“Haven’t had a decent snow yet this year,” he complained, “and we won’t need it in the apartment. I thought you girls might get some use out of it this winter.”
Katie, who had been close to moping throughout the day, roused herself to poke at the snowblower, staying in the garage with her father for some time while he explained its workings, virtues, and quirks.
As evening drew on, Pat offered to make dinner. Katie agreed to this, but then went to supervise the use of the kitchen. Jen gave it fifteen minutes, then ventured in on the pretext of getting herself a drink. Whatever difficulties may, at first, have occurred seemed to have been overcome, and mother and daughter were making the family macaroni casserole recipe in apparent harmony.
That night, the sisters lay side by side in Jen’s bed while their parents inhabited the next room. The situation seemed to call for slumber-party confidences.
“Well?” Jen asked.
“Well what?”
“You and Mom seemed to be getting along fine in the kitchen. Are things better than you expected?”
Katie considered, staring up into the darkness. “I guess so far, it’s a lot better than I expected. She hasn’t tried to rearrange anything. It still feels like the parents coming home in the evening, though. No more after-school fun.”
“What, were you thinking we would paint our nails and discuss boys if they weren’t around?”
“I’m just saying that we haven’t tried to have any fun yet. And even if they’re not throwing their weight around, it doesn’t feel like it’s just our house anymore.” Katie rolled onto her side, putting her back to her sister, and settled down under the blankets. “One more thing,” she added darkly.
“Mmm?”
“Your feet are cold. Keep them to yourself.” She gave the blanket a mighty tug.
The next day continued in family harmony. Jen had Christmas Eve and Christmas off from work. For breakfast, Tom got out his ancient Tabasco Sauce apron and made his signature chocolate chip waffles, which had adorned many a weekend morning when the sisters were young. Pat complained that there were no Christmas decorations, and in the end, she and Katie set off to see what remained in the stores, as well as to collect additional provisions for the holiday meals.
When the mail arrived, Jen found, among the usual assortment of items, a Christmas card–sized envelope from Dan. Opening it, she found a card that showed a cow wearing a Santa hat. Inside was inscribed:
Jen, I saw this card, and since you don’t seem to answer your e-mail anymore now that you live in the great Midwest, I thought more old-fashioned greetings might be in order. Happy Hanukkah, Christmas, Solstice, Holidays, and New Year. Things are much as usual at the office, as we brace for the New Year’s rush of people who follow up resolutions to write wills or get divorces. My Mother made another valiant attempt at finding the Nice Jewish Girl™, but though she is certainly nice and Jewish and a girl, I don’t think either of us sees any future in it. I hope you and your sister are doing well. Have you tipped any cows or met any farm boys? Best wishes, Dan
The card caused a twinge of Jen’s conscience. Following the well-established course of their past interactions, Dan had sent her several e-mails since she had moved away, and each time, she had thoroughly meant to reply. Each time, it had seemed that he deserved a longer response than she had time to write at that moment, but as she had not had any pressing reason to contact Dan, she had never made the time to write those lengthy responses.
Her first instinct was to pick up her phone and call him. But, of course, it was Christmas Eve. No one made random social calls on Christmas Eve. The day was for events and for sitting around with family.
As she thought about this for a moment, however, it occurred to her that Katie and her mother were still out shopping, Tom was napping in the easy chair, and Dan himself was unlikely to be involved in any Christmas activities. She picked up her phone and called him.
“Dan. Hi, it’s Jen.”
“Jen,” replied the familiar voice. “I wasn’t expecting to hear from you today. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Yeah, everything is fine. I got your card. And I was thinking about how I keep meaning to write or call you and not doing it. So, since everyone else was busy with one thing or another around here, and I thought you might not be busy, I thought I’d call. Is this an okay time?”
“Sure. I’m at the office, but no one is coming in and there’s not much work. In the evening, I might fulfill a few stereotypes by getting Chinese food and watching a movie.”
“Sounds relaxing. I think Katie and I will probably end up going to vigil Mass with my parents. Christmas and Easter are the two times going to church is so traditional that I don’t feel like a hypocrite going along.”
“Ah, but that’s how it starts,” warned Dan, his tone half joking.
“I figured it was the one bit still clinging on. Going to church on holidays seems like it’s just acknowledging traditions and some general sense of order to the year. Going every week would be pretending to be holy—and I’m just not.”
“I can’t pretend to understand how these things work for Catholics, but in my experience, when I started going to temple more than just on High Holidays, it wasn’t because I thought that people who went every Saturday were especially holy. It’s a way of keeping the week rooted in order and tradition, not showing off.”
“I don’t know,” Jen said, striving to close out the topic. “It’s not something I really think about much when I’m not around my family.”
“How has it been back near your family?” Dan asked, accepting the change of subject. “Have you enjoyed seeing your parents more?”
Jen offered a comic summary of the events that had led to their parents’ moving in with them for a couple of weeks. This led to an exchange of anecdotes about family gatherings, quirks, and tensions. After a while, the conversation lagged.
“So,” said Jen, feeling the irresistible urge to take someone far away into her confidence. “The mention in your card of your Nice Jewish Girl problems reminded me that I’ve been thinking of taking a page out of your book.”
