I sighed. “Then let’s just drop it, okay?”
She didn’t answer right away and I guessed why. She didn’t really want to drop it. She wanted to get me to somehow promise that I’d … I don’t know. That I’d never bring it up again. She wanted it to be over. For good.
“Look,” I said. “I promise I won’t go back to the oak grove.”
And ugh.
Just UGH.
Have you ever made a promise with your lips that your heart knows violates a deeper promise?
That’s what I felt, as I spoke those words to my friend.
But she looked so relieved.
“I’m so glad you said that,” she said. “Because Clare. We really need to put this behind you.”
I nodded.
“And Clare?”
“Yeah?”
“If you don’t want to see someone about this—a professional—I understand, really I do. But maybe—why don’t you write it all down.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know. Like a journal.”
I considered her suggestion. “Why?”
She shrugged. And I realized I knew the answer to that question. She figured that maybe writing about my experience would help me to get over it.
I sighed. What could I do?
I needed to keep Savannah calmed down about all of this. Otherwise I’d never figure it out.
And besides, it wasn’t such a bad idea. Maybe writing it down would help. Maybe it would help me feel calmer.
“Okay,” I said, “that’s a good idea, Savannah. I’ll do that. I’ll keep a journal.”
And so that’s why I started writing all this down.
That was a two days ago.
And now—tonight—I have a date with Josh Martin.
So.
Dear Journal.
How am I going to handle a date with Josh Martin after all that’s happened to me in the past ten days?
SAVANNAH
Clare told me all about her first date with Josh, of course.
It was a marvelous date. I knew it would be.
He took her to this chic restaurant on University called The Revelry. It’s one of the hippest places in the city. When you walk in the floor is a sheet of Plexiglas. You look down and you’re looking into the wine cellar.
He was trying to impress her, that’s for sure.
She said the food was good and the wine was good.
I said, “how about the company?”
And she smiled.
I know a fake smile when I see it.
But by then I was in a state of major denial. I honestly could not deal with it. I could not deal with the idea that my best friend had somehow caught Josh Martin’s eye, and instead of appreciating how lucky she was, she was all weirded out—and over what?
Over a fantasy that had somehow taken over her mind.
But what could I do? When I suggested she see a doctor—well, I can tell you, there was no way we were getting anywhere on that topic. Clare can be very stubborn when she wants to be. And—I’m not proud of this—but I’d Googled it to see if maybe I could force her to get help. But that wasn’t an option at all. Not as long as she wasn’t posing a threat to herself or others.
Yeah, I know. But I was trying to take care of her.
In the end, I did the right thing.
I waited it out.
I decided: just act like this date she’s going on is what you know it is—a first date with a guy any girl would be happy to catch. Act like that’s what’s going on. Eventually Clare will become her old self again. Right? She’d realize she was holding a treasure, right there in the palm of her hand.
Our lives would get back to normal.
Normal, plus Josh Martin.
CLARE: December 12
Dear Journal … What’s real? What isn’t real?
Especially when it comes to love?
You could say Josh Martin is real. I mean, if I asked Savannah, right now: who’s real?
Josh Martin?
Or Santa?
You know what she’d answer! She’s say Josh. Josh Martin.
So Savannah, why is it that I have butterflies in my stomach now?
We’re on our way, Dear Journal! On our way to see my sweet blue-eyed man again … Savannah has agreed to go with me to see my blue-eyed man!
She’s in the shower … I wish she’d hurry …
CLARE, December 12, con’t
Still waiting for Savannah to get out of the shower …
I should probably write all that’s happened since my date with Josh.
He called the next morning. I hadn’t left for work yet and Savannah was already up, so she saw me answer my cell and she guessed who it was.
She mouthed his name at me, Josh, while I was talking, with a big question in her eyes, and I nodded, and she looked all excited.
Really, I can’t blame her. The guy looks so good, on paper. Cute, smart, successful—he’d make a great husband.
And he was into me. That was clear.
He called to tell me that he remembered the name of a movie he’d told me about over dinner the night before.
“I found out what that movie’s called,” he said. “Sliding Doors.”
I’ve never seen it.
What happened was: we were talking about movies and Josh said that he likes romcoms—I told you he was cute!—and we started listing our favorite romcoms, and after we got past the usual suspects (you know, like Sleepless in Seattle and Nick and Nora’s Infinite Playlist) he mentioned seeing a romcom on cable that had two separate story lines.
“In one of them,” he said, “A girl misses a train, and the movie shows what happens to her afterward. But then it also shows what happens to her when she catches the train.”
“It sounds interesting,” I said.
But he couldn’t remember the name of it.
“Do you think there really are parallel worlds?” I’d asked him.
I’d had a couple glasses of wine.
But I was also thinking about my blue-eyed Santa.
Was he from a parallel world?
Josh kind of laughed at my question. “Naw,” he said. “But it was kinda different, for a movie.”
