The Unlikely Romance of Kate Bjorkman

by Louise Plummer

  I couldn’t believe it. I walked around the Cherokee, tripping over a snow shovel that I couldn’t see, opened the hatchback, and got in with the sandbags my father keeps there in case we get stuck on ice.

  Bjorn revved the engine.

  “Wait a minute,” Fleur said, opening her door. “I’ll go back with Kate.”

  “You don’t have to,” I said.

  “I want to,” she said, climbing through the hatchback and closing it.

  To tell the truth, there wasn’t a whole lot of room, but I was grateful for Fleur. Even without glasses I could see that Ashley sat closer to Richard than she needed to. Old habits must be hard to break, I thought.

  Just barely out of the neighborhood, at the corner of Cleveland and Larpenteur, Richard said, “We used to get all our trees there.” I knew he meant the Boy Scout lot on the corner.

  “We did too,” said Bjorn.

  “Let’s stop in,” I said. “They always have a good variety to choose from.”

  I heard Ashley let out a snort.

  Bjorn yelled from the front, “Right. We’ll just do that,” but the car didn’t slow down any.

  Richard turned in his seat, his voice close to my ear. “Boo, for heaven’s sake put your glasses on. How can you stand not seeing anything?”

  “The Scout lot is completely empty. They’ve evidently sold out,” Fleur said, a smile in her voice.

  I shrugged it off. “I wasn’t looking.”

  “You weren’t seeing,” Bjorn shouted from the front.

  “That too,” I said.

  “Have you got your glasses with you?” Trish asked.

  Fleur was already digging into my pocket. She pulled the glasses out and set them on my face. “Let there be light,” she said.

  “Oh, don’t,” Ashley cried. “She looks so much better without them. Don’t you think so, Rich? Don’t you think Kate looks better without her glasses?”

  Oh, Ashley, shut up.

  “Is it relevant?” Richard asked. “She can’t see without them.”

  “I know, but if she could see, don’t you think she looks better without glasses, really now, don’t you?”

  Shut up, shut up, shut up.

  He turned, and I could see the tiny creases around his eyes. “Boo isn’t Boo without those glasses,” he said, and with his index finger he pushed the nosepiece playfully back up on my face and grinned at me.

  Thank you, Lord, I thought.

  “Kate is Kate with or without the glasses.” Fleur nudged his back. She refused to call me Boo. Another reason to like her.

  “Yes ma’am, I stand corrected. Fleur wouldn’t be Fleur without the corrections,” he said, turning forward again.

  Ashley laughed too loudly.

  At Trish’s suggestion, we sang “O Tannenbaum” in German all the way to Grand Avenue, with Ashley giggling and saying, “Oh, I’ve forgotten the words. It’s been years since I took German!”

  Like last semester, I thought.

  It turned out that Bjorn was right about the tree lot on Grand. They still had trees. He parked the car, and Fleur and I untangled ourselves and climbed out the back. We had gotten in the car while it was still in the garage, but now the cold hit us like a wall. Fleur covered her nose with both hands. “My gosh,” she said.

  I laughed. “The hairs in your nose freeze right away when it gets this cold,” I said. I pulled my parka hood up and tied it securely under my chin. Then I noticed that Fleur wasn’t wearing a hat at all.

  “Here, take my muffler and put it around your head. You’ll never survive without something on your head.”

  She didn’t argue, but gratefully accepted the muffler.

  We followed Bjorn and Trish into the lot. Trish held on to his arm, taking little, bouncy, excited steps. “Just think,” she squealed, “we’re buying our very first tree.”

  Ashley, imitating Trish, put her arm through Richard’s and said, “Just think, Rich, you and I are buying our very first tree together.”

  He looked down at her, surprised, I think, but laughed as if he liked the joke. He turned and glanced at Fleur, a wry look on his face. Depressing.

  Fleur put her arm through mine. “Let’s go steady,” she said, matching Ashley’s voice exactly.

  “Let’s get married,” I said, patting her arm.

  “Let’s have a family,” Fleur went on. “A girl for you, a girl for me.” She fluttered her eyelashes. “Just think, we’re buying our first tree together.” We burst out laughing.