“You’ve decided to look for a Nice Jewish Girl yourself?”
“I’m contemplating a Nice Catholic Boy.”
“And just in time for Christmas . . .”
“Dan, this is my lighthearted attempt to introduce a serious topic that’s been on my mind.”
“Oh, well then.” His tone became more serious. “Tell me about this guy.”
“You won’t believe this: he’s a handyman. My sister called him up off an ad she saw on the back of a church bulletin my parents left around. He worked on a couple things around the house, and I had him come out to put together some plans to renovate the kitchen—which really needs work—and he’s just, interesting. We enjoyed having him around so much, we started just inviting him to come over, aside from the work.”
“We?”
“Well, I. We. Katie and I are kind of like a family, I guess.”
“So a handyman from a church bulletin. What’s he like?”
“He’s . . . Man, that’s a terrible question. How can you just explain what someone is like? Could you describe me to someone?”
“I could come up with a few things. But also, I don’t feel the sudden need to bring you up to people. There must be something that catches your imagination about him. What’s his name, for starters?”
“Paul. His name is Paul Burke. I think he’s a few years younger than I am. Maybe twenty-eight or twenty-nine. He spent some time in seminary and realized it wasn’t for him, started his own company doing handyman work, mostly on old houses. He has seventy acres of land he wants to turn into a sustainable agriculture farm.”
“A farm?”
“See, that’s . . . He’s rooted. There’s a solidity to him that’s attractive. He works with his hands and knows how to do things. He has a beard, and wears jeans and suspenders, and plays Johnny Cash songs on his guitar. I feel like t
here’s something real about him that’s been missing in men I’ve known before. He’s very educated. He just prefers to work with his hands.”
There was a slight pause before Dan responded to this onrush of description, and when he did so, it was not in the most gratifying tone. “Do you picture yourself living that life?” he asked. “On a farm and everything?”
“Well.” Somehow, picturing herself with Paul had not worked itself out to the point of picturing herself living on a farm. “I don’t know. Maybe. His ideas about business are a little unrealistic in some ways. I think I could help him run things.”
“If he’s the sort of old-fashioned, hands-on guy you’re describing, do you think that he’d want you to help run things? Maybe those unrealistic ideas are his ideals?”
“Dan, I—” Jen started off indignantly, but Dan cut her off.
“Look, I’m sorry. I don’t know the guy. I’m just asking because what you’re describing to me sounds a lot more like an idea than a real guy. Maybe what you need is a guy totally different from the sorts you’ve known before. But make sure it’s the guy that you’re actually attracted to, not just the novelty.”
From this point, the call wound its way rapidly to a close. Jen soon found herself looking at the darkened screen of her phone with a feeling of general dissatisfaction.
Katie and Pat arrived back shortly thereafter and began a whirlwind application of holiday cheer to the otherwise restrained bungalow. Jen tried briefly to join in but soon found that the Christmas decorating annoyed her. As it was decorated, the house seemed to become gradually less hers, as if she were in her family’s house rather than they in hers. Each piece of decoration began to look garish and cheap.
Sensing that, with her looming mood, nothing would please, she extricated herself from the Christmas preparation, changed, and went running instead, trusting in the exercise and the shock of frigid air to clear her emotions.
Three miles later, on her return, the house seemed blazing with cheerful light and warmth. As Jen pulled off her fleece jacket and tried to rub some feeling back into her face, Katie handed her a mug of cocoa with a candy cane in it.
“Your father and I are going to go to Mass tonight,” Pat said, as Jen sipped her cocoa. “The vigil is always beautiful, and that way, we can have the whole day together for family time tomorrow. Do you want to come, Jen?”
“I’d be happy to,” said Jen.
“Oh, I guess I’ll come too,” Katie added.
The Mass was at 10:00 P.M., but Pat had insisted that they arrive half an hour early in order to be sure of getting a seat. Besides, she assured them, the choir would start Christmas carols at 9:30, and this was not to be missed.
Though the weather remained cold, there had been no more snow since the first, hesitant fall the previous week, and that had since melted away. During the days, this left the landscape a dreary brown, all of autumn’s bright colors leached out by the winter wet and chill. Now, however, with the stars dancing madly in the clear black sky and freezing air of a December night, the lack of snow simply made for a darker night and removed the danger of mud and slush.
Jen led the way up the church steps with the firmness of tread that marks those who know how to look their best: silk scarf around her neck, fitted black wool coat lying smoothly over her slim navy blue dress, heels lending the right air of confident femininity. Katie followed less eagerly, hunched against the cold, despite the bulky down jacket she was wearing over her sweater and long red skirt, flats leaving her looking distinctly shorter than her sister.
The vestibule was full of milling and talking people, and Tom and Pat soon stopped to talk to another couple they recognized from a retreat they had taken. Over the noise, the choir could be faintly heard from inside the church, offering an enthusiastic, if very white, rendition of “Go Tell It on the Mountain”. Jen, drawn more to the music than to the conversation, edged toward the glass doors that led into the sanctuary. She had just situated herself where she could hear better, yet still keep her family in sight, when she noticed a familiar figure also standing near the doors.