So then he called me. And he told me he’d remembered the name of the movie. And then he said, what he really wanted to know was if I was free next Friday.
“I’m so sorry,” I said. “I have to work.”
Then after I ended the call I saw Savannah looking at me funny.
“I thought your shift was done at 3 on Friday,” she said.
So, I’d lied.
“They might need me to work late,” I told her. “You never know. We’re getting really, really busy.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it again. I knew what she wanted to say. She wanted to say, “this is about that Santa fantasy, isn’t it.”
And she was right.
But she didn’t dare say it because she didn’t want me to even talk about it.
I started to feel a little mad at her.
It would be so much easier if she believed me.
If she met this guy Santa, and saw what he was like—then she’d understand why I was so torn up inside.
I like Josh. I really do! And I can see how odd it looks to Savannah, to have me go out on a date with this terrific guy and instead of falling for him I’m, like, being all weird about it.
So I don’t blame her for being kind of angry with me.
“Look,” she said. “If you don’t like the guy—fine. I get it. But tell me, Clare. Seriously. What is there not to like?”
I couldn’t hold her gaze. I looked away.
“If you’d only seen what I saw,” I said. I kind of muttered it though. Because I knew it was better if we didn’t even discuss the topic at all.
“Clare.”
I looked at her again.
“The reason I didn’t see it, is that there’s nothing to see.”
And I’m sorry, it w
asn’t very Christmas spirit of me, but I lost my temper.
“That’s it,” I said. “That’s it. I’m tired of this. I’m tired of you thinking that I’m some kind of nut case.”
“Clare—”
But I cut her off. “No,” I said. “No more, Savannah. You can either come with me to meet him, right now, or I’m going myself.”
“You said you wouldn’t go back there.”
“Well I’ve changed my mind.” I put my jacket on. “Are you coming?”
She sighed. “Lemme shower first.”
So I said sure, I’d wait.
So that’s what I’m doing, now. Waiting for her to get out of the shower.
And I’ve got butterflies like crazy.
Because this is it. I’ll show her—she’s going to see this guy and meet this guy, and then she’ll know that I’m not nuts.
She’ll know why I’m acting like I’m acting—she’ll know why I think I’ve fallen in love.
SAVANNAH
So, I admit it, I got a little nervous on the drive up.
She was so convinced. She was so sure of it—that we were going to drive up there and get out of the car and walk into the woods, and there he’d be. Her mysterious Santa hunk.
Next, she’d introduce us. And then, well, who knows? We’d all go into his little house in the tree and have milk and cookies or something, I guess.
But that’s not what happened.
We drove to the park. We got out of the car.
She was so excited, she was walking really fast.
I told her to slow down, but she didn’t, so I had to practically trot to keep up.
The day was warmish. The snow was soggy and slumped down and dirty, under the trees, with bits of bark and twigs.
“Over here,” she said.
I followed her to this big tree.
We stood there and looked at it.
She walked all the way around it.
“Bear?” she said. “Santa?”
And I have to say. I was relieved.
You know? Confession time: I didn’t want him to be real.
I didn’t want it.
It scared me—the whole idea of mysterious gorgeous men who don’t show up in photographs and ask women to go away with them …
No. Just no.
On the other hand, when I looked at Clare’s face—heartbroken is an understatement.
“He’s not here,” she said.
My first instinct was to say something sarcastic. Like: who’s not here? The guy who doesn’t exist?
But I couldn’t be mean about it.
Not with that look on her face.
“It’s okay,” I said.
I stepped toward her.
She sagged into me, and I put my arms around her.
“He was here,” she said, her voice muffled into the shoulder of my jacket. “He was here, Savannah.”
“But he’s gone, now,” I said. I was playing along, by then, but also in the back of my mind I was thinking this is good. This is good. Maybe this will help her put the whole thing behind her.
I offered to drive her car back to the apartment, and she let me. She wasn’t really in any condition to drive.
She just sat there, with her eyes closed, not talking.
When I tried to make conversation she didn’t answer ...
CLARE: December 19
Okay, so it’s been a week since I last wrote anything.
Honestly, I’ve been feeling too low to want to write.
Here’s the thing: until that morning, I really didn’t believe I could lose him.
Sure, I knew that by refusing to go with him I’d failed some kind of test. I’d shown him that I didn’t trust him.
So maybe I wasn’t worthy of him—of whatever he was offering me.
But in the back of my mind, I still thought I could have the spooky supernatural version of Can We Still Be Friends. No, I wasn’t going to follow him through a door that suddenly appeared in the trunk of an oak tree. But I could still meet him once in a while to chat, right?
Chat and … maybe kiss a little more?
And so, idiot that I was, I figured all I needed to do was show up and he’d be there, just like the first time.
And he wasn’t.
I felt like I’d been kicked in the stomach.
