Chapter 36
Gwen
I walk into the family room and see my mother and Charley having a moment on the couch. Part of me is happy to finally see them getting along, to no longer have to play referee to their constant bickering, but another part of me is somewhat envious. I have never been close to my mother. I love her and I know her in a way that Charley never has, but we’ve never confided in each other or had any kind of intimate relationship. It seems in the past few weeks that Charley has grown closer to our mother than I have in the ten years since I reconciled with her after Olivia was born. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t feel left out.
“Come here Gwen, sit with us,” my mother says, holding her hand out to me when she notices me standing in the room.
I plop down next to her on the couch and she pulls me closer and holds my hand.
“We were just talking about how over-the-top your father was about Christmas. Do you remember that year he broke his arm? Charlotte, you were probably only two.”
I remember. “He fell off the roof, putting the Christmas lights up,” I say.
“Not just the lights. He had bought a light-up Santa with a sleigh and all eight reindeer. I told him to set it up in the front yard, but he insisted it be on the roof for the full effect.”
“Our house was lit up like National Lampoon’s Christmas that year,” I say remembering how magical it looked at night when my dad would flip the switch.
It’s quiet for a moment and then my mom says, “Charlotte, here, just realized that she’s in love with Grey.”
“Mother, seriously,” Charley scolds.
“So the question is, what are you going to do about it?” I ask. I knew that Charley felt something real for Grey, but I also knew that she had to realize it on her own. I just hope that it’s not too late. Grey doesn’t seem like the type to sit around, pining for a woman.
“I don’t know,” Charley says quietly. I sit forward and glance at her. She looks terrified, sitting on the other side of my mother, gripping her hand with her bottom lip between her teeth.
“Well we could get drunk,” I suggest.
“That sounds like a marvelous idea, Gwen,” my mother says.
“Wine or liquor?” I ask, as I stand to grab something from the kitchen.
“Wine and I’ll get it. You sit and relax, Gwen,” Charley says as she hops up and heads for the kitchen. I sit back down and cuddle up next to my mom. She pulls my hair aside and kisses me on the forehead, an endearing gesture that I find myself reveling in. “I love you Gweny,” she whispers, squeezing me against her side tightly.
The way she calls me by the nickname she gave me during the early years melts something inside me and I whisper back, “Love you too, Mom.”
Charley’s back in a flash with an uncorked bottle of red wine and three glasses. She pours each of us a loaded goblet and then we clink our glasses together as she says, “Merry Christmas.”
We drink, we laugh, we reminisce. I can’t remember ever feeling so connected to my sister or my mother. When Charley gets up to grab another bottle of wine, John comes in wearing a Santa hat with his arms full of presents.
“Partying without me I see?” he says with a wink as he sets the gifts down in front of the Christmas tree.
“Oh, honey, you already wrapped all of these? Why didn’t you tell me, I would’ve helped,” I say.
“I know, but I didn’t mind. You already did so much today. Do my wrapping skills meet your approval?” he teases.
And then Charley says with a slur, “Perfect John. It looks like Santa’s elves wrapped them.” She punches him in the arm playfully and nearly spills her wine. John takes the glass from her hand and finishes off what’s left in it.
My mother and I laugh. I get up and arrange the presents under the tree, the same way I have for the past ten years.
We finish off another bottle of wine before we decide to call it a night. I know that the kids will be awake at the crack of dawn and anxious to open their gifts from Santa Claus. My mother hugs me goodnight, holding on for an extra beat before kissing my cheek and letting go. Such a subtle gesture but one that leaves a lump in my throat.
I follow everyone out of the room, flipping off the lights along the way except for the white lights on the Christmas tree. I glance back from the stairwell, admiring the soft glow from the tree, the smoldering logs in the fireplace, the stockings that hang from the mantel each with the kids’ names embroidered in red at the top. I want to hold on to the moment just a little bit longer, to revel in the warmth of the room, the way it fills my heart to the brim.
