Eyes wide, startled by the rare flash of anger from her former lover, Margo stepped back, a hand going to her chest. The venom in Claire’s voice was like a physical slap in the face.
Driven by anger at the past and present, Claire stepped forward, pressing her advantage. “Leave. Them. Alone.”
Margo swiftly closed the gap between them and pressed her lips against Claire’s. A hand wrapped itself into the soft hair at the back of Claire’s neck and pulled her impossibly closer to Margo.
Claire gasped, eyes wide, shocked by the sudden turn of events. As soft lips nibbled at her own, something stirred within her, a longing so deep it dislodged years of contentment in an instant, replacing it with need and a yearning for something long denied her.
Moaning as a warm tongue caressed her lips, demanding entrance, Claire ached inside. Her heart beat quickly as passion long kept at bay bubbled to the surface, released like vintage champagne uncorked after years of storage. She needed more. Deepening the kiss, she pressed Margo back against the wall. Claire’s hands moved under Margo’s sweater, and she slipped her leg between Margo’s thighs. Hot arousal coursed through her as Margo’s fingers dug into her shoulders. Claire grasped Margo’s buttocks, pulling her closer as she ground against a strong thigh.
Margo groaned.
Initially overwhelmed by the emotional onslaught, Claire’s desire was replaced by a soothing, healing balm. The realisation that she did crave passion and love, but not from the woman kissing her so thoroughly, galvanised something inside her. Claire deliberately eased away from their kiss, leaving Margo chasing a ghost from another time. Nothing Margo tried to do could erase the hurt and abandonment she’d inflicted so many years ago.
A groan from Margo was her only objection as they each stood wrapped in the other’s arms. Claire saw her thoughts mirrored in Margo’s eyes. This was the final good-bye.
Margo buried her face against Claire’s cotton clad shoulder.
“Margo, I…”
Raising her head, Margo placed a finger on Claire’s lips. “I understand.”
Staring at each other, they shared a long, sad smile until finally Margo nodded and stepped back.
“Will you walk me out?”
“Of course.”
Margo swirled her long black coat around her shoulders and effortlessly slipped her arms into the sleeves. Straightening, she raised her chin, indicating she was ready to depart.
At the main door, Claire reached for the latch, only to have Margo grasp her hand. Turning back, Claire was surprised to see moisture in the keen grey eyes.
“It will always be you.” Margo kissed Claire on the cheek and waited for the door to be opened.
As she stepped outside, Margo held her arms out, laughing as she tilted her head to the darkening skies, her breath crystallising in the cold air. Turning to Claire, she looked like the girl she had been when they had fallen for each other so many years ago.
“You may get your wish to have snow for Christmas.”
Claire smiled, nodding. “I just might.” And as Margo walked away, Claire watched until she disappeared in a flurry of snowflakes.
A New Christmas Carol
Eve Francis
Moving in December sucked. Caroline now knew that first hand. She hadn’t wanted to purchase a new house during the busy summer season—it would have been too chaotic. Daniel, her son, was in a lot of soccer tournaments, and she wanted to be there for him. The divorce from Jay was still being processed. So, what was the rush, anyway? She and Jay split amicably, so they could stand being around one another during awkward morning coffees while they discussed the state of their finances. Caroline continued to live in the guest room and it wouldn’t be that big of a deal.
But once the divorce was finalized, Jay started dating a woman named Natalie, and Caroline knew she needed to go. She packed her things and put them in storage, but she wasn’t able to find a suitable house until late November. Because of a busy season at work, she couldn’t move until mid-December. And now, in the aftermath of one of the heaviest snowfalls of the year, she was stuck warming her hands over a mug of instant coffee in her new kitchen. She had spent most of the morning lifting heavy boxes in the sub-zero temperature when the movers didn’t move fast enough.
The cold was only half of Caroline’s worries. She couldn’t use cardboard boxes to pack since she couldn’t set them down on the wet ground without the cardboard turning to mush and splitting at the slightest touch. The plastic coverings for her couch and mattress barely covered anything, and now water marked most of the exposed surfaces. The team of movers she hired were ornery and stressed, probably since it was so close to Christmas with only one shopping day left. They had shoved her stuff into the far side of the living room, and left it there. Now they waited with their truck idling and Christmas music blaring.
