* * *
For the next three weeks Blair made plans like a well thought out game of chess, which sometimes involves sacrificing a piece in order to win. In this case, the sacrifice would be her pride, the prize, Derek. To that end she packed a black negligee, her favorite red dress and the fancy perfume he’d bought her on their second anniversary. Couldn’t hurt.
When he showed up at Blair’s door Friday afternoon he looked like an abominable snowman. White flakes clung to his eyebrows. She wanted to brush them away. Instead, she smiled and stepped into a wintry white world, coaxing a hesitant Roquefort out the door. Derek took the keys from her hand and deftly locked the door before stowing her suitcase in the trunk.
In silence they drove across town, dropped the dog off at Lisa’s and amid smiles and tail wags backed out of her friend’s driveway. The cold war of silence had begun.
During the hour drive, they barely spoke, a mundane word here, a meaningless sentence. At a stoplight he finally glanced her way. “If we’re to act like a normal married couple we’ll have to talk to each other this weekend. What’s more, we’ll have to make sense. Aunt Agnes can’t ask a question and get two different answers. She may be dying but she isn’t stupid,” he said as he turned a corner.
Blair noticed the tiny glitter of a stayed tear. As much as he tried to hide his feelings she could see they were close to the surface. “I understand,” she said reaching out to offer comfort. She stopped without making contact and withdrew her hand. “We’ll need to know what the other has been doing so that she doesn’t suspect anything,” Blair’s voice hitched, and she glanced away. “So what you have you done lately?” Blair asked wiping away a tear of her own.
Derek started slowly. He still worked at the bank. The year before he’d been made Vice-President and given the branch location to run on his own terms. As he spoke the words began to flow more naturally. Blair thought he was beginning to open up. Then he turned and stopped. He stared at her a blank look on his face. “What about you? What have you been doing?” he asked in a monotone voice.
The moment was over.
Blair tried to hide the hurt and looked away. Outside, the snow fell softly, but inside the car, the air was close and she found it hard to breathe. She ploughed through her ragged breath and dangling nerves. She explained how she’d gone to pick out a dog and been picked out by Roquefort. He’d come to the shelter with an odor uncontested, been dubbed an appropriate name and given a bath. His cuddle-some nature had won her over. This was when she’d been offered a job at the shelter. She wanted to say how lonely she’d been without him, and how this was the reason she had gone for a dog, but she didn’t.
* * *
Aunt Agnes met them at the door with smiles and flour on her face. “I’d kiss you both but I’ve been baking and I don’t want to cover you with the recipe,” she said holding the door open. “I’m so glad you came.”
A sparkle in her hazel eyes reminded Blair of an overjoyed Derek. Looking at her it was hard to realize that she was dying. She was so full of life.
“Now when I wake up Christmas morning I won’t be alone. I just hope Santa knows you’ve switched addresses.” She beamed. “I wouldn’t want to open my gifts alone in the morning.”
She led them down the hallway and opened a door near the back. “I’m sorry the room’s crowded,” she apologized. “I never seem to know when to stop buying things. Terrible habit I know but I love the hunt.”
Blair gazed at her surroundings. She spotted objects from different countries, what appeared to be decades of amassed treasures. Nothing matched. The room should have looked like an antique shop explosion. Instead, she found the space beautiful. A painting on the wall picked up the lines of a crystal vase. The Never Ending Chain quilt on the bed mirrored the candleholders on the bureau. Quaint and charming, the room’s décor reflected Aunt Agnes.
“I’ll leave you two to get yourselves in order. When you want me, just follow your nose. The chocolate chip cookies will lead you.”
***
“That was a great batch,” Derek swallowed his last sip of milk.
“I’m glad you approve,” Aunt Agnes said with a twinkle in her eye. “Now why don’t you get the Christmas tree in the attic.”
She turned to Blair as Derek’s footsteps disappeared up the stairs. “What’s the point of having a man around if you can’t get him to do a little work,” she said sipping peppermint tea. “Now.” She took a breath. “Can you keep a secret?”
