full breath because of you and now I can breathe again and all I want to breathe in or out is you.”

  There was that smile again, that smile as rare and lovely as a rose blooming in winter.

  “I can’t move in with you,” she said. “I want to. I do. But I can’t afford it.”

  He laughed. “You think I’d charge you rent? I don’t want or need your money.”

  “Yes, but I want and need my dignity. I’m not going to mooch off you just because you can afford it.”

  “But—”

  “I can’t,” she said again. “And I swear, it’s not you. I’ve been in love with you a long time. You asking me to move in with you feels like Santa Claus showed up and asked me if I wanted a new Lincoln Electric torch kit and two tons of scrap metal. Of course I want it. But I’m not sleeping with Santa Claus. I can’t take charity from the man I’m in love with. I love it when you play the boss when we’re in bed together, but when we’re not in bed, I need us to be equals. I can’t be in your debt.”

  “I get that, I do,” he said. “When I was in my twenties, I lived in a whole series of shitty apartments because I wouldn’t take money from Dad, and I didn’t want to live at home. But you already told me you’re going to be making the same amount at Clover’s nursery as you were at Asher. Does that mean we’re never going to live together?”

  She sighed and blew a cloud of smoke all the way up to the moon.

  “How about this?” she said. “How about we wait until I sell a sculpture? I only have to sell one and I can afford to pay my fair share of this place for at least a year. Then I can move in and not feel like a gold digger.”

  “I only make two-fifty a year. It’s more like a bronze digger.”

  She laughed. “You know what I mean.”

  “I know what you mean. Okay, it’s a deal. I don’t want to wait but I can. For you I can definitely wait.”

  “The Morrison Gallery is doing a big show and a nightly gallery hop the week before and on Christmas. I might sell something. You never know.”

  “And then you’ll move in with me?”

  “And then I’ll move in with you.”

  “You promise?”

  “I swear.”

  “And you said I can’t buy one of your sculptures?”

  She shook her head. “No cheating.”

  “Fine. No cheating.”

  With her hand in his, he started to pull her back toward the path, back toward the house. He couldn’t wait to get her into bed again and make love to her until morning.

  “Wait,” she said. “Look.”

  She pointed at the sky and Ian followed her finger to where what appeared to be a small meteor was streaking through the cluster of stars and toward the horizon.

  “Make a wish,” she said.

  Ian made his wish.

  “What did you wish for?” Flash asked.

  “For you to sell a sculpture.”

  She laughed softly. “You want me to move in that much?”

  “I want you to be happy,” he said. “And I know that would make you happy.”

  He looked at her and saw tears rimming the edges of her eyes. They glowed white in the moonlight.

  “You’re trying to get me into bed, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Is it working?”

  “It’s definitely...” Flash took a step back. Her eyes went wide. Too wide.

  “What?”

  “Ian,” she whispered. “There is a giant fucking bear behind you.”

  “Shit, what?” He whipped his head around and saw nothing, absolutely nothing.

  Then he heard footsteps running in the snow.

  And laughter. So much evil laughter.

  “Made you look!” Flash called back.

  “You are in so much trouble!” he yelled, and started chasing after her.

  He heard Flash laughing all the way back to the house.

  10

  IAN TOOK OFF work early on Friday the eighteenth for the very good reason anyone takes off work early on the Friday before Christmas week—because he could, because there was nothing else to do at work since it was the week before Christmas and because he wanted to have sex with his girlfriend—the sooner, the better.