“Paul!”
He seemed to take a moment to recognize her, then smiled. “Jen, I hadn’t expected to see you here. I thought you said you didn’t go to Mass.”
“My parents asked us to come. It seems like the right thing to do for Christmas.”
“Yes,” Paul looked away, as if slightly uncomfortable. “That makes sense.”
Paul was wearing a heavy tweed coat, a white shirt with a bowtie, slightly rumpled khakis, and what appeared to be his usual battered brown work boots. This seemed peculiarly appropriate to him, and Jen found herself charmed by it, though it was not a fashion she would have approved on anyone else.
“You haven’t met my parents yet,” she said. “Come over, I’ll introduce you.”
Paul hesitated a moment, casting a quick glance at the main part of the church, then followed her.
“Mom, Dad,” said Jen, breaking in on the conversation her parents had been conducting with the couple from the retreat. “I want you to meet Paul. I was telling you last night about how he was helping us redesign the kitchen.”
Greetings were exchanged, and hands were shaken.
“Are you here with anyone?” Katie asked, and when Paul responded in the negative, she urged him to join them.
“We should probably go in soon,” Paul said. “The pews are filling up fast.”
Tom and Pat said their goodbyes to their friends, and the whole group made its way into the main body of the church and occupied a pew halfway up the aisle.
The choir, whose members were formed in ranks on the steps in front of the altar, all of them wearing matching red sweaters, was beginning “Do You Hear What I Hear?”
Paul, who was seated between Jen and Katie, shifted slightly in the pew and remarked in a low tone, “They could try to sing some good Christmas music.”
“I like that they’re singing so many ones that I know,” Jen offered.
Paul shrugged. “There’s so much sacred music out there they could have picked, but they seem determined to do only popular carols.”
“What would you want them to sing?”
“ ‘O Magnum Mysterium’,” Paul replied promptly.
Whether appreciated or not, the choir’s singing seemed to encourage silence. Jen found her attention captured by the large manger scene set up to the left of the altar. The church that her family had gone to when she was a child had possessed a similar one, and among each year’s Christmas pictures was inevitably one of Jen in her Christmas dress, posing in front of the plaster figures. The most memorable of these featured a twelve-year-old Jen, looking as if she felt too old to pose in front of a mock stable, and a two-year-old Katie, who had, unaccountably, become terrified of the plaster cow and was sobbing and trying to hide behind Jen, despite all the coaxing and threats of her mother behind the camera.
The Mass itself held fewer strong memories or impressions for her. There was a certain calming solemnity to the words and the changes of sitting, standing, and kneeling. Jen found her mind wandering back over her conversation with Dan earlier in the day, but she did not feel drawn to put herself in this place every week, as he had described. If anything, the changes that had evidently been made over the years served to emphasize her distance from the people around her, who said “And with your spirit” in well-informed unison while she blurted out “And also with you.”
When Communion came, Jen sat next to Katie, watching Paul and her parents move together through the long line toward the front of the church. It seemed somehow strange that Paul, whom her parents had not met until that night, should have this in common with them and yet not with her and Katie. She could not resolve in her mind how she felt about this element of universal, instant familiarity that believers shared and from which she was excluded.
After Mass, as they were waiting for the crush of people in the aisle to die down enough for them to get out of the pew, Katie
asked Paul if he would like to come to the house briefly for hot chocolate in honor of the day. Paul seemed to hesitate, but Jen and even their mother joined in the urging, and he agreed to come. Soon they were gathered around the dining room table. Katie passed around steaming mugs of cocoa, and Jen produced a large tin of fudge that she had bought at Andrea’s “Christmas for the Troops” fundraiser at the office.
Paul seemed to accept with equanimity being the center of attention, as Tom asked him about his business and his farm and Pat asked him about his time in seminary and his family. Jen, once again, found it strange to see her parents interacting so naturally with someone she had thought of as belonging to her and Katie’s world.
“But you must have someone to have Christmas dinner with?” Pat objected.
Paul shrugged. “I haven’t spent much time with my mother since she remarried when I was in high school. I always lived with my dad, and I never got along with my mother’s new husband. Since Dad died, I’ve seen even less of her. I used to spend holidays with my buddy Joe’s family, but he got married this last year, and he and Maria moved to Green Bay. Joe’s family invited me anyway, but I felt odd about going if he wasn’t going to be there.”
“You can’t have Christmas dinner alone, though!” Pat seemed shocked.
“It’s usually a pretty quiet day for me anyway.”
“No, no. We can’t have that—a nice boy like you eating alone on Christmas. If you don’t have somewhere else to go, come here for dinner. Katie and I are making a ham and pies and all sorts of things, and it’s just the four of us. I’m sure the girls would love it. They like you.”
Paul looked startled at this abrupt invitation and set of observations. “Umm.”
“No um-ing about it. You come right on over for dinner. You don’t mind, do you, Jen? I don’t mean to be rude inviting people to your house, but it’s a family dinner, and Paul is a friend of yours, after all.”
The exchange had played out so quickly that Jen had sat watching it happen without thinking to participate.
If You Can Get It Page 17