Blair nodded conspiratorially, wondering if the woman might blurt out what she’d gotten her nephew for Christmas.
Aunt Agnes took Blair’s hand and waited a beat. “You might get mad but I hope you won’t.”
“Why would I get mad?” Blair asked.
Aunt Agnes shook her head making shushing noises. “I’m not sick. I don’t have cancer,” she said holding a finger to her lips. “I never did.”
Blair couldn’t help it. The words burst forth. “What? Why?”
“Because I am well aware you and Derek got a divorce, and I think you’re both wrong.”
“How did you find out? Derek said… I don’t understand.” Blair found herself sputtering.
Aunt Agnes looked her in the eye. “Your mother told me. She and I believe you two belong together, only you’re both too stubborn to admit it.”
Blair had forgotten how close the two women were. She shook her head, realizing she might have known Aunt Agnes would have found out. “I just want to help,” she told the younger woman.
Blair squeezed her hands in her own. “I’m so glad you’re okay. I was terrified at the thought of losing you, but I didn’t know how to tell you without upsetting you.” Eyeing the stairs she asked, “What’s on your mind?” Together the two women hatched up a plan that would have made a hen proud.
* * *
“Boy that tree is unwieldy, Aunt Agnes.” Derek huffed as he set the six-foot Christmas tree in front of the picture window. He ran his fingers threw his hair and sat down. “I’m sure glad there’s only one.”
Aunt Agnes gave a mischievous smile. “Actually I do have another project for you.”
Derek took a deep breath. “Sure. What do you need?”
She only said, “Chestnuts.” Derek stared at her blankly. “I used to have them as a girl and it’d be nice to have them again. You should be able to find some at the grocery store,” she explained.
“Okay. I’m gonna get a cup of coffee, then I’ll head out.”
Fifteen minutes later the girls were alone. Knowing he could return any time, the two women got busy hanging mistletoe with green Christmas wire hooks. “Put some over the front door,” Aunt Agnes instructed her. “You’ll want some at the kitchen door and over your bedroom door too,” she said with a wink, placing some over the hearth.
Stepping down from the ladder, Blair surveyed the room and smiled at the sight of the fragrant greenery. When he returned Derek would find himself in a tangled web of trickery.
Derek entered the house an hour later to find Blair and Aunt Agnes sitting on the couch sipping hot cocoa. “Great, you’re back,” his aunt announced. “I’m going to get dinner ready and you two can start decorating the tree.” Aunt Agnes stood up and walked from the room, “Everything’s in the box on the dining room table,” she said over her shoulder.
Shedding his coat on the couch Derek picked up the box and opened it. “She has the same ornaments she had when I was a kid,” he said in wonder.
“Here, hand me one.” Blair climbed onto the ladder.
Working together, Blair and Derek hung ginger men, Santas, snowmen and glass globes made decades ago by nimble crafty fingers. “I made this one when I was seven,” Derek said staring at a little paper house he’d cut out and stuck a hook in eons ago. “I can’t believe she kept it.”
Blair bit her bottom lip. “I kept our ornament that said, ‘First Christmas,’” she confessed.
“I don’t understand. Why would you keep that?” De
rek questioned.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I guess I never lost hope.” She looked away and walked into the kitchen. Derek followed her and stopped in the doorway.
“Aha,” Aunt Agnes crowed. “You’re standing under the mistletoe. You know what this means.”
With Aunt Agnes watching, their first kiss was barely a peck on the lips. “I can see the tree from here and it’s not done. Shoo. Out of my kitchen. Finish up or there’ll be no dinner for you two.”
Blair picked up some tinsel and methodically began placing the silver threads. Accidentally she dropped some on him and he threw some at her. Laughing she retaliated.
“Do I need to separate you?” Aunt Agnes walked into the room, laughing as she menaced.
They only smiled.
An hour later Derek topped the tree with a star and together they stood back to admire their handiwork. “Looks beautiful,” Blair remarked.