And still, the men expected a tip. Caroline wanted to be nice and cheery because it was Christmas, but all she could hear was the incessant “ba-da-da-dum” of the “Drummer Boy” from the van’s speakers. Her blood slowly boiled as she approached the vehicle.
“Is that it?” she asked, her mug of coffee still in her hands. She peered in the back of the truck, inspecting it slowly. There was lots of dust, water spots, and a few plastic bags, but nothing else. Everything she owned was now in her living room.
“Yes, ma’am. Please sign here. We have other things to do today.”
Caroline pressed her lips together. She took the pen and scribbled her name.
“You have my credit card number, yes? The one I made the reservation with?”
The tall man nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
Caroline flinched at the sound of the word “ma’am”. She wasn’t that old, was she? Almost forty in another few months. But that was another calendar year away and she didn’t like to be prematurely reminded.
“Well, then. I guess that’s it. Thanks again. See you around.”
“Ma’am,” the man called after her.
Caroline turned, raising a thin, brown eyebrow. “Yes?”
The mover flinched, as if he could detect the sudden anger in her expression. He must see this every day, Caroline thought. The widow or the divorcee moving out of a nice house and into another one, close enough to see the kids—but far enough away to not cause problems. He didn’t have to make anything worse. Caroline also knew that if she just tipped him, then maybe he would go away. But a job well done deserved a reward. And this job, as the water stains on her couch proved, was not exactly in tip-top shape.
“Nothing,” the mover said. “Have a Merry Christmas. Or happy holidays.”
Caroline felt her stomach do another flip-flop. “Yes” she said. “You too, I suppose.”
Caroline watched as the moving van drove down the street and turned the corner from her new kitchen window. When she sighed, she swore she could hear it echo off the empty walls. What good is Christmas if it is the first time you’re away from the ones you love? She was glad she didn’t have a calendar yet and no time to put up Christmas decorations.
Caroline had never been away from Daniel for longer than two nights. And never during the holidays. But that is how it is now, right? Daniel would celebrate Christmas with Jay this year. Then she and Jay would take turns having their son for the holidays, like a never-ending game of Ping-Pong. She knew this side of divorce would be hard, but necessary. She couldn’t get proverbial cold feet now, even if she was really, really cold in her new place.
Caroline found the furnace and cranked the heat up. She unpacked the smaller boxes first, before she grew tired. She flopped down on her couch and took a break with another cup of coffee.
There was something good about the Christmas season, she remembered. Everyone had their holidays soon, and there would be enough alcohol—from Christmas parties and visiting relatives—to stock a ship. Just what she needed to dull these Christmas blues.
Caroline picked up her cell phone and began to plan a party.
* * *
Trisha arrived first. “I bring tidings of good joy,” she said and then furrowed her brow. “Comfort and joy? Figgy pudding? I have no idea how that song goes.”
“Ugh. I don’t want to hear any Christmas carols or anything about Christmas whatsoever. But thank you for coming.” Caroline opened her door, one of few on the block without a wreath. “Don’t mind the mess. I’m still moving in. That’s why you’re here, right? Unpacking and a housewarming party.”
“Hah,” Trisha said. She shucked her coat off and opened the closet. Her smile fell from her face as she realized there were no hangers out yet. “I see you really were serious about helping you unpack.”
“What are friends for?” Caroline sighed. “I have some alcohol out, if that helps.”
“Getting drunk and moving furniture? I’m in.”
“Hopefully not in that order,” Melanie said. She slipped inside while Caroline held the door. She presented a plate of cookies in one hand and a bottle of rum in the other. Her smile faded as soon as Caroline narrowed her eyes.
“What?” Melanie asked. “It’s just gingerbread. Vegan gingerbread at that. One of the kids at Matt’s school is like scary-allergic to eggs, so I made these. No good?”
