“I figured you could use the gifts early,” she says. “Things have been so damn depressing lately, you know? And what Ben and Jerry’s or Friends can’t fix, Gucci can.” She runs her fingers along the bag.
I quickly fetch the purse I’ve been using, a very worn camel-colored leather bag, and transfer the essential contents to my brand-new designer bag.
“You going somewhere?” Marian asks. “Giving your bag a test run?”
I toss her her keys lying on the coffee table. “We are going to get a Christmas tree.”
“Do you think there’s anything left? We’re two days away. Hals, there are probably only Charlie Browns left.”
I slip on my lightweight zip hoodie and proudly rest my new handbag’s straps on my shoulder. The ensemble as a whole leaves much to be desired, but with this bag I could walk out the door naked and feel dressed to the nines.
“Well then,” I say nonchalantly, “we’ll get a Charlie Brown. We’ll save it from the wood chipper so it can fulfill its Christmas destiny.” I give Marian a wink. “Besides, a Charlie Brown tree is probably fitting for this year’s Christmas, wouldn’t you say?”
“All right,” she gives in. “But we’re only buying one. You’re not going to pull a Phoebe on me and get me to buy up all the sad Charlie Browns.”
Fortunately, Marian and I find a lot with plenty of beautiful and full Christmas trees ripe for the picking. I, as Phoebe on Friends, always find it a bit sad, really, when we’re this close to Christmas and there are still so many trees that haven’t found rightful homes yet. This late in the game, most unwanted trees will either see the wood chipper or, if they’re lucky, fall into the hands of two thirtysomething women down on their love luck and in desperate need of some Christmas cheer.
“Are you sure we didn’t go too big?” I ask Marian, unsure about the size of our tree and the height of our living room ceiling.
“Are you kidding?” she spits, tugging at the rope that’s wound about the tree and my car roof. Her high-set bun is coming loose, now a lopsided mess. “I snagged this particular town house because of its tall-ass ceilings.”
I maintain my doubts, even though Marian’s ceilings are indeed quite high. This tree is taller than I’m used to. It’d never fit in my old place, and I really doubt it’ll fit here.
“The guy at the lot said it’s a fourteen-footer, and my ceilings are, like, fifteen. Or something.” Marian pulls free the rope and I assist her with carefully rolling the tree off the roof and somehow into our arms. The tree is unbelievably heavy, so it doesn’t stay in our arms for long.
“Damn,” Marian breathes. “This sucker’s heavy.”
“Because it’s fourteen frickin’ feet,” I say with a laugh. “Marian, I’m not so sure.”
“Hals.” She gives me a stern look, one hand on her jutted hip. “We need to stay positive here. We have greater challenges than finding out if this beast fits or not.”
“We need to figure out how we’re going to lug it up the stairs,” I say succinctly.
Marian instructs me to take the top portion while she handles the trunk. “I’ve been doing fifty push-ups a day,” she says, which is supposed to suggest she’s the stronger of us and can therefore handle the heavy bottom.
“Fifty?” I say, impressed.
“One, two, three, lift,” she says, and up goes the tree, back into our arms.
“Fifty,” she breathes out. “You know, between the Ben and Jerry’s and the realization I’ve lost my greatest love, a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.”
I lead the way to the stairs, moving with slow, stunted steps so as not to put any more of a burden on Marian. My end is surprisingly light. I move farther down the tree, almost to the midsection. It’ll lessen the load on Marian as we ascend the stairs and take the corners.
We’re halfway up the miserable flight of stairs when a male voice shouts out, “What are you doing?”
“What the hell does it look like we’re doing?” Marian bellows from under a blanket of pine.
Assuming we’re holding up the stairwell, I blindly shout, “We’re almost out of the way. Sorry!”
“Are you two insane?” comes the voice, still as stern and rather condescending.
Like that, the weight of our overgrown Christmas tree is lifted from my shoulders. I crawl out from underneath the mesh-contained green and step up to the landing, my eyes growing wide at the sight before me.