  He hadn’t been to Flash’s apartment yet and that was for good reasons, too—Flash hadn’t asked him over, and he was still working on his house every free moment he had. But work had taken him into Portland, past Flash’s apartment complex, and as they’d been officially dating and sleeping together for two weeks now, he figured he’d earned the right to show up unannounced at his girlfriend’s place to surprise her with flowers and the erection he’d been trying to keep subdued the past hour—all Flash’s fault. In general the bulk of his erections were her fault simply by existing but this one was undeniably all her doing. An hour ago he’d texted her asking if she wanted to get dinner at the Timber Ridge Lodge tonight. She’d said she would as long as they could also get a hotel room and have sex with her tied to the bed. He’d agreed and discovered he couldn’t get a hotel room until tomorrow night, which he’d promptly booked. With that image she’d planted in his head, there was no fucking way he could wait the twenty-four hours to make that fantasy come true. He could only hope she was home and in a bondage sort of mood. He’d brought her flowers. If that didn’t do the trick, he had no idea what would, but he was willing to try begging.

  He pulled into her apartment parking lot shortly after five. The complex was nice if somewhat bland. All the buildings looked the same, but they were well-made housing blocks with nicer-than-average landscaping. The abundance of elevators and wheelchair ramps attested to the complex’s past life as a retirement complex. Flash had said her downstairs neighbor was in her late eighties. Perhaps she was a holdout from the old days.

  With his flowers in hand he walked up the stairs to Flash’s door and knocked. There was no answer. That was surprising as she hadn’t said anything about going into town today. He knocked again and waited. Nothing. He sent her a quick text asking her where she was. She replied a few seconds later with a terse Driving.

  Well, shit
.

  He put the flowers outside her door. As quiet and well-managed as the place seemed, he didn’t think the flowers were at risk of being stolen. He walked back down the stairs and was on the last step when a door behind him opened.

  “Veronica, is that you?”

  Ian looked around and found a white-haired woman in a pale blue wool dress standing in a doorway.

  “Not Veronica,” he said. “I was just looking for her. She went out, I guess.”

  “She did,” the elderly woman said. “I thought she’d come home and I’d missed her. I need her help with something.”

  “Can I help you?” Ian asked. “I’m her boyfriend.”

  The older woman smiled and her eyes sparkled with mischief.

  “Ian Asher. I should have recognized you. Your hair’s gotten too long. Would you like me to cut it for you? I always cut my boys’ hair.”

  “Thank you but that’s okay. I’m getting it cut tomorrow.”

  “Oh, yes, the Christmas party is Sunday, isn’t it? You do have to look nice for that. Your father’s announcing his reelection campaign, isn’t he?”

  Ian grinned. This woman knew his life better than he did.

  “You have to be Mrs. Scheinberg,” Ian said. “Flash told me about you.”

  “And she’s told me quite a bit about you. Come in, come in. She should be back soon.”

  “Do you know where she went?”

  “She’s been cleaning out her workshop all day now that she’s done with her sculpture.”

  “She’s done already?”

  “Oh, yes, took it to the Morrison two days ago. They wanted it there in time for the holiday gallery hop tonight. Here, let me take your coat.”

  Ian shrugged out of his coat and passed it to her. She hung it in the hall closet. She had a nice place. Very old-fashioned but elegant, just like she was.

  “I can’t believe she finished it that fast. I need to go see it.”

  “You should. She showed me a photograph. Just exquisite. She said she was inspired,” Mrs. Scheinberg said with an impish twinkle in her eyes. “And a little happiness helps with the creation process. I never believed that old yarn that artists have to be miserable to make art. I know Veronica. She does her best work when she’s happy. And you have made her a very happy lady this month. Sit. I’ll make tea.”

  She pointed at the kitchen table chair and Ian sat as he was instructed. He would have offered to help but she seemed completely capable of making tea on her own.

  “Thanks for letting me wait here for her,” Ian said. “Any idea when she’ll be back?”

  “Soon, I imagine. She’s been gone awhile and she said something about being back in time for dinner with you. You’ve been very good about planning dates, I’ve noticed,” Mrs. Scheinberg said as she put water in her tea maker. “My husband was a planner, too. Very thoughtful. Always planning something fun for us to do together. He’s been gone ten years, but I still have over fifty years of good memories to keep me company until we meet again.”

  “Sounds like he was a great husband.”

