This Christmas (27 page)

Could it be that this was Mom’s way of compensating for all she had missed out on?

“I think I’ll go hunt down some peppermint ice cream for Dad,” I announced.

“Right now?” Mom asked, startled.

“I won’t be long.”

“Won’t you have some cake first?”

“Thanks.” I grabbed two hunks and spun back toward the dining room. “C’mon,” I told Isaac, as I sped by him. He was still at the dining room table, watching Vlad eat what had to be his tenth slice. I gave the cake to Vlad, who thanked me very much.

Isaac hopped up. “Where are we going?”

“We’ve got a mission.”

We passed through the living room, where Maddie had gotten out her old student cello and was accompanying Jason on piano to “O Holy Night.” I guess music therapy was preferable to touch therapy.

Outside, the snow was coming down hard. I waited for Isaac to make the expected snide comment, but instead he observed, “Jason plays piano really well.”

“I didn’t even know he played at all,” I said. For some reason, that fact was too depressing for words. What I didn’t know about Jason could apparently fill a book. “We’re taking your car, if you don’t mind.”

He stopped next to his parents’ old Pontiac. “Where are we going?”

“Twenty-fifth Street South, near Shirlington. I just want to have a look at this place.”

“
What
place?”

“Mom’s apartment.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I wasn’t sure I could explain. “It’s just something I have to do, okay?”

His lips twisted as he measured humoring me against the risks of driving his parents’ car several miles through ice and snow. “Okay.”

I slid in next to him. We didn’t say much on the way there. We were both adjusting to the snow smacking against the windshield in front of us. On Twenty-fifth he turned and we began to crawl slowly down the street, looking at street numbers.

I finally spied Mom’s place. “Stop!”

He braked, and we skidded halfway into someone’s drive.

“This is it,” I said.

The fourplex was just a plain, flat-front red brick building, the kind that the DC burbs were chockablock with. Which made me even more suspicious. Mom said she had noticed this place for a long time. But what was noticeable about it? I had imagined something in a Mediterranean style with fake stucco, or an ornate colonial with a big magnolia out front. But this! It was nondescript. Dull.

I opened my car door.

“Where are you going?” Isaac asked.

“I just want to peek inside.”

He put his hand on my arm. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Spy on your mom. It’s not right.”

“I just want to check it out. Peer through a window, see if she’s bought any furniture, or if there’s a hot-hot-hottie installed in there. It won’t take a sec, and then we can go.”

There was something decidedly Ethel Mertz–like in his capitulation. “Okay. But I still think it’s a bad idea.”

I hopped out, and although the windows in the front were dark, I ran in stealth serpentine fashion across the tiny yard. In unit A—the first floor apartment with the real estate agent’s sign in front of it—the front window was dark, but there was a small office set up in there. I was wondering why there was an agent’s sign out when I noticed something else. I frowned. “That’s weird.”

Isaac flapped his arms for warmth and looked around anxiously lest any of the neighbors would mistake us for prowlers. “What’s weird?”

“Mom’s using a Mac.”

“So?”

I shrugged. “I just didn’t know….” I squinted, trying to make out what else was in the room, but it looked like a fairly garden variety office to me. One thing was clear, though. “She didn’t just sign the lease two weeks ago—or else she’s faster at setting up than most people.”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Wait. I just want to look inside one more room.” I imagined I would find some middle-aged stud sitting around amid all the holiday decorations that weren’t in evidence at our house. But the rest of the house was frustrating. The yard sloped down on the side, so it was impossible to see in the windows. And the backyard had a privacy fence with a locked gate. “Give me a hand up,” I said.

“What?”

“Just let me stand on your back and peek through this window.”

“In those boots? No way.”

“C’mon, your parka has two inches of padding. You won’t feel a thing.” He looked doubtful. “Then we’ll leave. I swear.”

“Okay, but if a cop drives by,
you
explain.”

I nodded. He bent over and I climbed up until I was able to peek through the small window, which, wouldn’t you know, turned out to be a bathroom. Neat as a pin, but dark. The only thing I could make out that seemed at all personalized was a towel hanging on a rack. But it was initialed, and what’s more, the initials looked like
L
something.
L
for Laird? Surely Mom hadn’t stocked her love nest bathroom with Dad’s towels!

In frustration, I pushed against the glass. As if by magic, the sash sailed up halfway. It was unlocked! This felt like my first piece of luck in days.

“Um, Isaac, could you lift up a little?”

He sighed but did as I asked. Using his momentum, I pushed myself through the window…or at least halfway through it. I put my hands down on the floor and tried to shimmy my butt through the window. Unfortunately, from the outside, Isaac had discovered my intention and was yanking on my foot. “Would you stop that!” I whispered.

