“Shit, Robbi. I was thinking get license, get married. Not receptions or caterers or having to dress up.” I chopped vigorously. “And if this is something you want so badly, why don’t you propose to me?”
She put down her cleaver, walked around the island and got down on one knee. Stiffly. “Will you marry me, Deirdre Jean Riordan?”
I sucked in my breath as she took her mother’s engagement ring from an apron pocket. “You led me on. What all do you have planned?”
“Nothing, if you don’t give me an answer,” she said, her grin threatening to break into a smile.
“Yes, I’ll marry you.” I pulled her up and she put the ring on my finger. We kissed and it took my breath away just like the first time we kissed in the tiny foyer of Robbi’s building on our third date. If only Brit was half as lucky.
* * *
It began to snow again as I was finishing up with the fairy lights outside. I limped down the ladder, favoring my damn hip, when my cell rang. I waited until I had both feet on the ground to pull it out of my jacket pocket. “Kate? You have some news on Georgi girl?”
“Yeah. I’d like to come over. I can be there in forty minutes or so.”
“Sure. Fine. See you then.”
Robbi let go of the ladder. “I think next year we forget these lights and just put the big candle in the front window for travelers.” She looked at me. “What’s wrong?”
“Kate’s coming over to give me the report on Georgi.”
“She’s coming here? That doesn’t mean good news, does it?”
“Probably not.” I stamped my feet on the walk I’d cleared this morning. “Let’s get a good fire going and make something hot and alcoholic. And Robbi, what about Kate and Shea for our witnesses?”
“I already asked them. So many of our old friends are gone, DJ,” she said, her breath haloing her head in the cold air. “It should’ve been Roberta or—”
I put a finger to her mouth. “They’ll be with us anyway. If Kate’s good enough to take over my business, she’s good enough to stand up for us. I’m so glad you’re in charge of all of this.” I lowered the top half of the extension ladder and picked it up. “How about hot buttered rum?”
She nodded as she went in the front door and I carried the ladder back to the garage. I knew something had been hinky with Brit’s rush to the altar. I ran through a list of possibilities, each worse than the last. Whatever it was, I wanted a stiff drink first.
I lit the fire and settled on the couch while Robbi fixed the drinks. We waited until Kate’s Escape pulled in the drive and I went to open the door, dread slowing my steps. I opened the door to Kate’s fist.
“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t want to try the knocker with the wreath over it.”
She came in, left her boots by the door and hung her parka on the coat tree. Robbi gave her a mug as she sat in a wing chair. She sniffed. “Rum?”
Robbi nodded. “Are you going back to work? Would you rather have something non-alcoholic?”
“This is just what the doctor ordered.” She took a sip, then slipped a file folder from her messenger bag. “You want to read it now, or should I just summarize?”
“Summary’s fine. If I have any questions, I can read the whole thing later.”
Kate opened the file. “Her financials are superb, doesn’t spend much although she’s worth millions—and it’s all free and clear. Inherited from her grandmother. As I said, she lives modestly. Has a condo on Lake Shore Drive with the mortgage paid off. Good student, graduated a year and a half ago from the University of Chicago in English. Enrolled in the graduate journalism program at Northwestern, but asked for a leave of absence for this spring semester.”
“Brit said they wanted to travel for awhile, so that makes sense,” I said, fingering the scar on my temple.
“Maybe,” Kate said. “But Georgi started seeing a doctor in the fall on a regular basis. An oncologist, DJ.”
“She has cancer?” Robbi asked.
“I didn’t know if you wanted me to proceed, so I didn’t dig for specific answers. I will, if you want me to.”
I shook my head. “I shouldn’t have had you do this in the first place.”
Kate shifted in the chair, re-crossed her legs. “I thought your request was sensible, DJ. You’ve been looking after Brit since her dear mother walked away. You became a safe harbor for her. You still are.”