“It’s a Christmas cookie,” Caroline said. “I strictly forbid it.”
“So put me on the naughty list. I like gingerbread.” Melanie smiled. “Now are you going to get me a drink? I’m still freezing and could use some cheer to warm me up.”
Caroline stepped out of the way just as Trisha returned with coat hangers. There were another couple minutes of shuffling and handing off alcohol, coats, and cookies as the women got ready and organized. By the time everyone sat down at the small table inside the kitchen, there was another knock at the door.
“Hello, Adriana,” Caroline said. “Fashionably late as ever.”
Adriana’s red-painted lips pressed into a gleeful smile. “But I have alcohol and I have food.”
“Christmas food?”
“Does Kutya count? I didn’t think it would count. I mean, it’s a Ukrainian thing. It’s got like… no resonance in the US. So how are you going to know it’s festive?”
Caroline signed again. “Because you just told me.”
Adriana winked at her friend. “Well, then I guess you’ll have to deal.”
Caroline took the plate as Adriana hung up her coat. Inside the kitchen, she added the Kutya to her friends’ pile of Christmas treats.
“I also have a fruitcake in the car,” Trisha said cautiously. “But I figured it wasn’t a good idea to bring it in.”
“Let it freeze,” Adriana said. “It’s fruit cake anyway, so what’s it good for?”
“I could use a doorstop…” Caroline remarked.
“What you really could use is help unpacking a few more boxes,” Trisha teased.
Caroline nodded. There was some more chatter as wine was passed around and Caroline made a quick cheese and cracker platter, since there was no other food she’d rather eat. Even if the Ukrainian dish did look tempting, just knowing that it was to celebrate Christmas made her stomach turn.
“You’re really boycotting this whole thing, aren’t you?” Melanie asked.
“Yes. Let’s pretend Christmas doesn’t exist, okay? Okay. Good. Glad we had this discussion.” She popped a cracker in her mouth and nodded. “This is a housewarming party, anyway, and since this is my house, I will throw you out if you speak of holidays and good cheer.”
“Regular Scrooge,” Adriana said. “It’s quite becoming for you.”
Caroline rolled her eyes.
“It can’t be that bad, can it?” Melanie asked.
“Yes, it can.”
“I understand,” Trisha said, her voice suddenly sympathetic. She had been divorced twice in her short thirty-five years, but they were uncomplicated affairs with no kids involved. “But you can’t wallow in your despair or loneliness or whatever. I mean, there’s Skype, right? Daniel’s going to say hello that way. And he’s only like, half an hour away. Even in the most deadly snowstorm, there’s hope, Caroline.”
“Yes, I know,” Caroline said, sipping her wine. “We’ll definitely have Skype.”
“Well, there you go. All settled. And he’s coming for New Years?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re fine. You’re only worried about living alone again.”
“I am not,” Caroline said.
“We’ll keep you together for Christmas—with this housewarming party—and before you know it, you’ll be with Daniel again.”
Caroline nodded. She wanted to mope more, but Trisha wouldn’t understand. Neither would Melanie or Adriana for that matter. They were still in the first five years of their marriages, one with kids and the other without. The breakdown hadn’t happened yet.
Well, there’s also the fact that Trisha, Melanie, and Adriana aren’t lesbians. So their marriages weren’t stressed and they could enjoy sex with their husbands for a little while longer. Caroline hadn’t been given that option anymore.
“Have you been writing?” Adriana pulled a stool over to the kitchen island and looked at Caroline as though they were the only ones present. “I know you wanted to work on a few things for… gifts… over the…Can I mention Christmas presents? Or is that forbidden too?”
“Let’s just call it ‘Light Holiday’ and be done with it,” Melanie suggested.
“Light Holiday?”
“Yeah. If you study the different groups that have holidays around this time, you’ll see that most of the holidays focus on light in some way. It’s all the same story, just told from different points of view.”
“I like that,” Caroline said. “That way you don’t have to go with the same decorations if you don’t want to. You can pick and choose your celebration.”
“Speaking of which,” Adriana said. “Isn’t that kind of what you want to write?”