  Richard had disengaged himself from Ashley and was pulling out the tallest trees he could find.

  “How about this, you guys?”

  Bjorn had pulled out another one almost identical to the one Richard was showing us, a spruce. It was the kind our family always bought. The branches on both trees were frozen up, but you could tell they would thaw into a nice, symmetrical design—perfect for showing off ornaments.

  “Oh no, not one of those,” Trish said. “They’re so skinny. They look undernourished. This is perfect.” She held on to a fat piñon pine—our family called them the porcupine trees.

  “But honey,” Bjorn said, “the ornaments just sort of hang on the outside of those trees. They’re so thick you can’t get anything between the branches.”

  “No, they look wonderful that way, really. Our family always had a tree like this. Honey, this is perfect.”

  “Well, how about this one?” Bjorn pulled out another tree that looked exactly like the first one he’d shown her. “It’s a little thicker near the top.”

  “Honey, it isn’t a piñon pine.”

  “Or this one.” Bjorn pulled out yet another spruce from the pack.

  “Well, honey, I like this one.” Trish pulled out another piñon pine and tried to push the frozen branches down with her gloved hand.

  “That’s nice, honey, but I like this one better.” Bjorn wasn’t listening. “What do you think, Rich?”

  “Either one is fine with me.”

  “Well, I like this one,” Ashley said, pointing at the tree Richard had chosen. “I think it’s perfect.”

  Fleur smirked.

  “I think we should get this one,” Bjorn said. He shook the tree vigorously.

  Trish scanned the lot. She seemed nervous. “Honey, let’s look just a little more. We just got here.” She walked down the aisle of trees.

  Fleur stomped her feet. “It’s freezing,” she said. “I’ve never been so cold.”

  Bjorn called to Trish, “Honey, Fleur is cold. Let’s go. This one will be fine.”

  Fleur started, “No, I didn’t mean—”

  “I like this one,” Trish called from the end of the aisle. Another piñon pine.

  “It might be fun to have a different kind of tree this year,” I said to Bjorn.

  “I hate piñons. They look like overgrown bushes,” he said under his breath.

  “Honey, come and look,” Trish called to him again.

  Richard began pulling ridiculous-looking trees, with huge sections missing, trees two feet high, from the racks. “I want this one,” he said. “No, this one. This one is my favorite.” Ashley, Fleur, and I laughed harder than we needed to, but we all wanted to get away from Bjorn and Trish.

  Bjorn walked down the aisle to where Trish held her choice. He took the spruce with him. They huddled together in a whispered conference.

  “Here.” Richard continued his antics. “This one can be used for a swordfight. Hold on to this,” he said to Fleur, handing her the most emaciated-looking little tree on the lot. She took it from him. He chose another almost like it and they began fencing. Fleur used both hands to hold the tree and went after Richard like a terrier after a rat.

  Ashley grabbed a tree and went for Richard’s back.

  “Hey, no fair,” he cried. He grabbed one end of the tree Ashley was holding and swung it around. Fleur hit him from behind.

  Down the aisle, Bjorn and Trish were gesturing at different trees. Bjorn was doing most of the talking; T
rish looked more and more defeated. Once in a while I heard an isolated “but honey” from her. Soon Bjorn strode back down the aisle holding the spruce like a victory lance. “We decided on this one.” We?

  Trish smiled weakly, then looked down at her feet, then up over the fence, across the street, anywhere but at any of us. I felt sorry for her. Even though I did like the tree Bjorn had chosen better than any of the piñon pines, I also knew what it was like to be railroaded by Bjorn. He was pigheaded sometimes.

  Richard, Fleur, and Ashley put their “swords” back and followed Bjorn to the shack at the far end of the lot. We all went inside. A guy with mossy teeth—the kind of teeth so greenish and repulsive that you can only stare at them—sat in a lawn chair just inside the door.

  “How much?” Bjorn asked.

  The man told him. The price startled Bjorn. His head jerked up involuntarily.

  Richard saw it too. “I have some money with me,” he offered.

  “Piñon pines are cheaper,” the man said.

  “Well, if they’re cheaper—” Trish started.

  But Bjorn was already paying the man. “It’s fine,” he said.