  “The very best. But you’ll make a good husband someday, too. I can tell.” She gave him a little wink as she carried two mugs of tea over to the table.

  “You can tell? Good. I’m glad someone can. When I was a kid, I thought by the time I was thirty-six I’d already be married and have kids of my own. I was fifteen years old when my father was my age. I’m running a little behind.”

  She waved her hand dismissively.

  “Times are changing, Mr. Asher. People live longer. What’s the rush settling down? You settle down when you meet the right person, not because you think it’s the right time. You hadn’t met the right person yet. Now you have.”

  Ian smiled behind his tea mug.

  “Now I have,” he said.

  “That’s good to hear. My son is insisting I move in with him and his wife. He says he can’t sleep at night thinking about me all alone. I tell him I’m not alone, that I have my Veronica one floor above me. He says Veronica can’t always be there. So...he’s right about that. This is proof. My light bulb is out in the bathroom and I can’t stand on the chair to change it. And where’s Veronica? Not here.”

  “I’m here.”

  “But you won’t always be here, either. And as long as she has you and she’s happy, I can be happy and move in with my son without worrying about her being alone. She’s not alone anymore so I can go.”

  “I’m sure she’ll really miss you.”

  “She will. But she can come see me anytime she wants. I’ll have my own little house in his backyard. They call it a ‘mother-in-law suite.’ Isn’t that something. A whole house to keep the mother-in-law out from underfoot but close enough to keep me out of trouble.”

  “I’ve built a few of those,” Ian admitted. “We call them guesthouses, though. It’s a little less insulting.”

  “I’m not insulted. I like my daughter-in-law better than my son most days. She has a sense of humor at least. She has to have one to be married to him. But you know something about that, dating my Veronica. She’s what we always called a ‘tough cookie.’”

  “She’s a tough cookie, all right. I must like tough cookies.”

  “Smart men do,” Mrs. Scheinberg said, nodding her approval. “Would you like a cookie? I have frosted Christmas cookies.”

  “No, thank you. Wait, Christmas cookies? I thought Flash said—”

  “Oh, yes, I’m Jewish. But I’m a sucker for a frosted Christmas tree. Veronica sneaks them to me. She’s my dealer.”

  “She’s a good one,” Ian said.

  “The very best.” Mrs. Scheinberg sat her cup down on the table. “Now that I’ve had my tea, would you do me the favor of changing my bathroom light bulb? I may need to see in there very soon.”

  “It’s my pleasure.”

  She took him to the bathroom where he quickly replaced the light bulb.

  “You’re very tall,” she said. “I’d have to stand on a chair and my balance isn’t what it used to be. Another reason to move in with my son. Do you know him? Moshe Scheinberg?”

  “Heard of him. Hospital administrator, yes?”

  “That’s him. He knows your father. Donated to his campaign.”

  “Well, thank your son for us. I’m sure Dad will be hitting him up again soon.”

  “We’ll be ready,” she said. “Are you looking forward to the Christmas party?”

  “I’m not dreading it. Can’t say I’m excited about it.”

  “You should be excited. Veronica will be wearing my red Givenchy. I’m making her wear it. Second time’s a charm, yes?”

  Ian grimaced. He’d forgotten Flash had told her neighbor about the party incident.

  “About that,” Ian said. “I still feel terrible. But I promise, nothing bad is going to happen at the Christmas party. I’ll be with her.”

  “Good. They call people like Veronica ‘crabby’ but that only means she’s got a hard shell. Inside she’s soft as the rest of us. She takes things much harder than she lets on. She was very hurt that night. Very hurt. It’s been good to see her so happy lately. She says her new sculpture is the best work she’s ever done.”

  “I hope it sells fast,” he said.

  “She does, too.”

  Ian grinned. “I’ll tell you a secret. I asked Flash to move in with me.”

  “You did? She didn’t tell me. When is she moving?”

  “She’s not. Not yet. She said she can’t move in with me until she can afford to pay her half of my monthly mortgage payment.”