“Kate’s right,” Robbi said. “And I think Kate should find out the prognosis if she can. If there’s little time left, we should do everything we can to make them happy. Don’t you think?”
“Maybe we should do that regardless of the prognosis.”
When Kate left, Robbi sat down next to me on the couch. “You’re going to go all mopey now. Blame yourself that you didn’t jump head first into Brit’s bridal bliss. Guilt makes you morose, DJ. I do not want a morose wife.” She lifted my chin and kissed me. “You’ve done your best for Brit since Nan kicked her out.”
“Nan blamed me that Brit came out queer.”
Robbi took my hands. “Nan’s social position went down the toilet when her husband—your brother—went over to the dark side. She blamed your whole family, as if a family full of cops had to turn out one crook. Nan always was full of bullshit and you know it. Now stop wallowing.”
I smiled at her because nobody could read me like Robbi. “So what are we having for dinner?”
“Let’s go out,” she said releasing my hands. “We haven’t done that in a long time and all the talk of our past is making me nostalgic.”
“We used to go out more, didn’t we? Why don’t we?”
“Because you’ve become way too fond of lying around in your sweats. Now go change.”
* * *
Robbi decided we’d get married on the seventeenth so that we could start celebrating Christmas in a big way. Every year. I pulled my old tuxedo out of the guest room closet, but Robbi nixed the idea. “This isn’t the image of marriage, it is marriage.”
After thirty-five years together, I should’ve known. Anything but a tux because neither of us had dreamed of a princess wedding when we were young. She’d also banned a sweatshirt and jeans. She was a woman with taste and I’d surrendered to it long ago.
We’d traipsed through the snow to the judge’s chambers, the judge who was also our next door neighbor. He looked so damn officious in his robes and the impressive, paneled office only amplified the feeling. I began to understand what Robbi had meant. This was the real thing. It hit me like a line drive when she slipped a gold band on my ring finger and I could barely find my voice.
When the brief ceremony was over, the judge hugged us both. “Thank God, my neighbors are no longer living in sin!” He grinned and started Kate and Shea on the paperwork. We walked out legal and officially hitched. I’d never dreamed. Ever.
The four of us walked to a close-by restaurant for a fancy lunch. Shea examined the rings that an artist friend of Robbi’s had made. “These are gorgeous, kind of a continuous Celtic Eternity Knot. Who’s the artist?”
While Robbi and Shea talked design, Kate leaned over to me. “Georgi had a brain tumor. They think they got it all out and have been doing targeted chemo. But there’s no guarantees.”
“I still feel like the biggest shit. What was it the nuns used to call a hypocrite? Whitened sepulcher. That’s how I feel.”
Kate rubbed my shoulder. “Hey, this is your wedding day and Brit’s is coming up soon. Give her your support now, that’s all that’s important, DJ.”
“Speaking of Brit’s wedding, we might not make it,” Robbi said. “Have you seen the weather forecast for next week?”
“Been too involved in the here and now,” I said, squeezing her hand.
She squeezed back and smiled the most contented smile I’d ever seen on her face. We gazed at each other and I finally understood how much this meant to her.
She sighed. “Blizzard, and it may last several days. I thought last winter was supposed to be th
e one of the century, but it looks as if we’re stuck in the polar zone.”
“I wouldn’t want to be stranded in a blizzard with anyone but you.”
* * *
By the time Thursday night rolled around, I called Brit. “It looks like we’re going to be socked in with the storm. Why don’t you and Georgi go down and get your Illinois license tomorrow? Just in case.”
“But we’ve got everything planned—”
“I realize that. It’s something rare and beautiful that you want to remember.”
“Yeah, not some quickie downtown. It should be romantic, with candles and a roaring fire in the fireplace and snow outside.”
“Sometimes life hands us a detour.” I waited for her response, but all I heard was a sharp intake of breath. “How about you get the legalities done tomorrow for Illinois, but if we can fly out, then you don’t have a worry in the world about the wedding.”
“And if we can’t?”