“Halley?” Marian calls from under the tree.
“I’ve got it. I’ve got it, Marian,” Cole says.
Marian emerges, eyes also wide, from under the tree. She’s on the midway landing just below me. Cole, our colossal tree on his back, is in between us in the middle of the stairs.
“Coming up,” Cole says, taking the steps two at a time.
I dart out of his way, my mouth now hanging open.
“House two-eleven, you said, right?” he calls out.
I glance down at Marian.
“You said?” she mouths to me, incredulous.
“Yes!” I call to Cole, still looking straight at Marian. “Two-eleven.”
“Halley . . .” Marian’s jaw is tight.
“I may or may not have gone to see him,” I say bashfully.
She blinks a few times, then rushes up the stairs.
No one says a word as I unlock the front door. No one says a word as we enter the town house, Cole with the tree still slung on his back.
Finally Cole breaks the silence. “Where should I put this?”
Dumbfounded, Marian and I look at each other and don’t respond.
“Living room?” Cole suggests.
Marian looks to be in a complete state of shock, her arms listlessly by her sides, eyes and mouth opened wide.
“I think this tree might be a little too big for these ceilings,” Cole says with a light laugh.
I smack Marian on the shoulder to wake her from her trance. I gesture with my head to Cole and the oversize tree. “Say something,” I whisper.
She doesn’t. Total shock.
“That’s what I feared,” I say, walking over to Cole. “We got too big a tree.”
“Well, where should I put it?” He casts about. “Corner? Window?”
Marian speaks at last. “By the fireplace.” She points, like a woman pointing to an apparition, to the awaiting tree stand next to the fireplace.
“The fireplace?” Cole says, perplexed.
“Mmmhmm.”
“Seriously?” Cole shakes his head, and I can see the corners of his lips turn up ever so slightly.
“Yeah, uhh,” I jump in, since Marian’s still playing the ghost-sighting girl. “Probably not the best idea, huh? Fires and all?” Discomfited, I dig my hands into my pockets.
“Something like that,” he says.
I move the tree stand to a corner of the living room, one as far from the fireplace as possible. Cole sets the tree into position.
“What are you guys doing just now getting a tree?” he asks casually. “I’m surprised you found such a nice one so late.” He hitches a thumb to the tree. “Looks like a big one.”
“It is.” I’m trying to keep the air from becoming stale. Marian still won’t snap out of it. “Not a Charlie Brown, like we feared we’d end up with.”
“What are you doing here, Cole?” Marian says, voice calm yet stony.
Cole looks from me to Marian, and as soon as he does, his expression morphs into one filled with pain and hope and a hundred questions and answers. I take this as my cue to leave.
I’m halfway across the living room when I whisper, “I’ll leave you two alone.”
“No,” Marian says, grabbing my arm. “Stay, Halley.”
I comply, taking my awkward position next to her, hands folded in front of me like an obedient child.
“Cole,” Marian says.
“Marian.”
“What are you doing here?”
“Marian,” I whisper beseechingly, “let me leave you two al
one.”
“No, he won’t be here long. Stay,” she insists.
Now I’m confused. I didn’t expect Marian to put on her best upset face if Cole were to finally mount that white horse and ride on over. Then again, he may have ridden over, but maybe not on that white horse. Maybe he’s here not to declare his undying love, but . . .
Oh hell, what do I know about love?
“Marian,” I try to protest once more, but this time Cole cuts in.
“You can stay, Halley,” he says. “In fact, you should stay.”
“I should?”
“Yeah. You’re why I’m here today.”
From the corner of my eye I see Marian look at me with a bewildered expression.
“Well,” Cole says, “I’m here for Marian, but . . . you know.”
“What the hell is going on?” Marian bursts out.
I decide my place in all of this is on the sofa, knees against my chest in a protective kind of way, completely neutral about whatever’s going to go down. Passive, observant at most.
“Marian,” Cole says. He takes two steps toward her and stops when she takes one step back. “When Halley came to talk to me, she said a lot that made sense.” He takes another step closer. This time Marian doesn’t retreat. “I don’t like how we ended things all those years ago. Or when you visited me.”