“You coming?” John whispers from a few stairs above me. I turn and follow him upstairs, to our bedroom.
When John and I finally crawl into bed, he leaves his bedside lamp on and hands me a small box.
“What’s this?” I ask with surprise.
“Merry Christmas,” he says.
I pull the lid off the box and lift a small black velvet case from its confines. I glance at John and he nods toward the case. I open it to find a stunning diamond and platinum ring. The center gem is a nearly three-carat emerald cut diamond surrounded by a halo of smaller stones. The delicate band is adorned with diamond accents, giving the ring a glamorous effect. It is the most exquisite ring I have ever seen.
“It’s beautiful John... I don’t know what to say. I love it.” I’m stunned as I pull it from the box and hold it up to the light. It’s nearly blinding.
“Your wedding band is so small, I just thought it was time for an upgrade.”
“I love my wedding band, though,” I say, holding up my ring finger and admiring the simple gold band set with a beautiful solitaire diamond, a much smaller affair. But it reminds me of where John and I began, in a small apartment in the city, eating dinner on the sofa because we couldn’t afford a dining table. So young and crazy in love.
“You could wear it on a chain around your neck to make room for your new ring,” John suggests.
I slip my wedding band off and slide it on my right hand and then slip my new ring in its place. Perfect fit. “This thing is humongous,” I say, holding up my hand to admire it. “I love it,” I squeal with a huge grin on my face. We both lie back on our pillows, facing each other. “Thank you,” I whisper.
“There’s a tiny inscription on the inside,” he says and I immediately pull the ring off my finger and examine the inside of the band. In tiny cursive letters, so small one would never see it unless they knew it was there, it says, “beyond forever.”
Tears spring to my eyes at the significance. “Oh John, I love you,” I say, slipping the ring back on my finger and pulling him close.
“Gwen, I mean it. I will always love you, no matter what,” he says with tears in his eyes. “Always. It will always be you.”
I nod through my own tears. I know exactly what he means. We don’t talk about the inevitable, but it’s always there just on the periphery. And John’s promise to love me forever now holds a new meaning than it did on our wedding day.
I hold his face in my hands and I kiss him. I kiss him with all the words that we leave unspoken. And I pray to God that this is the first of many more Christmas seasons in my new forever.
“Mommy, Mommy, Santa came. He came,” Max yells in my ear as I slowly open my eyes one at a time. A smile stretches across my face as Max’s excitement comes into focus.
“Okay, I’m getting up,” I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. I feel John stir beside me and slowly climb out of bed.
“I’ll start the coffee, you get everyone else,” he mumbles. I sit up and stretch, while Max throws my robe at me and runs out of the room yelling Olivia’s name. I pull my robe on and catch sight of my new ring as it captures the light streaming in from the hallway. I take a moment to admire it, practically giddy with happiness.
I go to the office first and wake Charley. She mumbles a few obscenities at me but eventually gets out of bed with my promise of hot coffee. When we make our way downst
airs, my mother and Olivia are already in the kitchen with John and Max. We take a few minutes to sip our coffee and nibble on the pumpkin bread that I made yesterday for this very occasion, all the while warding off Max’s insistent pleas to “hurry up.” Olivia is less excited this year, and I wonder if the magic of Christmas, more specifically Santa Claus, is wearing off. But as we move into the family room and take our places around the Christmas tree surrounded by more presents then she has ever seen, I see her face light up and I know that we have made it through another year with her childlike innocence still in tact.
As John begins to pass out gifts, Charley plops down on the couch beside me.
“Woah,” she says, grabbing my hand and holding it up to the light. She admires my new ring and says, “Nice job, John.”
“Right?” I agree. “I love it.”
“Well, it’s beautiful,” she says, letting go of my hand and squeezing me into her side.
I lean into her and feel my mother’s arm go around both Charley and I as she whispers, “I love my girls.” I lean forward and smile at her before my attention is snared by both Olivia and Max as they begin tearing through the wrapping paper on their gifts.
