One Winter’s Day: A feel-good winter romance

by Laura Briggs

  Chad had decided to tag along to dinner at Maria’s that evening since he didn’t have any prior holiday plans. In addition to the bean salad her mother requested, Natalie brought along a bottle of wine that her uncle would approve of, and had given Chad a few pointers about her family this time before they went inside Icing Italia’s kitchen.

  “Just be careful what you say to Rob,” she had told him, as she unbuckled her seat belt. “He’s the one with sharp hearing and a memory that won’t quit—unless it’s something you want him to remember. Stick to sports with him, and if he asks if we’re getting engaged, just ask him when he and Kimmie are going to tie the knot. That’ll shut him up.”

  “I can handle your family, no problem,” said Chad. “It’s just dinner, not a lifetime commitment.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Natalie lifted the wine bottle from where it was nestled between the folds of an old blanket in Chad’s back seat.

  “Did I tell you my mom invited us to dinner next Friday?” said Chad. “She’s spending Christmas at her cousin’s house in Raleigh, but she’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

  “Of course,” said Natalie. “I’ll come.”

  “Great. She’ll be excited.” He opened the car door. “I don’t spend a lot of time at her place these days, so this will be a good excuse to stop by.”

  “Not a close family, eh?” said Natalie. They had talked about family, of course, but not much about their feelings about family. That hadn’t come up when they were having dinner out or at her apartment—or while Natalie was hanging from the face of a rock.

  “I don’t know. I guess we’re close enough. I never thought about it.” He closed the driver’s door, and adjusted the collar of his button-down over his sweater’s V-neck, combing a few fingers through the mane of hair sweeping against his jaw. “I guess we should go on inside and get this over with,” he said.

  “We have to tell them about us sooner or later, don’t we?” joked Natalie. They both laughed a little, as if dismissing the last tiny bit of nervousness about testing out their relationship charade on real people and not just in their imaginations.

  Good thing it wasn’t a real relationship, or she might actually stay nervous. Her family could eat a stranger alive—only someone who was practically family could avoid the fierce criteria that the Grenaldis used to judge each other’s romantic partners. Rob was just lucky that Kimmie was so adorable it was impossible not to love her.

  Chad had taken Natalie’s hand in the same careless, relaxed manner as always, and they walked to the front door. The bug-eyed look that crossed Maria’s face when she answered the door proved how surprised she was to see Chad at Natalie’s side.

  “Chad, it’s good to see you again,” she said, recovering and giving him a friendly embrace in greeting, which Chad returned with a polite pat on Maria’s back. “Come on in, everybody’s waiting.” Maria’s smile was of pure happiness and amazement—but only at seeing Natalie with the same man twice in a row, Natalie thought. It wasn’t anything to do with Chad himself, who was a stranger who didn’t like carbs in double portions, and had offered a smile both limp and nervous in its politeness the first time he met the family.

  If Maria only knew what he’d said about visiting his mother, she would immediately question his priorities in life, too—that was another pointer Natalie would have to give Chad for the next couple of weeks, to make his family sound more important to him than they might be in reality.

  It was all worth it, Natalie thought, as she saw the looks on the faces of her relatives when they entered the dining room. Even Uncle Guido seemed floored at Chad’s appearance. Her barely contained nervous laugh and the brief squeeze of Chad’s hand for their good-natured pact, went unnoticed in the moment of surprise for everybody. A quick whisper was exchanged between her aunt and Rob’s girlfriend, which Natalie would bet a hundred dollars was speculation about Chad as ‘the one.’

  “… do you think they’re shopping for a ring already?” Kimmie was saying in a hushed voice, as Chad and Natalie sat down a few places away. Natalie caught these words faintly below the clink of silverware and the laughter of her relatives; Chad caught Natalie’s eye and gave her a conspiratorial wink, proving he had heard the same thing.

  There was an old cubic zirconia ring in the bottom of her jewelry box that would do better than a plastic diamond, Natalie thought playfully—and recklessly. Maybe she’d try wearing it a couple of times to see if anybody noticed, and demur when asked if it was really a gift from Chad. If nobody looked too closely, it might look like the real thing.