“I didn’t like it, either.” Marian’s voice is quaking. “But you said I hurt you more than you thought possible. And I did. I did, Cole. You said you wished I wouldn’t have come to see you, and I get that.”
“Marian.”
“You said all I was doing was hurting you again, and I get that, too.” Her voice rises.
“Marian.”
“And that you don’t believe in marriage.” This line causes Marian’s voice to squeak.
“Marian.”
“No!” She holds up a hand, stopping him from advancing any farther.
Cole slips both hands in his front pockets and rocks back on his heels.
“I heard you loud and clear, Cole. And yes, I’ve spent all my wishes on you, hoping you’d come back. But . . . why? Why are you here?” She squeezes her eyes shut, fighting back the tears. “Why, Cole?” she begs. “Because everything I said to you . . . Nothing’s changed. I still love you. I still want you back.”
“Marian.” He smiles. “Can I answer why I’m here?”
She groans and rolls her eyes, caught up in emotion.
“I didn’t say everything I should have when you came by the station,” he says. His voice is low and collected. “I told you I’m not sure I believe in marriage anymore, but that was only half of it. I was afraid of admitting to you why I don’t believe in it. Yes, you hurt me. Badly.” He inhales deeply, steadying himself. “I was engaged once, and I broke it off.”
Marian’s wearing a face that reads, Why are you telling me this again? I’m pretty sure I am, too.
“You know why?” he rhetorically asks. “I’d rather be single than incompletely in love.”
“What?”
“I may have been angry with you, but I’ve always loved you, Marian. I’ve never come to feel for anyone what I felt for you. What I . . . still feel for you. Granted, I’ve been hurt and angry, but my love for you has been constant. It’s you, Marian. It’s always been you.” He reaches a cautious hand forward, and when Marian doesn’t react, doesn’t move away, doesn’t flinch, he gently places it on the side of her shoulder. “I really don’t know where we go from here. But if what you said to me is true, and if what Halley—who, seriously, is one hell of a best friend—said is all true, then . . . like you said, I think we owe it to each other to see if there’s still something there. Something we can still have.”
Cole hesitates in bringing his second hand up to Marian’s other shoulder, but then Marian brings her hands to her face and gasps.
“Marian?” Cole looks at her expectantly, both hands now on her shoulders. “This is me chasing our love. I should have run after you the first time. I don’t want to let you get away again. I’m not sure how we start or where to go from here, but we still love each other, and I think with that we can go pretty far.”
“Cole,” she cries.
“Look, I know how much you love grand romantic gestures. I’m twelve years late, but . . . we should give us a try again.”
Marian squeezes her eyes shut, her face filling with a blush. “Cole, I don’t—I don’t know what to say.”
“How about to start, a yes to my asking you on a date?” he says with a growing smile.
Marian presses her hands to her face again, lightly pulling down taut the skin on her forehead—the quintessential image of disbelief and joy.
“Yes!” she shrieks. “Omigod.”
Cole wraps her in his arms, and like something straight out of a fairy tale, he kisses her. And then they kiss as if they’re making up for lost time, which I suppose is exactly what they’re doing.
“We have a lot to catch up on,” Cole says, his head pressed to hers.
“A lot to talk about,” Marian says. “A lot of forgiving and explaining.”
“We’ve got time.” He runs his thumb along her cheek, and I decide to slip silently from the sofa and make my way to my room. The credits are rolling. It’s time to leave the theater.
Before I can complete my escape, I hear Cole say to Marian, “I’m going out of town for Christmas. How’s a New Year’s Eve date sound?”
“Perfect,” Marian says, and then she says my name, halting me in my tracks. “But I can’t leave my main girl, Halley, alone. It’s New Year’s Eve.”
“Hi.” I wave sheepishly. “That’s me, the lonely divorcée.”
Cole looks surprised, and he’s about to say something when I add, “Marian, don’t worry about me. You have yourself a fabulous New Year’s Eve. It’s time. Really.”