It is a perfect morning. The kids are ecstatic as they open their presents. Max opens his Xbox and Olivia unveils her very own iPad filled with a long list of downloaded ebooks. I may have gone a little bit overboard given the circumstances, but by the look on their sweet faces, it was well worth it.
I sit surrounded by love and warmth, taking it all in. Never has my heart felt so full. A single tear escapes, sliding slowly down my cheek and I look up to find John staring at me from across the room, his own eyes filled with unshed tears. There are no words to describe what it feels like to look into his eyes and know for certain that he gets exactly what I’m feeling, right now in this moment. From the look in his eyes, I know he feels it too. We both nod in understanding and my eyes flood with tears. I know from this point on, every moment will be like this, a bittersweet recognition. A beautiful moment marked with a note of thankfulness and tinged with sorrow. But most importantly, these moments will never be taken for granted. Because I’m thankful for every, single one of them.
Chapter 37
Charley
It’s New Year’s Eve. After three days of relentless begging from Michelle, the new receptionist in our office – barely of the legal drinking age and still in that college party-mode – I agreed to join her at an upscale club downtown. She’s a petite thing with pale skin and short blonde hair, and the biggest brown eyes I have ever seen. She looks like the girl next door and has the personality to match. She rallied a group of her college girl friends for the occasion and scored us a huge corner booth, a rarity on the busiest night of the year. Also seated at our table are Victor and Sienna both from our office, Victor’s boyfriend Marcus, and Stacey – the tattooed, pierced barista from the coffee shop in the lobby of our building. It’s an eclectic mix of personalities but makes for a fun evening. I normally love to celebrate New Year’s Eve, the thrill, the mystery of where the night will lead, but I can’t muster even a trace of excitement this year. Instead, I find myself regretting my decision and wishing for the alternative – an evening at Gwen’s where she’s hosting a small party with their friends, kids included. But Michelle was insistent and I thought it would be a good distraction. The truth is, I miss Grey. He’s still out of town and I’m still out of answers to the questions that are swirling around in my head. I promised myself that the moment he’s back from California, I’ll tell him how I feel. But the fear of the unknown is terrifying. And so, dressed in a new black backless dress and heels, I sip a dirty martini and watch the mingling crowd around me in hopes of shedding Grey from my mind for at least one night.
The members of our table are all on the dance floor, all except for Marcus who claims that he doesn’t dance. A band is playing an eighties remix, too loud for Marcus and I to indulge in conversation. The majority of the crowd appears to be in their thirties, rather than the twentysomethings from my table. Receding hairlines, tailored suits, designer dresses with red-soled shoes – a dead giveaway. In a quiet pause between songs Marcus leans over and asks if I’m having fun.
I shrug as the band starts up again.
Marcus leans in closer and yells in my ear, “Not really my scene either.”
I smile and turn my face closer to his and say, “It makes me feel old.” Even though I’m younger and more unattached than most of the people on the dance floor, I can’t seem to muster enough energy to join them.
“I know what you mean,” he mouths.
Marcus is attractive with smooth dark skin, strong, defined cheekbones and straight black hair, not to mention that he’s dressed to kill. He doesn’t look a day over twenty-five but I laugh anyway.
I focus my attention back to the dance floor as I finish my drink, pick up the drink stick from my empty glass and pull the olives off one at a time with my teeth. I glance over my shoulder in search of our waitress when I see him.
Grey.
He’s sitting alone at a table nearby and staring right at me. I nearly choke on my own breath as our eyes lock. He doesn’t turn away. I have not laid eyes on him since before Christmas and now, seeing him just a few feet away gives me an actual physical pain in my chest. He’s wearing a bright blue dress shirt, unbuttoned at the top with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His hair is glistening with product and his dark eyes are piercing, so beautiful I am instantly lost in a sea of Grey.