  Pretending not to be romantically carefree could actually be pretty fun. And if it wasn’t, there existed a built-in failsafe to release her by St. Patrick’s Day, so life would go back to the way it was before. It was the perfect plan—though she still drew the line at tasting wedding cakes and picking out florists, even in jest, because a game of pretend couldn’t fully erase the shudders that the concept of marriage tended to send down her spine whenever Maria joked about wanting a dozen grandchildren, or hosting a post-honeymoon family dinner for her newlywed daughter and spouse. To be safe, Natalie would have to tell Tessa and Ama the truth in the next couple of weeks before they got any ideas about building a portfolio of wedding ideas on her behalf—playing it safe was key to making everybody happy in this situation.

  That’s why the smile on Natalie’s face was genuine, even when Aunt Louisa passed her the bread pudding and hinted that her younger cousin would love to be a bridesmaid.

  While Natalie was enjoying a temporary reprieve from family interrogations about her love life, Tessa was finishing off a carton of Chunky Monkey Ben & Jerry’s ice cream with her hot chocolate, and watching the last few minutes of Holiday Affair. She was trying not to cry, but not because it looked like Janet Leigh and Robert Mitchum were missing their chance for love, or because she was being blinded by the billions of colored twinkle lights that decorated her mother’s tree. She blinked hard as the characters onscreen swam into a black-and-white blur, to which the reflection of holiday lights draped around a nearby nativity scene added a neon haze.

  “Everything okay, Tessa Mae?” Her mother paused in the doorway, her bedtime reading of Anne Tyler tucked under her arm, along with one of the many shopping catalogs she studied for potential presents this time of year—stocking stuffers were her mother’s particular weakness. “You seem a little down. Is it because you miss the old house? I know the condo’s not the same after all these years… but I still have all the ornaments, you know, so we’ll decorate this place to the nines, starting tomorrow.”

  “It’s not the house, Mom,” she answered. “Or the ornaments. It’s nothing.” She shook her head. “Just a long week at work, that’s all.”

  “You’re sure?” her mother asked. “I can have the boxes out of the storeroom closet in a jiffy. I think all your school craft macaroni ornaments are in one. You remember how much you love them.”

  Tessa stifled a giggle, albeit a small one, at the idea that macaroni ornaments could solve her current blues. “That’s okay. They can wait until tomorrow, when we decorate the kitchen tree,” she said. Her mother would have a tree decorated in every room before New Year’s Day, since she could never bear to leave any decorations in their boxes during the month of December. “I think I’ll just finish my cocoa and see what the next movie is.”

  “Save the good ones for me,” said her mother. “You know how much I love White Christmas. We just don’t get enough of those in the south. I can’t miss Bing and Rosemary, not for love or money.”

  “Sure thing, Mom. I won’t watch that one until Christmas Day with you, I promise.”

  The cocoa had become dregs at the bottom of the cup, as Janet Leigh raced through train cars on New Year’s Eve in search of future happiness. Tessa wished her own was that simple—a matter of chasing down love only to have it turn and give you a passionate kiss. But in her experience, chasing love just left you in the dust, while the one y
ou pursued sped away with someone else.

  First, all the crushes in college, and the boyfriends she clung to, who only ever loved her halfheartedly. Now it was Blake, falling for the devastatingly gorgeous Mac, leaving her behind in the dust like a fool. A big fool who had been proud and desperate at the same time, and let him believe that she found the idea of them dating to be a silly farce. A wild idea that had been planted in their brains temporarily by one tiny kiss.

  If only Blake had called her afterwards, like he promised. If only she hadn’t been too proud and too scared to say something herself, afraid that he had changed his mind. And when he hinted in the parlor that day that she was interested in him…

  She pressed her hands to her forehead, wishing the pain in her head was brain freeze from the ice cream and not a headache from all the regrets and ‘what if’s in her mind. Why were the ‘what if’s she imagined always disappointing ones, and never happily-ever-afters for herself? Why couldn’t she be happily in love, instead of being afraid that a chance for happiness would always lead to heartache?

