MAGPIE (22 page)

When Jack and I were married, I attempted to replicate my childhood Christmases by bringing out some of the old decorations my parents divvied up between Katie and me. I followed Mom’s recipes to a T and made a beautiful Christmas quilt designed after my grandmother’s that won First Prize at the Saint Mark’s Catholic Church Holiday Bazaar shortly after World War II. I played Christmas carols sung by the likes of Gene Autry, Andy Williams, Perry Como and Doris Day. But it wasn’t until Michael was born that Christmas took on a whole new meaning in the Garrett household.

Jack and I’d kept some of the old decorations, but made it a point to create new ones each year. Cranberry and popcorn garland draped our old oak handrail; silver and gold snowflake cut outs dotted our windows; and tree ornaments—made from anything and everything—cluttered every branch of our fresh-cut tree.

One year, Katie gave us a Christmas cookie cookbook, a familiar fixture on the kitchen counter from Thanksgiving to New Year’s Day. Plopping Michael on the counter, I’d begin the ritual of making cookies for every member of our family…and then some. I’d find cute tins on sale at various shops throughout the year, but it was the goodies inside the containers our relatives longed for. Over time, Michael took the lead and developed a few recipes of his own. By the time he was twelve, I’d backed off altogether and assumed the role of dishwasher, but mostly head taster. Torn and tattered, my treasured book was no longer usable, yet I couldn’t bear to throw it away.

Year after year, love and laughter engulfed the Garrett holidays; moments held together with unbreakable family ties. When Jack and Michael died, so did our holiday traditions—paraphernalia forever stowed in plastic storage boxes in the farthest corner of the basement; memories tucked equally as far.

***

Three weeks before Christmas, Carrie called. She and her new husband had originally planned a Christmas holiday at Disney World, which had cut into my winter break with Timmy and Lisbeth. I accepted their plans with resignation, recognizing that the Garrett connection to Michael’s family was ebbing. Carrie’s call made me wince and, before I answered, I braced myself. I didn’t expect what I heard and secretly rejoiced as she asked if I were willing to watch the twins for a week while they honeymooned in Mexico. The call was awkward, but we moved through it; I needed time to deal with their new arrangement.

My grandkids were scheduled to arrive on December 21 I was ecstatic and made three frantic loops around my house before I was able to stop and think about what needed to be done in the upcoming weeks. The first thing I did was make a list:

Tree—real or fake?

Decorations—buy new?

Cookies—find the cookbook and fix it!

Xmas eve get together—call Katie!!

I hadn’t celebrated Christmas in my home since Jack and Michael died. I either drove to Mom and Dad’s, weather permitting, or hung out at Katie’s with her friends. The first few years I stayed at home, not wanting to see anyone who’d be tempted to say, “Don’t worry, it’ll get better over time.”

How the fuck would any of you know?

After seven years though, I missed it—Christmas music blaring throughout the house, smells of pumpkin bread wafting from my kitchen, and decorations adorning every square inch of my home. I was determined to bring Christmas back with gusto.

Having a little over two weeks to get the house in order didn’t make me flinch one bit. Any other time, hives would have broken out over fifty percent of my body. I knew Katie would be on board with planning a Christmas Eve gathering and wouldn’t balk at shopping for gifts ordinarily impossible (or too expensive) to ship to California, giving me added comfort. Playing it safe, however, I took the day off so I could get a head start.

It was the first Friday in December; three and four-day weekends were common around the office. I opened my laptop to logon to my work’s private network and quickly drafted an email to my boss, letting her know I’d be taking a personal day. A second request for five vacation days over Christmas followed, and I tossed in the fact that my grandkids would be visiting, hoping to cajole a little empathy. I didn’t expect a personal response; she’d approve my request electronically and ask about their holiday visit sometime in late January.

I made a mental note to re-insert “look for new job” on my crumpled list that I’d tacked to the kitchen bulletin board after retrieving it from the trash...on more than one occasion. The need to move on professionally no longer was driven by fluctuating conditions (or emotions); I’d hit a wall under her leadership and I knew it was time to make a change.

Next, I called Katie. It was a little after ten o’clock, and I hoped she was still awake. Surprisingly, the late sleeper picked up on the first ring and, before she could say anything, I yelled, “Guess who’s coming for Christmas?”