“Are you crazy?” he yelled back.

My knee felt like it might snap. And then the door in front of me opened, revealing a large man in a bathrobe. Of course, I was viewing him from a cockroach’s vantage, but this guy seemed huge. Over six feet tall. His head was egg bald, making him look like a cross between Mr. Clean and Jesse Ventura. He flicked on the lights, leaving me blinking up at him. He was holding a baseball bat.

“Hold it right there!” he growled. Then, to someone in the apartment, he yelled, “Tell them it’s a woman. And there’s someone outside with her!”

Uh-oh. Something told me this
wasn’t
my mom’s love nest.

I tried to smile. I couldn’t. I was too afraid I was about to be crushed like an insect. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice quavering. “I’m not a burglar.”

He took a menacing step toward me. “Save it!”

Behind him, a little girl in a pink bathrobe appeared. She was holding a giant floppy-eared stuffed bunny in front of her as if to ward off an intruder—me—yet she scrutinized me with intense interest.

“I thought Santa was a man,” she said, her voice heavy with disappointment.

“Go to your room, Rebecca!” the man barked sharply, as if I were going to pull out a gun and blow away his entire family.

“I thought Santa came down the chimney.”

“Rebecca—go!”

Rebecca burst into tears and ran away.

“And stay in your room till the police come!” the man barked after her.

The police. My heart sank.

Isaac must have heard, too, because he abruptly let go of my foot and I fell the rest of the way through the window. We were so screwed.

The Lewises were almost nice about it, once we got it all straightened out.

I stretched some facts to make myself seem less of a breaking-and-entering wacko to them. I nervously spluttered out that my mom had just rented this place (actually, she had rented the unit on the other side…and that I had just driven in from New York and didn’t have a key. I definitely became less threatening looking when I unbuttoned my coat, revealing the Santa sweater.

After she was assured that Isaac and I were not some creepy Christmas Eve criminal duo, Mrs. Lewis even offered us eggnog, which I was tempted to accept but refused on principle. After all, I had just spent twenty minutes professing that I was not there to take anything.

After coming all this way in a snowstorm, the police seemed a little disappointed not to be dragging Isaac and me off to the hoosegow. But in the end they seemed resigned to the fact that we had resolved the situation ourselves and that the Lewises, in the spirit of Christmas and good new-neighbor relations, were not pressing charges. The cops took down our phone numbers and addresses and sallied forth into the night to find real criminals. Or at least more competent ones.

After we had officially been released, Isaac and I wobbled over the icy walkway to the Pontiac. He was opening the passenger door for me when I skated the last two feet and smashed right into him. He grabbed me, then stumbled himself. I leaned into him and laughed, and when he started laughing, too, down we went. We collapsed into the snow in a heap, whooping like idiots.

God, what a mess. What a night. I bit my lip, trying to compose myself. I was afraid to meet Isaac’s eye, afraid that if I did we would break up again and be stuck rolling around in the snow forever, laughing. But I couldn’t help myself.

The strange thing was, he wasn’t laughing, as I’d expected. He was just looking at me. Hard, as if his dark eyes were searching my face for evidence of something. Thoughts of laughter died, and I felt something weird. A squeezing in my chest. That leap of attraction. An adrenaline rush.

“My partner in crime,” he said, musing over the words as he pushed a snow-damp lock of hair off of my cheek with his gloved hand. And then he did the strangest thing. He kissed me.

It wasn’t a peck. It wasn’t one of those maddeningly brief things Jason had been tormenting me with over the past month. This was a full-bore, open-mouthed kiss. I was so stunned by it—by the timing and how great a kisser Isaac was—that I sort of sank against him, hanging on to the Velcroed neck flaps of his coat. I couldn’t tell what was going on, and for a moment I didn’t really care. I was kissing Isaac, which was one of those things I’d tried imagining from time to time for years now. But I’d never imagined that we would progress so instantly to tongue action. Or that my insides would turn soupy. Or that I would want to rip his parka off so I could feel his warmth against me.

I did start pawing at the zipper of his coat with that sort of frantic mindless desire. And Isaac, though one hand was at my nape, made a stab at the top button of my coat. But my scarf got in his way, and my mittens made operating any mechanical apparatus a near impossibility.

And what were we doing?
That thought seemed to strike us both, belatedly, at the same moment. We pulled apart, gasping for breath, then flopped back against the passenger door of the car, trying to calm down.

This was so wrong, I thought. I had always been a monogamous soul. Girls who could go out with several different guys at once, or even just pursued several different guys at once, struck me as undiscriminating. It was sort of the relationship equivalent of throwing darts at a map to decide your next travel destination. When it came to romance, I wanted to think I had a plan.