Caroline blushed.
A few months earlier, when all the friends were together, Caroline revealed she wanted to write a novel once the divorce process was complete. She had grown tired of the celebrated authors, the winners of Pulitzers and grants, always being men. Usually white men, who only seemed to whine about nothing to Caroline.
“It’s boring. I mean, I understand the need to do complain and talk about the human condition or whatever you want to call it. But do white men really need to have anymore epiphanies? Haven’t they got it all out yet?”
“So what are you suggesting?” Adriana had asked. “Writing On The Road from the perspective of the Mexican women they never named?”
“Yes,” Caroline had said. “Or writing any story that we all know and love, but flipping it. Like fairy tales, Shakespeare, or even some Dickens, since all of the copyright have passed on those. Can you imagine if Great Expectations had been told from Havisham’s point of view? Or if Pip had been gay?”
Melanie rolled her eyes. “Always with the gayness, always with the lesbian women hidden in history.”
“That’s the point, though. They’re always hidden. It’s always Gertrude Stein reading Hemingway’s books and telling him what works. And yet, we don’t pay near enough attention to her or Alice B. Toklas. I want to bring them out and put them on the center stage.”
Trisha furrowed her brow. “While I support a distracting task like this, don’t you think you’re just trying to make up for lost time?”
Caroline hadn’t known how to respond. Trisha was at least half-right; Caroline wanted to give voice to the silent lesbians in literature—because she knew that she was like them. And by telling a story from Havisham’s point of view, Caroline could give herself hope that she wouldn’t have to worry about turning into an old, crazy woman with regrets. If she gave Havisham life after marriage, then she could have life, too.
“We all live through books,” Adriana said. “It’s just that some books are easier to find than others.”
“Right,” Caroline said. “Thank you.”
Now, i
nside her new kitchen with Adriana’s eyes on her again, Caroline wasn’t too sure what to say about her writing.
“I’ve been really busy lately with packing. But I have found some time for poetry.”
“Poetry?” Trisha said. “Really? Like… haikus?”
“Or dirty limericks?” Melanie laughed.
“No,” Caroline said. “But haikus are interesting. You can capture the silence of the moment with them. And I like that.”
Caroline glanced at the boxes still packed in her living room. She counted out the syllables on her fingers as she spoke:
I hate Christmas time
Boxes make cardboard prisons
Now I need more wine.
Her friends laughed and applauded. She bent at the waist and laughed with them.
They poured more wine and clinked their glasses in a toast. Caroline smiled at her friends, made small talk about her upcoming PR campaign, and a bunch of other work related endeavors she and her friends often discussed. They were working women, with stellar careers—but, Caroline thought, only some of us are really happy. Caroline liked to believe she was happier now, but it was hard to tell. She felt as if her friends thought she was crazy when she said she was leaving Jay, because she wanted to date women and focus on writing again. It was like going back to high school again, restarting her life, when her friends knew that it was a foolish notion.
Maybe it was. Caroline was still so new to everything when it came to love. All she really knew was what she had read about in books—and those had been few and far between. Mary Oliver’s poem “Wild Geese” was one piece of work about love that had stuck with her. The poem was about animals and human loneliness, and how the world didn’t really care whether or not you suffered. But you had to move on.
Caroline had been having a particularly bad day when she first read the work. Her interest in women had always been there, but below the surface. While she could recall a crush or two on a woman, such as the budding poet in her high school creative writing class, the best friend and next door neighbor, one of her first bosses at her company, she had never really had words to articulate her desire. She was already married when shows like Queer as Folk or The L Word was on TV and she could see characters that were “like her.” And really, while she watched those shows and understood her longing in a new way, she never liked those characters. They had been too self-centered, too pretentious, too focused on desire. Caroline didn’t want to walk in a pride parade, not because she was ashamed of herself, but because she had always believed that love was not about herself. It was about someone else, about a relationship, and at the time, she had chosen to spend her life with a man. When their love became strained, Caroline focused on her son instead. Her longing for women was something she never really paid attention to, it was so much like breathing for her.
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