  The Chunky Monkey was a melted puddle at the bottom of the carton, but Holiday Inn was just beginning at a quarter past midnight. With a deep sigh, Tessa turned the volume up and sank lower in the cushions of the sofa, feeling drowsy. Hoping that any dreams that entered her head tonight wouldn’t be of Blake.

  Blake and Mac. Would she really have to plan their wedding? How could she do it and not go crazy? Right now, she couldn’t think of a rational, sensible excuse to refuse, however, if Mac really asked her.

  I can’t plan your wedding because I’m in love with Blake, she informed the bride-to-be in her imaginary conversation. That’s why I have to decline. You understand, don’t you?

  It made perfect sense to her, this explanation. And it was perfectly true, too, as she nodded off to sleep before the scenes of Vermont’s Christmas snow, with visions in her mind of the handsome contractor helping her paint the parlor’s walls with ‘Romantic Blue.’ His hand and hers were holding the same paintbrush as the white plaster surface became a pale violet, a shade that seemed just perfect for a newly broken heart.

  Given a second chance, she would do anything to change things. If a miracle gave her one, she would tell him exactly how she felt about him. Reformed romantic or not, she wouldn’t be stupid twice.

  Now, if only a miracle would come her way.

  Back in Bellegrove on Saturday afternoon, Ama was helping rub the tandoori chicken for cooking, something she never did on her free weekends.

  Her knife minced garlic in a steady rhythm as her father ground spices beneath his pestle. Working at the same rhythm, her father concentrating on his recipe, Ama felt a sense of harmony in the kitchen, which had been lacking recently. Not that anybody had mentioned the controversies involving her love life or Tamir. Even Ranjit had held his tongue on this issue.

  “Not too much garlic,” he said, stopping her knife. “And small. Small pieces.”

  “Like this?” The sharpest edge of her blade turned a minced square into slivers.

  “We make a smooth paste first,” he said. “It brings out the flavor. Our special way of doing it, different from all the other restaurants.”

  “From the Punjabi Express, too?” said Ama teasingly. A snort from her father.

  “That place. Dry chicken, overcooked rice, too much tomato in the masala—and no flavor to their halwa. It tastes like the little jars of food that Nalia feeds the baby. Squashed pumpkin from a can.”

  “It kind of does,” Ama admitted with a laugh. “But I like that potato thing they make. The one with the turmeric sauce.”

  “It’s not bad.” Ranjit began crushing her garlic now. “I would use masala to give flavor to it… or make a spice sauce with those smoked peppers your brother buys. The ones from Mexico.”

  “And maybe honey to sweeten it,” suggested Ama.

  Her father smiled and nodded. “Good idea,” he said. He added a sprinkle of pepper to his mortar dish. “Good thinking.”

  Reaching over, Ama laid her hand on her father’s. “I love you, Papa,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  Ranjit’s hand was still beneath hers. His right hand laid aside his pestle carefully, then covered Ama’s own with a gentle, trembling grip. “You’re a good daughter,” he said. He patted her hand at these words, then released his hold on her.

  Ama smiled as she began mincing the garlic even smaller. It was the closest she would come to receiving an apology from her father. This was a tentative truce on the subject of her life and how she planned to live it. Maybe it was only a beginning, but it was still something.

  During the car ride to the market, she thought about her mother’s words. Her mother trusted her to do the right thing, even while following her heart. Of course, she didn’t say what that meant, but it was nice to hear those words, especially without the stipulation that her heart would lead her to someone else’s idea of a perfectly acceptable suitor.

  She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. So why did today feel like some kind of betrayal, after her mother’s promise?

  Deena pulled up to the curb on the ethnic market’s street, checking her rearview mirror as she shifted into park momentarily. “I think that Hispanic vendor you like is just now setting up,” she said to Jaidev. “See? We’re not late. Plenty of time for you to have your pick of the fresh cilantro.”