It’s as if a veil has been lifted, a veil of the past that I allowed to color every part of my life and now I finally see everything more clearly. I see him.
Just then, Michelle bounds into my line of sight, breaking the trance.
“Whew, it’s getting hot in here,” she yells over the music as she plops down in the booth beside me. I manage a small smile and watch her guzzle down her fruity drink, but my mind is on something else, someone else.
I feel like I need to do something, say something. I want Grey to know how I feel but I don’t know how to do this sort of thing. I can’t just blurt it out. I can’t just walk over there and pick up where we left off. And what if he rejects me? What if I’m too late?
I reach into my small clutch purse beside me, push around the lipstick and breath mints until I feel my phone in my hand. I pull it out, holding it in my lap under the table and type a short text to Grey. It is the only thing that I can think of in the moment. The only thing I am comfortable saying right now. I can only hope that it’s enough.
My favorite color is blue.
A minute goes by, maybe two, before I turn to glance his way when there is no response. I suck in a breath as I watch a tall, long-legged blonde sit down at his table. He pulls her chair closer and places his arm around her back as she nestles into his side and whispers something into his ear. I watch as he tips his head back a bit and laughs. The knife finally hits its mark when I see him turn his face to hers and gently kiss her lips. My face burns like fire and my heart breaks apart. I allowed myself to feel something for a brief moment and already the vulnerability has exposed me, let the enemy breach the fortress of my heart. How could I have been so stupid?
The club feels too small, too crowded. The beat of the music is pounding in my ears, too loud.
I grab my purse and slide out of the booth, leaning in and telling Michelle that I’m not feeling well. I race to the door, pushing through the crowd quickly until I feel the cool night on my skin. I gasp for air as if I couldn’t breathe while inside. My chest feels like a raw piece of meat, filleted and bleeding. The cold wind licks at my bare skin and the light drizzle wets my face. I hear Michelle beside me, saying my name.
“You okay?” she asks.
“I don’t know,” I answer honestly. “I think I’m gonna to call it a night.”
“Are you sure? It’s only eleven o’clock.” Michelle’s eyebrows are pulled in, lines creasing the skin between them.
“Yeah, I’m sure
. I’ll grab a cab.”
“Well, happy New Year.” She leans in and gives me a swift hug.
I hug her back, wincing from the pain of brief contact as if my ribs are bruised and say, “Thanks for the invite.”
“Thanks for coming. Goodnight girl,” she says and then disappears through the door and into the sea of bodies inside.
Two yellow cabs are parked along the curb in wait. I walk to the nearest one, pull the car door open and slide into the backseat.
“Where to, miss?” the cabbie asks with a strong Middle Eastern accent, his dark eyes and bushy eyebrows appear in the rearview mirror as he waits for my destination.
I rattle off my address, complete with the nearest cross street.
The cab pulls away from the curb and darts into traffic. I release a heavy breath of relief and fight the stinging tears that threaten to exist.
Twenty minutes later, as we zoom down the main drag along Green Lake, I watch swarms of people gather outside pubs and restaurants. I see crowds of people pouring into the small mid-century homes in the neighborhood, all anxiously waiting to ring in the New Year. I feel hollow inside as the realization that I’ll be alone at the stroke of midnight settles in. I regret leaving the club so suddenly. The old me would have shrugged off the threatening scene and buried myself in another man’s arms with a vengeance. There were plenty of appealing offers that I had politely declined. But as the vision of Grey’s mouth on the blonde’s perfectly painted lips flashes through my mind, a dull ache settles into my gut and I know that I made the right decision. The cab pulls up outside my bungalow. I slip a twenty-dollar bill to the driver and exit the car. My usually quiet street is filled with voices and music echoing from nearby house parties. I unlock my front door, step inside and slip off my shoes. I melt into the sofa and let the night wash off me with a sigh. Turning on the television to drown out the quiet, I find the New Year’s Eve special in Times Square, the countdown showing thirty minutes until the drop of the ball.
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