This weekend my plan had been Jason. Now everything was uncertain, upended.

I had no idea what was going on in Isaac’s head.

“Do you think the Lewises were watching us?” he asked.

The front room’s light was now on. I shuddered. “They must think we’re demented.”

“Maybe we should try to get out of their yard,” Isaac suggested.

I rubbed my hand on my head, inadvertently touching the bump from earlier that evening. The bump induced by Jason’s gift. This was so mixed up. What was I going to do?

“I can’t go home just yet,” I said.

“Then we won’t.”

Isaac struggled to his feet and then gave me a hand up. We successfully managed to get into the car this time, and by the time he started up the motor, I was beginning to wonder if the kiss hadn’t just been some expression of relief at not having been dragged off to jail. Unfortunately, for all our history of yapping each other’s ears off even about the most personal matters, we didn’t have the vocabulary for communicating our feelings about each other. We were as awkward and tongue-tied as two fourteen-year-olds.

I just hoped that we hadn’t made a fatal error, that this wasn’t the beginning of the end.

We slid past all our favorite home haunts until we found a greasy burger joint open called Five Guys. We ordered burgers and their incredible boardwalk-style fries and sat down at a corner table.

We were both still a little punchy. And unsure. It felt like at any moment we might dissolve into giggles, and I almost wished we would. That, at least, would seem normal.

“I can’t believe it’s not even Christmas yet,” I said after we had our food. “It feels like we’ve been home forever.”

“Maybe things will pick up tomorrow.”

Isaac’s gaze caught mine. His lips twitched. I burst out laughing.

It
did
feel good to laugh with him again. Maybe we should just come out and admit that the kiss had been a mistake. Or ill timed.

Or maybe we should just let it drop.

When I was calm again, I shook my head. “I just didn’t expect all these family crises. Why didn’t anyone warn me? The first year I bring a guy home…”

He blinked at me.
“I’ve
been going home with you every year for three years.”

I felt my neck go red as I sucked on my Coke. “Right, but you don’t exactly count.”

He had been angling for a French fry, but his arm stopped midreach.

“Isaac,” I said, realizing I had just blurted out the wrong words. “You know what I mean.”

“I think I do, unfortunately. Thanks. Thanks a lot.”

I suddenly felt like crying. Maybe I was going bipolar now, too. “What’s the matter with you tonight? What’s happening?”

“How would you like it if I announced that you didn’t matter to me?”

I barely had to think. I winced. “Okay, I wouldn’t like it. I’m sorry. That came out all wrong. I only meant…”

“I know. I’m not your Wall Street loverboy.”

“Please don’t flake out on me now, Isaac,” I said. “I’m already reeling from everything happening at home. And Jason.”

“Jason,” he repeated.

Those eyes were doing it to me again. I swear they could tie me in all kinds of elaborate knots, but now, after the kiss, there was a new one. Damn. I took a breath. “He’s still there, Isaac. I brought him home with me—as my boyfriend.”

His face turned a hue of red I had never seen before. “I see. I thought tonight, after seeing him with…”

“He’s just
nice
,” I said. “And Maddie was upset. And Vlad isn’t really much of a help….”

He stopped me. “Holly, listen. I’m going to tell you something that I probably shouldn’t.”

“What?”

“I’m going to be brutally honest.”

Uh-oh.

“Nobody seeing you and Jason together would know you were a couple. And Jason’s behavior isn’t the only reason why. It’s not all his fault.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you don’t
show
it. My God—you’ve been running around like a nut since this holiday began, sidetracked by Ted and mistletoe and housebreaking.”

“What else could I do? Things kept happening….”

He shot me a scolding look. “If you really want Jason, why are you sitting here eating French fries with me?”

I thought about this for a few moments. I felt like weeping. Was the trouble all with
me
? Was I not self-assured enough, or demonstrative enough?
What
?

Or was Jason just not right for me?

Isaac took my hand and practically squeezed the life out of it.
“Don’t let him get away.”

“What?”
I asked, astounded.

He looked as mixed up as I felt. “Look, right now I wish to God I weren’t your friend, but I am, so as a friend I feel bound to tell you that if it’s Jason DeWittless you want, then don’t let him get away.”

Had he gone completely insane? He didn’t even like Jason!

I slid down in my seat, confused. Part of me wanted him to say,
Don’t let
me
get away.
But that wasn’t what he was saying. This was why he was so exasperating! He’d kissed me, but he wasn’t declaring undying love. Instead he was telling me to go declare undying love for someone else.