  “How about some ornaments?” The man nodded into the corner. “My wife and her friends make them,” he said.

  The ornaments, mostly crocheted stars, hung by strings from the low ceiling.

  “Oh, let’s get some. Aren’t they beautiful?” Trish’s energy level was back. “These are just wonderful. Bjorn?”

  “Honey, I don’t have any more money—really,” he said.

  “But honey, they’re not that much.”

  “Honey, please—”

  You’d have thought we were in a beehive with all that “honey” flowing about.

  “Thanks a lot,” Bjorn said to the man, and opened the door of the shack. A blast of cold air hit us.

  Trish turned back for a last look at the crocheted stars.

  Bjorn and Richard tied the tree to the top of the Cherokee and we were off for home. It was a very quiet ride back.

  * * *

  THE FRONT HALL looked like a Dutch flower garden when we got home. Mother had brought all the potted tulips up from the basement. They were wrapped in dark green shiny paper with red ribbons. “Where did you buy tulips at this time of year? They’re absolutely lovely!” Fleur said.

  Richard had picked up one of the pots. “She forces them herself. This neighborhood would be in crisis if Mrs. Bjorkman stopped giving away tulips at Christmastime.”

  “Hardly,” Mother said, pulling her coat out of the closet. “Did you find a tree?”

  “We got a great one. I’m going to let it thaw in the garage for a while, and we can decorate it tonight.” Bjorn rubbed his hands together like sanding blocks. “It’ll be great,” he said. Trish, who had followed him into the hall, walked around him and went upstairs without a word to any of us.

  Mother’s eyes followed her briefly.

  “I want to learn to force bulbs,” Fleur was saying.

  “Oh, it’s simple,” Ashley said, squeezing herself between Fleur and Richard. “Anyone can do it.”

  Mother pursed her lips. “True.”

  Bach’s Goldberg Variations floated in from the study.

  “Play Christmas music!” Bjorn shouted to Dad.

  “What?” Dad shouted back.

  Bjorn repeated himself.

  “I can’t hear you; I’m playing The Goldberg Variations.”

  Bjorn shook his head and went into Dad’s study. “Hey, old man,” we heard him say before he shut the door.

  “Are you making the deliveries now?” Richard asked Mother. “Mind if I come along?”

  “I would love the company. Fleur, would you like to come too? I can show the two of you off to the neighbors.”

  She made them sound like a couple.

  I turned to Ashley. “You want to run down to the mall now? This is as good a time as any.”

  She looked at her watch. “No, I told Mom I’d be back to help her with the rest of the Christmas baking.” She looked at Richard when she said this.

  “Really?” I said, stunned. Ashley never helped her mother with anything if she could avoid it.

  “Yeah, see you.” She turned to Mother and the others. “I guess I’ll be seeing you again in a little while.” She knew Mother always gave them a pot of tulips at Christmas, and she wanted to be there. Totally transparent.

  I followed her to the back door. “What’s up, Ash?” Might as well be direct.

  “What do you mean?” She was retying her muffler, trying to avoid my eyes, but I willed her to look at me. It’s a power I have.

  “Well, okay,” she said when she finally stopped fiddling with her muffler. “I have to be honest with you.” She licked her lips nervously, pressed them together, ran her tongue along her upper lip—she was getting ready to lie. “Kate, really, I don’t think you have a ghost of a chance of getting with Richard. I know it hurts to hear it—” Her voice got more efficient. “See, you’ve let your lip gloss wear off.” She pulled some out of her pocket, uncapped it, and was moving to apply some to my lips.

  I caught her wrist in midair. “I don’t think lip gloss is the solution here.”

  “And that’s what I’m saying. There’s so much—” She caught herself.

  “So much wrong with me?”

  “No, it’s not that!” She fumbled with the cap of the lip gloss, which dropped to the floor. “It’s just that—” She stopped to retrieve the cap. “I—”

  “You’re in love with Rich yourself and you can’t let go. It’s too important to you.” I tried to keep my voice flat.

  She looked relieved and clasped both my shoulders. “You understand, don’t you? He’s different from anyone I’ve ever known. He’s so much more mature, for one thing. He’s just so nice. I just can’t help myself!” She let out a shrill giggle.