He agreed. “I guess we still have it.”
“Definitely.”
Derek put his hands to his hips, “I’m going to get some coffee. Want some?”
“Yea. That’d be nice.”
While she waited, Blair realized their main problem had been their youth. In the two years, they’d been apart, they’d grown up a lot and she now saw their arguments as stupid and petty. A few times, she’d thought she’d seen a message in Derek’s hazel eyes, a sort of understanding. Could it be he’d come to the same conclusion?
That night, Derek was caught by the holly over the bedroom door.
“Kiss your bride,” Aunt Agnes instructed.
Derek looked at Blair and smiled. He drew her into his arms and held her tight letting the kiss linger.
“Ok, if you two want to get mushy that’s fine but you might not want to do it in the hall,” Aunt Agnes interrupted.
Nervously Blair laughed. It felt real. He felt real. They were back. Looking at him she saw moisture in his eyes, this time for lost time. “Merry Christmas darling,” he said softly as he closed the door behind them in front of a smiling Aunt Agnes.
The End
ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS IS MY TWO FRONT KNEES…
Genevieve Dewey
Dominic Valentini dropped his Steelers bag next to the front door inside his parents’ house. He sucked in a deep breath, coughed a bit at the overwhelming scent of Christmas potpourri, then locked the door behind him. If he was lucky, he’d be able to catch a few hours of sleep on the couch before anyone woke up and wondered what he was doing in Nebraska instead of Pennsylvania.
After all, big shot pro-football players fly their parents over to see them; they don’t slink home with their tail between their legs… even if they were legs with blown-out knees. One season as a fourth round draft pick and he was already on injured reserve. That was demoralizing on its own, but Dom suspected being on reserve was a mere courtesy on his way to ‘released from contract’.
He grimaced, thinking about how he was going to break the news to his parents:
Hey, Mom, Dad, won’t be getting you that fancy mansion I promised. I’m soon-to-be unemployed and I filed for divorce. Merry Christmas!
Dom wrinkled his nose as he stretched out on the couch. He cupped the back of his head and crossed his ankles.
Nah, better to lead with worse news.
The loss of a football career was nothing compared to the fact that Dominic would be the first person in his branch of the Valentini family to ever get a divorce. To a Valentini, the ‘D’ word was way worse than unemployment, back taxes, and a proctology exam combined.
“Yay, go me,” Dom whispered at the ceiling.
He never should have married Isabel. She deserved better than a husband who was still hung up on his childhood crush. Even more ridiculous was the knowledge he and said unrequited love, Katelyn Anderson, had never been more than friends. Who left their wife for a friend and neighbor they had never actually been in a romantic relationship with? Especially one who seemed determinedly oblivious to his feelings?
Tap, tap, tap.
Dom crooked his head to look out the living room window. He could see movement, but the rainbow lights reflecting from the Christmas tree made it hard to distinguish what had made the noise. He looked around the room for a security bat then stopped and chuckled. What would be the point? This was Small Town, America. More than half this town never locked their doors, yet still left the living room drapes open so everyone could see their tree.
He got up from the couch and winced as his knees briefly buckled. He yanked the door open dramatically, expecting to shoo off some bored kids.
Except it was Katelyn Anderson, frozen mid-knock.
“Hey,” she whispered, her breath caressing her face in the frigid air.
She smiled and rubbed her hands together. “Can I come in?”
When he continued to gape at her, she poked him on the chest, and nudged her head towards the house.
“Uh, what are—I mean, yeah,” Dom replied and tugged her inside. “What are you doing here?”
“Saw you pull up and wondered why no one knew you were coming home for the holidays. Or is this a Christmas present for your folks? I mean, of course, it must be, no one in their right mind takes a flight in the middle of the night unless they want to surprise someone or there’s an emergency. Wait,” Katelyn paused.
Her eyebrows contracted and she suddenly grabbed his arms, “There’s not an emergency is there?”
He couldn’t help but grin; he’d missed her tendency to babble.
Her worried frown deepened.