I was so confused, I needed to be alone, even if it was just for a few minutes. “I’ve got to hit the ladies’ before we go,” I said, fleeing.

In the dinky bathroom I sank against the wall, trying to gather my wits. How did everything get so confusing all of a sudden? Why couldn’t I think straight? I felt like I was just blundering everywhere, saying the wrong things to people I loved, making errors of judgment right and left.

When I finally came back out, Isaac was folding up something. “Here,” he said, giving it to me. “It’s my Christmas present to you.”

It was a neatly folded restaurant napkin. “You shouldn’t have. Really.”

“It’s a magic Christmas napkin,” he told me. “You have to open it first thing tomorrow morning.”

“Won’t you be over tomorrow?” I asked.

“I’d like to, but I’m busy.”

“On Christmas?”

“I told you; I’m filling in for my little brother. He got invited to go on a ski trip with the girl of his dreams, so he needed someone to fill in at his stupid temp job at the Valu-Rite drugstore. I’ll be in costume, so no one will be able to tell it’s not him.”

I frowned. “What is it you’ll be doing?”

“I’m going to be the one-hour-photo Santaland Santa.”

I had to take a moment to absorb this. “On Christmas?”

“I guess if you’ve got one-hour photos, it’s never too late.”

“Then I take it back,” I said.

“What?”

“You don’t have to bother coming by the house—I’ll come to you.”

The sight of Isaac in a Santa suit was something I wouldn’t have missed for the world.

It was eleven by the time Isaac dropped me back home. “Don’t forget your magic napkin,” he said to me as I climbed out of the car.

“I won’t.”

“First thing in the morning,” he reminded me.

I nodded.

All the cars, snow-covered mounds in the driveway, were present and accounted for, so it appeared no one had ventured out to midnight mass.
Another sign that tradition had just gone out the window this year
, I thought dispiritedly.

Of course, I myself had been too busy dealing with cops, kissing Isaac, and eating greasy burgers to go to mass myself.

In the house, all the lights were off, except for a dim glow of the oven light coming from the direction of the kitchen. The living room was empty and dark. Ted was not watching QVC (I guess his holiday shopping was finally finished), and there was no sign of Vlad, who I had expected would be bedding down on the Hide-a-Bed tonight.

On my way upstairs, my dad popped out of his study. “Holly.”

Dad pushed his bifocals down and looked at me seriously. He was holding his Cromwell biography, which he had obviously been holed up reading most of the night.

“Yes?” I asked, expecting him to give me some explanation, or at least solace, for why his son was having a nervous breakdown, his daughters were flaking out, and our family was breaking up. “Was there something you wanted to tell me?”

“Did you find the peppermint stick?”

I squinted at him. “The what?”

“The peppermint stick ice cream,” he said. “Your mother mentioned you were going out to find some. Did you?”

I had forgotten all about it. It seemed years ago since I’d told Mom that fib. “No, I didn’t. Sorry, Dad.”

He looked crushed, like a little kid almost. Impulsively, I went over and gave him a buss on the cheek. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”

He smiled. “Is it Christmas already?”

“Almost.”

“Well! This calls for celebration.” I grinned expectantly. “I think I’ll have another glass of eggnog while I finish my chapter,” he said, scuttling off to the kitchen.

I went straight up to my room, pausing briefly in front of the spare bedroom in which I assumed Jason was snoozing. There was no light underneath the door. I was tempted to rap lightly…or, better yet, barge right in and throw myself into his bed.

Don’t let him get away
, the man had said.

Maybe it was high time that I should slink into my stash of specially purchased lingerie. Isaac was right—I needed to make a move, lay it all on the line. Setting my jaw, I marched to my room and began yanking fine washables out of my suitcase. Then I stepped out of my clothes and slipped into something more comfortable. Except the silky little sheath of a nightie wasn’t exactly what I would call comfy—at least not in this energy conservation–minded house where the thermostat was always bumped down at night to the Jimmy Carter–recommended fifty-eight degrees. The house felt like the North Pole. A laggard seductress I might be, but even I knew that gooseflesh and chattering teeth were not sexy.

I squeezed past my father’s exercise bike to get to the closet. On a hook hung the only robe available to me, a leftover from college. I’m surprised it hadn’t landed in the Goodwill box; it was worn thin and had a coffee stain trailing down one side. I loved it. It was blue chenille with appliqués of Oreo cookies and glasses of milk all over it.
Not sexy
. What was cute for staying up late in the dorm to watch Love Connection reruns didn’t particularly vamp well.

I was trying to decide between goosebumps and chunky chenille robe when laughter from outside distracted me. It was undoubtedly my sister’s high, bright laughter, and I drifted over to the window seat to see what she was up to out there. To spy.