“Hmmm—a boyfriend?” Katie said in a teasing sort of way.

“Nope! One more try.”

“Well, in that case… the twins?”

“You got it! I was sure the twins would never come for Christmas, but Carrie and her new husband are taking a honeymoon. Totally works for me!” I was pacing my kitchen floor and could hardly contain my excitement.

Katie piped in, “So, what’s the plan, sis?”

***

I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to bother Bill this late, so I texted Daniel,

Today, 11:07 PM

MAGS: U up?

DANIEL: Ya, reading, what’s up?

MAGS: Great news! gkids coming for xmas!

DANIEL: I’m so happy for you! i know u miss them

MAGS: Ya, I’m so excited I can’t sleep

DANIEL: Hmm…

MAGS: Hmm indeed

Daniel and I hadn’t exchanged texts, calls or emails recently. He’d met a wonderful woman online, and I’d been dating Bill exclusively since the night of our drive to the hills. Still, it warmed me to connect with him. Aside from well-needed orgasm, I missed Danny’s voice and way with words—sexual and otherwise. I considered him to be a good friend, and I didn’t want to lose track. I felt a pang of guilt after sexting with him.

For a man who’d never laid eyes or hands on me—hell, who’d never laid me—Daniel was a master. We’d stopped swapping pictures months ago yet I was able to easily recall his cock while listening to him describe kissing and licking me all over. I came hard and so did he. We said our goodbyes, and as I turned over on my side, I pulled my duvet up under my chin to keep the December chill out and Daniel’s heat in.

I woke to Cody’s hot breath in my face. Year after year, he’d pounce on the bed with puppy-like enthusiasm, rousing us early in the morning, which amused Jack more than me. Silly canine antics slowed after our bed for two became a setting for one, and I often wondered if Cody sensed it would hurt me too much to keep it up. Anthropomorphizing our dog used to make Jack laugh; now it just makes me wonder if I’m losing my mind.

“Cody, get your stinky breath away from me!” I pushed his face gently away and sat up, scanning the floor for my slippers. “What’s all this about, buddy?”

We made our way into the kitchen and, horrified, I realized I’d forgotten to feed him last night. All the commotion of the twin’s trip for Christmas interrupted my routine and poor Cody was the unsuspecting victim.

“I have no excuse, buddy, I’m a terrible mom! I am going to make you eggs for breakfast, maybe even some bacon! Does that sound like a plan?” Words meant nothing to Cody; my inflection, on the other hand, made him and jump and twirl as if he were a pup.

I figured I’d break my routine of eating oats and join Cody. I scrambled four eggs and fried four slices of thick cut bacon causing Cody to drool uncontrollably; I kept my excess saliva in check. Just as I sat down to enjoy the scrumptious concoction, my phone buzzed with a call. It was Bill, and my heart leaped. I’d grown so fond of him.

We decided to let our relationship develop slowly. We didn’t force anything and took our time getting to know each other. Bill and I talked openly about our past lives, yet I hadn’t disclosed my virtual relationship with Daniel. There were a few opportunities early on, but I just didn’t know how to explain it. I held this secret very close and I didn’t share it with anyone, even my sister.

Exuberantly, I answered, “Hey you, how are you this fine wintery morning?”

“Wow! What did you put in your coffee?” Bill said jokingly.

“What do you mean? I’m always this chipper.” I was grinning from ear to ear, waiting for the chance to tell him about the twins.

“I will admit you are a cheerful gal, but there is something going on and I want in.”

“Bill, I am so excited, my grandkids, the twins, are coming for Christmas. I got a call from their mom yesterday, and I haven’t been able think straight since, I am ecstatic!”

Sensing my growing excitement, Bill interjected, “Hey, slow down! Tell you what, why don’t I bring you a latte, and you can tell me everything in person? Maybe I can keep you from falling off the barstool.” We laughed together, and I asked him to give me thirty minutes.

Thirty-three minutes later, Bill knocked at the side door. After the first night we spent together, an ease set in that eliminated the need for his front door calling. I waved him in, and he gave me a big hug and a sweet peck on the check.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said as he fluffed my tousled hair. Patting my ass as I moved passed, he mumbled, “Mmm, love your bum, it’s so…round.”