“Naw,” Dom finally said and shrugged. “You were right the first time.”
“Was I?” Kate asked in a concerned tone.
When he didn’t answer, she tilted her head and narrowed her eyes.
He sighed and walked back over to the couch. Knowing someone your entire life had its drawbacks; they tended to know when you were lying.
“Not that I mind visits from pretty women at three in the morning, but I could ask you the same question; what were you doing spying on the neighborhood in the middle of the night at your mother’s house?” Dom deflected.
“You haven’t heard?” Kate asked, her eyes suddenly alight with enthusiasm. “I bought the house from my parents after they retired! I’m moving back.”
“Huh. There’s a lot of that going around,” he mumbled, enjoying the flush that excitement brought to her cheeks.
She raised her eyebrows and pressed her lips together. Then she walked over to the couch, sat next to him, and rested her head against his shoulder.
“Spill,” she coaxed.
Just rip the bandaid off, Valentini, so she can be disappointed in you, too…
“I’m getting a divorce,” he replied, trying to sound cheerful about it.
She took a deep breath then patted his leg.
“I’m sorry…” she said with a long sigh. “I’ve been a terrible friend, so focused on my Thesis and school… I’ve barely kept in touch. I didn’t even know you were having marital problems.”
“We weren’t really,” he answered honestly.
It was the truth. He and Isabel got along great, but it was a hollow sort of rapport. He had never felt so empty in his life than when he was living his perfect life with her. There was no reason for it, except his heart seemed stubbornly addicted to the girl-next-door with wild curly hair and an unnatural fondness for libraries.
“I don’t think you came home just because of that,” Kate prodded. “Does this have to do with the game last month? You looked pretty hurt when they took you off the field. Are your knees starting to feel better? I thought for sure you’d play in the last game but…”
“Nope, that’s the joy of being injured reserve on top of special teams.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means… there’s a very good chance I’ll be released from contract.”
“Oh, Dom… I’m so sorry. To have it end over a stupid torn ACL,” Katelyn replied.
> Her tone was certainly more genuine than her expression of sympathy regarding his divorce.
She rubbed his knee.
His brain jammed and his heart clutched. The rest of him tried desperately to remember she had friend-zoned him ages ago.
“I didn’t realize you watched my games, or knew what an ACL is—”
Katelyn pulled away, raised her hand, and smacked him on the forehead.
“Ok, a), I’m an anthropologist; if I don’t know human anatomy, I need a new career. And, b), I watch and record every single game of yours including the pre-season clips and the highlights on ESPN. That’s what people do when they’re proud of their loved ones.”
She looked genuinely astonished and affronted that he could doubt her devotion.
Loved ones? How am I supposed to kill these feelings when she said stuff like that?
“All I want for Christmas is my two front knees,” he sang, in an effort to cover his sudden confusion.
“As opposed to your two back knees?” she countered sarcastically with an eye roll. “It’d be more like your middle knees, anyway. And please don’t try to sing again. You seriously stink at it.”
“Ok, a),” Dom mimicked her, “Why you gotta be such a know it all? And b), you seriously stink at football, yet you insist we play in the back yard every major holiday.”
She scooted on the couch until she was fully facing him.
“That’s for your sake!”
“My sake? You think I enjoy playing with amateurs who sulk when they lose?”
“Maybe if the winner didn’t enjoy rubbing it in…” she said with a glare.
She crossed her arms and pursed her lips, eyes so narrowed her lashes joined at the edges.
He chuckled. It was hard to take Kate seriously when she got upset. She looked like a freshly toweled kitten, more prone to eliciting a desire for kisses than ire.
He loved getting her riled up.
“I guess playing with amateurs is something I’ll have to get used to now,” he conceded with a rueful smile.
Her face cleared. She tilted her head again and clicked her teeth in a sympathetic manner.
“Forget professional football. You have a degree in Physical Education, and a great family, and my huge family by extension. Not to mention, selfishly, I’d be glad if you chose to move back here. I’ve missed you… crazy lots.”