  “I still think you could’ve decided to visit that holiday festival another day,” he grumbled, as he unfastened his seatbelt. He leaned over the back seat to look at Ama.

  “Listen,” he said. “I know what you’re going to do…”

  “Deena!” She looked at her sister-in-law with indignation, who shrugged helplessly.

  “… and I only have one thing to say to you,” said Jaidev. “Just… be careful out there, okay? Dad’s not the only one who worries about you. Be sure this guy’s a decent type before you get too serious with him.”

  Ama rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “I won’t do anything stupid,” she answered. “Satisfied?”

  “That’s all I had to say.” He opened the car door. “Pick me up by six at the coffee shop down the street, okay? I promised Dad I’d man the kitchen tonight during the rush.”

  “See you later,” answered Deena. Jaidev closed the car door and jogged swiftly toward the Hispanic family unloading bushels of smoked peppers, bundles of green leaves, and sweet ground spices in paper bags.

  Ama took a deep breath. Her hand was on the car door’s handle, but she hadn’t lifted it yet. And not just because Deena hadn’t unlocked the door.

  “Relax. Jaidev only knows because he guessed after the letter came,” said Deena. “I filled him in on the details so he wouldn’t jump to any stupid conclusions. Other than us, your secret is still safe.”

  “Secret,” repeated Ama. “That’s the problem. How long can I keep it this way? It feels too much like lying not to tell them. If something actually happens, I mean. And I have no idea if it will, so maybe I’m worrying over nothing.”

  “Stop,” said Deena. “For the first time, you have the chance to choose what you want. Your father finally admitted that it’s your life. This is the first step, Ama. You don’t want to go back to dating guys that your father picks out, do you?”

  “No,” admitted Ama. “I guess I’m just afraid of what comes next.” What if she fell in love? What if Luke truly fell for her and wanted to meet her family? Those were huge hurdles that she couldn’t imagine facing right now.

  “Take happiness one step at a time,” said Deena. “See what happens next before you worry about the future.” She lowered her driving sunglasses. “Speaking of which, destiny has arrived.”

  A motorcycle was pulling up to the lone parking spot left on the street. The figure riding it, bundled in a wool coat and worn jeans, could only be Luke. Ama knew it by the way her heart’s rhythm shifted into a new gear, its speed outmatching the slowness of her fingers and body.

  She lifte
d the handle of the car as Deena unlocked the door. Stepping outside, she approached the rider as he dismounted. He removed his helmet and turned around, a smile dawning on his face.

  “You’re early,” he said. “I didn’t think you’d make it for another fifteen minutes. I was going to check out my friend’s pottery booth and see if he had anything new, but this is better.”

  “I had extra time today, so I caught a ride with Deena,” said Ama. “I guess I was excited to see you.” Deena’s borrowed car was easing out onto the street, its driver waving goodbye as she set off for a day at a holiday festival in the next town.

  “I wasn’t sure you’d show up,” Luke said, smiling. “I would’ve hung around at the restaurant a little longer the other day, but I got the sense you didn’t want me to. Then I left that letter, and I started thinking I had overstepped my bounds. Maybe I misread something.”

  Ama shook her head. “No,” she said. “No, the letter was… was so like you. It was real and honest and kind of incredible. It wasn’t a mistake or anything like that. It’s only that things are kind of complicated for me.”

  “Complicated can be good or bad,” said Luke. She could tell from the way his smile had changed that he didn’t know which one to expect.

  “Can I tell you something?” Ama asked. She had waited until Deena’s car was out of sight, until there were no witnesses who knew her, even at a distance. “I need to explain. My family—they’ve never seen me with a guy who wasn’t part of our culture. Part of the ideal image they have in their heads for my perfect boyfriend. I was afraid to let them see anybody in my life who wasn’t like that.”

  He didn’t take a step backwards as if accepting this as rejection, but Ama took a step closer to him anyway, as if to keep it from happening. “But I’m really sorry I didn’t let them see more of you that day. Because… because I think you’re really amazing. In ways I really wish they could see and understand, and I’m really trying to show them why.”