“My ‘bum’ is off limits and my hair doesn’t need any more volume, thank you very much. And I hope, for your sake, ‘round’ is a compliment,” I kidded. “Thanks for the latte, by the way.”

“Oh, but it is…” This time, he squeezed my ass with purpose.

Another peck and I said, “Off limits…for now, mister. So here’s the list I’ve made so far…” I went right into planning mode, which tickled Bill, and he leaned in with genuine interest.

I ran through my list as we savored our lattes. I shared my childhood memories of Christmas and how Jack and I created new ones, especially after Michael was born. Bill talked about his childhood, and though not as idyllic as mine, he had a few funny stories of Christmas morning with his rambunctious younger brothers.

More painful memories followed: His father was an alcoholic who abused his mother. He also abused Bill, the eldest of five boys. He and the next oldest drew the majority of the beatings and tried like hell to protect their younger brothers. As soon as he graduated from high school, he joined the Navy. The Vietnam War was over and the military was not well favored by most Americans, yet he saw it as a way to pay for college. Once back home, he earned a business degree at Edinboro University, which was close enough to Pittsburgh to check in with his mother and younger brothers, but far enough away from his father to avoid his wrath. Bill graduated summa cum laude and went on to earn his MBA at Harvard after receiving a partial scholarship, something he didn’t seem particularly proud of.

Until that moment, Bill had only talked about his life after Harvard. He thrived professionally, and it never occurred to me that he, a successful entrepreneur, came from such meager and painful beginnings. I was in awe of his accomplishments and wondered why he so casually skimmed over his grad school years. I insisted on hearing more, and as he spoke, it was clear he’d rarely shared his achievements with anyone.

My guess was that his dad was too drunk to care, and his mom was too paralyzed by fear to understand. His ex only seemed concerned about the health of their accounts, which allowed a lifestyle she still enjoys thanks to his generosity and willingness to keep the courts out of their settlement. Though we never discussed it, I’d guessed he was making up for what his father failed to do for his family.

When Bill stopped talking, I looked into his eyes, which revealed his profound suffering. Though I was curious about his marriage and why he hadn’t seen his son in ten years, I decided to leave that for another time.

Giving him a sweet peck, I asked, “Hey, how ‘bout a walk around Wash Park?”

“Was wondering when you’d get around to asking!” Bill was up and reaching for his coat before he finished his comment.

Like a kid, he urged me to hurry up and grabbed Cody’s leash. We began our trek that would take up the rest of the morning—I couldn’t have been happier, as was the case for both boys.

Cody was more excitable than usual, and I struggled to control him. Bill took the leash and he kept on talking as naturally as if we’d been doing this very thing for years. I smiled and continued to listen to his story of sailing from San Diego to Costa Rica in his sailboat, which he proudly identified as a Jeanneau Sun Odyssey 43DS, which meant nothing to me but I didn’t let that show. I fantasized about sailing with Bill, lying on the deck of a sleek yacht, not missing my past life at all. Bill didn’t flaunt his affluence like Greg had; I treasured his humble maturity and wondered if I could find love with Bill.

We made it home several hours later—cold, happy and hungry. We stripped off our coats and made a beeline for the kitchen. I pulled out a small saucepan to start the hot cocoa, while Bill rummaged through the fridge looking for sandwich fixings.

Disgruntled, Bill said “Maggie, you don’t have a whole lot of
anything
in here.”

“I know, I know. I was planning on going to the market this weekend.” I hadn’t planned on Bill stopping by, and I made no apologies. Heck, I always managed to put something together for a meal, even if it meant a bowl of cereal. I suggested we order pizza. Bill agreed but offered to go pick it up from a real pizzeria that happened to be next to a liquor store.

Bill stood, made his way to the door and said, “Gotta have beer with pizza, Maggie. I don’t have many, but this is one rule I live by.”

I took full advantage of the time Bill was out and took a hot shower, shaved my pits and legs and afterward, smoothed on some coconut body butter. I wasn’t going for anything romantic; I simply wanted to be clean and comfortable. I slipped into black fleece pants with a hunter green pullover. I didn’t own a pair of decent looking slippers; wool socks would have to do. My hat hair needed work, though not much, and I ended my aesthetic workout with a little blush and lip gloss.