It didn’t even matter that I’d lost my last chance to regain any credibility in Savannah’s eyes. That was now a completely lost cause, of course. But I didn’t care.
I’d lost the most important thing in my life. Like the song goes—I knew what I’d had only when it was gone.
Losing some other stuff as well didn’t make it worse.
Nothing could make it worse than it already was.
I don’t know what to do, now.
I don’t know what I’m going to do ...
SAVANNAH
Oh, the next week was such a struggle!
Poor Clare.
She barely ate. I doubt she slept. She went to work—at least, I think she went to work, because she went out to her car every day and drove off—but at night when I got home I’d find her sitting in the dark.
I made her watch Christmas DVDs. It’s our tradition. It’s what we did every year. Miracle on 34th Street, The Grinch, It’s a Wonderful Life, Elf.
But I’d look over at her and I could tell she wasn’t really paying attention.
For the first time in my life, I realized that in a way, it doesn’t matter what’s “real.”
What matters is how you react to what you think is real.
You know? That sounds spooky, but really, it’s quite logical.
I started to feel bad about how I’d handled the whole thing. I mean, it wasn’t my job to convince Clare that her blue-eyed Santa person was a figment of her imagination.
My job was to be her friend. To fix her breakfast in the morning and remind her to eat it. To sit next to her on the couch in the evening and put the Christmas afghan on her lap when she looked chilly.
My job was to keep a semblance of our old lives in place, so that however much she was dying inside, at least she had something on the outside that was safe and normal.
I will admit that I called her mother and told her I was worried.
Of course I didn’t tell her what had really happened. I made up a fibby version instead—something just real enough so that her mom would be on the alert. I should explain: every year we spent Christmas Day with our families, and by then, Christmas Day was fast approaching. I wanted to make sure that when Clare showed up on her parents’ doorstep, her mom would be ready to do what moms do best.
“I don’t think she’d want me to tell you this,” I told her, “but Clare’s been through a bad break up and she’s feeling kind of low.”
Clare’s mom is great. She agreed that it was good I’d told her, and she promised not to tell Clare that she knew anything was wrong.
But I knew that she’d find ways to make Christmas Day special.
Because what Clare needed more than anything was a special Christmas.
CLARE: December 25
It snowed again last night.
And I’m finally feeling a bit better …
Snow on Christmas Eve …
This never happens. You know? The songs, the whole White Christmas thing, it sets us up—and because we want it so much, we watch for it, and nine years out of ten—nothing.
Not a flake.
But this year, we’ve had so much snow the whole month.
And then, last night, we got another fresh layer.
And it was the perfect amount, too. Not so much that last-minute travelers were in any trouble. Sure, the plows had to salt the roads, but the snow was light and cold and fluffy. Once the plows made a single pass, the roads were clear.
And the snow did exactly what it was supposed to do: it cleaned everything up. The rooftops were all pure white, the tree branches were frosted, the morning sun on the snow made a million little diamond flashes, and if y
ou looked closely you noticed the flashes were actually colored, all the colors of the rainbow.
So Savannah and I got up on Christmas morning and went out to our cars and I looked around and for the first time in days I felt a little better.
Because the snow did was it was supposed to do. Christmas snow.
Everything seemed like maybe it was a little magical.
We brushed our cars off.
We were on our way to visit our parents. It’s what we do every Christmas, since we went off to college. I spend the day with my family, Savannah spends the day with hers. Then, come evening, we meet back at our apartment and give each other our gifts.
Savannah gave me a big hug before we left.
“You’re feeling better, Clare? A little bit?”
She kind of whispered it, like she was afraid that saying it would make it not real.
And I thought wow. She loves me. She cares about me—and she’s been worried about me.
And I felt bad for worrying her.
“I’m gonna be okay,” I said to her. “I love you, Savannah.”
“I love you, too, Clare!”
And I cried a little bit, driving to my folks. But in a way it was crying from happiness.
She’s my best friend.
I’m so lucky, to have a friend like that.
And it was a wonderful Christmas. Almost perfect, really. My parents went through a rough time a few years back, but they’ve smoothed things over and now they seem really happy. My one brother—Kyle, the middle one—just finished up a four-year stint in the Army, so that’s nice. We don’t have to worry, any more, about him being sent over to the Middle East again, and smart as he is, he’ll have no trouble finding work. And my oldest brother, Stefan, brought his girlfriend Emily and—get this. He proposed to her at dinner—on his knee, with a ring. The whole smash.
It was one of those moments … I’ll never forget it. The look on my parents’ faces, the look on Emily’s face.
And my mom! She is soooo sweet. She loves Christmas just like I do. She kept coming up to me all day and hugging me and stroking my hair. I mean, it’s not like we never see each other. We live in the same town. I guess with it being Christmas, and her so happy about Stefan and Kyle—it just made her feel all warm and affectionate.
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