“Get married here. Judge lives next door. Robbi and I will cook a feast and if it’s really bad out, you can start your honeymoon in our guest room.”
“Wow.” Brit let the silence grow. “Let me talk to Georgi. A Plan B’s a good idea. Thank you, DJ. Thank you so much.”
She called back about ten minutes later. Plan B was in action.
* * *
Robbi was so sure of the approaching storm, she went out and bought enough food to feast the wedding party for a week. While she was in the kitchen prepping, it was my job to transform our living room into a bridal grotto. Sure. I hightailed it to Home Depot and snagged the only garden arch they had left in midwinter, a dozen boxes of fairy lights and assorted big red bows. We had greenery on the back porch. I wondered what I’d realize I’d forgotten when I started work. I went back inside and picked up a box of staples for my staple gun. Then I had another thought and added a box of old-fashioned, plain ball ornaments. Two red, two green, two white, two silver. I’d let Robbi choose which ones we’d use.
The storm toyed with us, slowing down, then lashing us with slender, icy fingers like a lover promising more. Brit and Georgi arrived on Monday afternoon, afraid they wouldn’t be able to get out in the morning. Robbi put them both to work cooking while I took their bags upstairs to the guest room. I noticed Robbi had been busy up here, making a cozy nest for two lovebirds. I shook my head. This almost hadn’t happened because of me and my stubborn Riordan attitude.
I finished my work in the living room, inhaling wonderful scents of Christmas cookies coming from the kitchen. I tacked the last bow on and tested the lights. As good as I could do, but I thought it looked rather spiffy. Better than spiffy. I’d get Robbi’s opinion when the kids went to bed tonight.
“You’ve created a real memory for them,” Robbi said later when it was dark out and my work provided the only light. “The light’s like love—all glittery, but still soft. Christmas will always hold a special place in their hearts, no matter how long those hearts beat. This definitely joins the cosmic dance, DJ.”
“Glad you like it.” I put an arm around her waist and pulled her close. “Please tell me we’re not going to celebrate the feast of the seven fishes tomorrow night.”
She smacked my shoulder and looked like she was keeping Mona Lisa’s secret.
* * *
The judge arrived at seven on Christmas Eve, struggling through the drifts between our houses and carrying his robes encased in a cleaner’s bag. He took off his boots and slipped into a pair of loafers, hung his parka and put on his robes. “Everybody ready?”
“Chomping at the bit.”
I watched the two young women exchanging their vows and got all teary. I kept blinking, but it didn’t seem to help. Robbi reached her hand to me as we stood on either side of Brit and Georgi. I took it and held on for dear life.
After the paperwork was finished and the judge had left, I asked our newlyweds to return to the arbor I’d created. “The first Christmas Robbi and I were together, she made two special ornaments for our tree.” I pointed to the top our tree. “Though it took me a couple of years to make one myself, it’s become a tradition we’ve kept every year. Each ball tells a story of that year, of how our love grew—”
“Those two commemorate our Big Fight,” Robbi said with a grin. She pointed to two half-way down the tree.
“Yeah, but we made it through and that’s the important part.” I reached up to where I’d hung two ornaments and handed one to Robbi. “We made these to start your life together.” I handed mine to Brit while Robbi handed hers to Georgi. As they looked at the pumpkin I’d painted and the more intricate holiday-themed one Robbi had made, they both began to sniffle.
“Hey, this is supposed to be joyous,” I said. I lifted a flute of champagne. “So this is our toast to you. We wish you a tall tree full of wonderful memories.”
The glasses clinked and there was hugging all around. Robbi announced dinner and as we walked to the dining room, Brit pulled me aside.
“You know, don’t you?” she asked.
I nodded. “An iffy prognosis and—”
“Is that what it took to change your mind?” Brit asked with a jut of her chin. “That Georgi may die?”