  “Yeah, I know—it’s his thighs,” I said.

  “Oh, you do understand, don’t you.” She gave me a feigned kiss on the cheek and a half-hug. “You understand everything,” she said, leaving me in her wake of freezing air.

  I looked at myself in the mirror Mother had hung by the back door. The lip gloss had worn off, just as Ashley had said. It didn’t matter. The overall effect of my face was that of a goldfish looking out of its bowl. Nice skin. Nice hair. Nice person. Smart too.

  Mother was pulling brown paper grocery sacks out of a drawer in the kitchen while Fleur and Richard brought in the tulips.

  “They’ll need protection from this cold,” Mother said.

  I stood in the entranceway watching all of them. “You’ll probably be invited to lunch at Ashley’s,” I said.

  They were placing individual pots of tulips in the sacks.

  “What makes you think so?” Mother said.

  “Because Ashley’s in love with Rich’s thighs.”

  I loved their reaction, heads popping up simultaneously. I walked past them and turned before entering the dining room. “She loves his”—I let my tongue rest between my teeth and said it slowly—“thighs.”

  I could hear Mother and Fleur laughing as I went upstairs. “No offense intended, Rich, but Ashley loves everyone’s thighs,” Mother said.

  I was at the top of the stairs when Richard called to me from the hallway. “Hey, Bjorkman!”

  I turned and looked down at him. His arms were filled with tulips.

  “Yeah, Bradshaw?”

  “What I want to know is, what do you think of my thighs?”

  My face got all hot, but this was no time to get tongue-tied, so I leaned over the banister. “I like your thighs—yes—but I’m especially fond of your buns.” I smiled my most expansive smile.

  Our eyes locked for the first time. The Romance Writer’s Phrase Book would say: His “eyes caught and held” mine. He “captured” my eyes with his. And I thought I “detected laughter in his eyes.”

  “Why don’t you go with us?” he asked.

  “I’d better do some shopp
ing,” I said. I didn’t want to see Ashley again today. “Besides, I’m plumb out of lip gloss.”

  He laughed. “That is a crisis! See you later.”

  “See you.” Our eyes held a few seconds longer.

  Maybe we could be friends, I thought. Friendship had a better prospect for longevity than romance, and I wanted Richard Bradshaw for life.

  I knocked on Trish’s door, but she didn’t answer, or she was asleep.

  I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping for our unexpected Christmas guests. I had sent gifts for Bjorn and Trish weeks ago with Mother’s packages, but I wanted them to have something from me to open under the tree on Christmas morning. Trish was easy. I drove directly to Grand Avenue and bought her a dozen of the crocheted Christmas stars she had admired that morning, and then, remembering how much Bjorn liked the tree lights that looked like real candles, I bought him a couple of strings of those for their own tree—if they could ever decide on what kind they would have. Bjorn’s pigheadedness had annoyed me, but the way Trish had withdrawn for the day irritated me as well. I searched around for Fleur and decided on an angora wool muffler that would look stunning on her. It cost more money than I could really afford, and I charged it on Mother’s Visa, hoping she would forgive me and knowing I would be her slave for weeks to come.

  I wandered through the mall for an hour and a half wondering what I could buy Richard but couldn’t come up with the right thing. I wanted to buy him something special, but not too personal, and not so special that he would know I thought he was special, but special enough that he would be pleased.

  Aaugh. The way I was thinking reminded me of Ashley, and that scared me more than anything. So I finally bought him a picture book of the Boundary Waters, where he and Bjorn had gone canoeing every summer. Not too special and not too clunky either.

  Revision Notes

  Why, I am asking myself, was I friends with Ashley Cooper for all those years? The reader will surely want to know as well. She used me in what seem to me now indefensible ways. In these last two chapters, I have made her selfish, calculating, and just plain hateful. The problem is I have described her accurately. The dialogue, too, is not imagined. It is exactly what she said.

  I called to ask Shannon’s advice. (If she didn’t go to Key West every Christmas to visit her grandparents, she could have helped me through this mess last Christmas.) I asked her why she thought I had remained friends with Ashley.