She turns to Cole. “It’s a deal.”
There’s no use in my hiding in my bedroom at this point, because Cole is out the door seconds later, reminding us once more not to place our Christmas tree by the fireplace and, preferably, not to use the fireplace while we have the tree up.
“Oh. My. God!” Marian screams, jumping up and down as soon as Cole leaves. “Omigod, Halley! Can you—Did you—What—”
I jump up and down with her, her hands in mine.
“I know,” I say. I tell her about my firehouse visit and Marian’s beside herself, absolutely gleeful.
“Halley, consider your Christmas gift for me finished. That was more than I could have ever wished for!”
An hour later, our tree still wrapped, our eyes still wide with disbelief, Marian and I are sipping champagne on the balcony.
“Did that really happen?” Marian asks.
I laugh. “Oh yeah.”
“Wow.” She exhales loudly. “Wow, wow, wow.” She looks over at me. “God, can you imagine if neither of us had said anything? If I didn’t go down there—if you didn’t go down there? I can’t help but think of all the time Cole and I’ve lost. Twelve years! So much time lost. But now we have our future. I mean, I don’t want to get ahead of ourselves, but . . . this is huge, Halley. Huge!”
“I’m so happy for you, Marian.”
“Omigod.” She presses a palm to her forehead.
“You know,” I say, glancing back at our tree that, affirmative, is a good half foot too tall. The point is bent at a complete ninety.
“Hmm?”
“All that time away from each other, while it sucks, was just your guys’ journey to get to here. Life never takes you where you think it will, you know?”
“I like that notion, Halley.”
“I do, too,” I say, looking out at the palm tree–lined street below, inspired by the thought of winding roads and the unexpected places they can take you.
The winding road on which I find myself on Christmas Eve is the one leading to Charlotte and Marco’s home. It’s an annual tradition in the Miller home to host on either Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. On the
rare occasion that Adam and I were in attendance, usually Mom and Ray would make an appearance, as would Marco’s parents and his brother and his family, and always my father. This year, Charlotte and Marco have decided to open their home for both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. Invitations were extended to come to either or both. It was, as Charlotte told me, her and Marco’s way of strengthening their family unit, reveling in what brings loved ones together.
Tomorrow everyone will come together under the Miller roof to celebrate. Tonight it’ll be a cozy few—just Dad and me. Mom and Ray were supposed to join but are apparently winning big at the slots and tables, so they have extended their festive Vegas retreat another night—no one’s exactly made a fuss over their change in plans. I’m really looking forward to the quiet, intimate evening. I’m also looking forward to tomorrow’s larger gathering. It’s been a long time since I’ve spent Christmas with family, and I think it’ll be a while before I’ll be able to stand strongly on two feet during this time of year. The holiday season may have marked the proposal of my marriage as well as its conclusion, but in time I think it will come to be a reminder to hold close what is dear, to stay hopeful, to remember that we don’t get a second shot at life, so make the most of the one you’ve got.
“Finally,” Marco says with two thumbs up. He saunters in from the hall.
“The kids in bed?” Charlotte asks, hopeful.
“Better. They’re asleep.”
“All of them?” Charlotte’s beside herself.
Marco proudly nods and says, “Reading The Night Before Christmas will do that.”
“As does the threat of Santa Claus not stopping by homes where children aren’t sleeping,” Dad says with a chuckle.
“Shall we?” Charlotte asks, smiling and looking to Marco. She pulls the throw from her lap and stands.
Marco rubs his hands together. “Let’s get ’em,” he says of Santa’s delivery, ready to be made now that visions of sugarplums are dancing in their children’s heads.
To the unaware observer, Charlotte and Marco are a happily married couple, clashing over nothing heavier than whether to let A Christmas Story or sports play on TV. Underneath they are healing, working hard to repair the frayed places. They’re actually doing quite well, all things considered, as Charlotte informed me earlier in the evening. But they’ve still got a very long road ahead, she also said.
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