“No.” I turned her to me. “I kept remembering Christmases Past, all of them with Robbi. She was terrified every day I went to work, afraid I’d never come home. Finally she told me what she felt—and a decision she’d made: to love every moment we shared, let go of the little stuff. She realized none of us know how many moments we have to go.” I hugged Brit, and whispered in her ear. “I couldn’t deny you your chance to know the same feelings, the same joy, even the same uncertainty. Merry Christmas, kiddo.”
Slaying the Ghost
(of Christmas Past)
Nikki Busch
Last Christmas
was tense and raw.
A chill of indecision rattled my bones.
Tenuous,
we’d split,
or
hadn’t.
In a holding pattern,
you left me hanging ,
curled up like my own misshapen Christmas ornament—
a ball of confusion,
poised to shatter
along with my heart.
This Christmas
you are here.
Mine.
A glorious gift shining by my side…
Your small, strong hands
wrap me gently in sparkling paper.
I am still fragile,
so handle with care.
About The Authors
Joan Arling
Joan Arling is a little hard to localize: She lives on German bread, French wine, Irish beer, and Dutch tobacco.
When she can afford it, she also likes whiskies from the southern coast of Islay. She’s been a truck driver, a teacher, a drug courier, a rock musician. Her favourite pastimes are mistreating her guitar and spoiling her best friend’s three tabbies.
Oh yes, reading and writing, too.
So far, she has published two short stories and one novella.
E-mail: [email protected]
Jove Belle
Jove Belle lives in Vancouver, Washington with her family. Her books include The Job, Uncommon Romance, Love and Devotion, Indelible, Chaps, Split the Aces, and Edge of Darkness.
Website: http://www.jovebelle.com
Erzabet Bishop
Erzabet Bishop is the author of Sigil Fire, “Written on Skin” (a Sigil Fire series short), Fetish Fair, Temptation Resorts: Marnie’s Tale (upcoming), Temptation Resorts: Jess’s Adventures (upcoming), Pomegranate (upcoming) and multiple books in the Erotic Pagan Series. She is a contributing author to Club Rook, Hungry for More, A Christmas to Remember, Forbidden Fruit, Sci Spanks, Sweat, When the Clock Strikes Thirteen, Bossy, Can’t Get Enough, Slave Girls, The Big Book of Submission, Gratis II, Anything She Wants, Coming Together: Girl on Girl and more.
She was a dual finalist for the GCLS awards in 2014. Erzabet lives in Texas with her
husband, furry children and can often be found lurking in local bookstores.
Website: erzabetwrites.wix.com/erzabetbishop
Facebook: www.facebook.com/erzabetbishopauthor
Twitter: @erzabetbishop
Nikki Busch
Nikki Busch began writing song lyrics in her teens and progressed to writing poetry and short stories while attending Rutgers University, where she earned her bachelor of arts degree in English. Her poems have been published in the anthologies Delectable Daisies: Sappho’s Corner Poetry Anthology, Volume 4, Our Wonderful Country, Caret, and i.e.
Nikki worked as an advertising copywriter for thirty years before becoming an editor and publicist. She provides editing services for Ylva Publishing. She lives in Warren County, New Jersey with her wife, and is currently completing a graduate-level certificate program at the University of California-San Diego. She is a member of the Golden Crown Literary Society and Editorial Freelancers Association.
Website: http://www.nikkibuschediting.com/
Facebook: www.facebook.com/NikkiBuschEditing
Twitter: @NikkiBuschEdit
E-mail: [email protected]
Jean Copeland
Jean Copeland is an English teacher and writer whose fiction and essays have appeared in A Family by Any Other Name, WIPs Journal, T/Our Magazine, Sharkreef.org, Connecticut Review, Texas Told ‘Em, P.S. What I Didn’t Say, Off the Rocks, Best Lesbian Love Stories, Harrington Lesbian Literary Quarterly, The First Line, and Prickofthespindle.com. Her debut novel, The Revelation of Beatrice Darby, will be published by Bold Strokes Books in 2015
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