Bad Case of Loving You

by Deborah Cooke

  “We did it after dinner, and there’s proof positive that the man was here, because the plate is empty. The carrots are gone, too, nothing left but a few bits of greenery.”

  “Magic, despite the fact that the chimney leads to the Aga.”

  “Magic,” Naomi agreed. “We’ll see whether it passes muster in the morning.”

  Theo leaned against the counter. “How long do you think they’ll believe?” Tristan glanced at Theo, as if to check whether he was watching, then pecked at the tin again. “Shoo!” Theo mouthed and flicked his hand.

  Tristan returned to his perch, bobbed and cackled.

  “I don’t know. I figure we’re on borrowed time already.” Naomi sighed. “It’s so sweet, though. I wish they could stay little forever.”

  “I’ll remind you of that the next time there’s projectile vomiting.”

  Naomi laughed. “You’re right. That’s not my favorite bit. And Graeme’s no help when they’re sick. He turns green right away and I have to send him out lest he make his own contribution.” She made a sound of disgust. “This is supposed to be a cheerful holiday call, so let’s change the subject from barfing children. Who is she and when do I get to meet her?”

  “There is no she,” Theo insisted.

  “No festive plans?”

  “These pop-ups are a lot of work. I was going to try your curry recipe tonight but instead I got take-out pad Thai.”

  “And who’s going to share it with you?” Naomi’s tone was coy.

  “Well, I don’t think it will be to Tristan’s taste.”

  He felt his sister’s attention sharpen. “Tristan?” she echoed. “Does that explain everything?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The lack of wedding bells, brother mine. I’m supposed to deliver a story, so if there’s a plot twist, let me know.”

  “There’s no plot twist. Tristan is a raven.”

  There was a beat of silence. “Raven as in bird?”

  “Raven as in bird. I’m pet-sitting while F5’s tattoo artist attends a wedding in Maine.”

  “Give me a minute with that sentence. It’s been a long day.”

  “Can you hear the music?”

  “It sounds like Slap That Bass.”

  “It is,” Theo said, impressed as usual by his sister’s ability to name any tune. “Tonight’s cinematic feature is Shall We Dance.”

  “Why are you watching old movies? That’s my thing.”

  “Tristan is a fan, especially Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire movies. He’s hopping across my coffee table now, but he’ll go nuts when there’s a tap dance number. It’s like he’s auditioning. The surface of my coffee table will never be the same.”

  Naomi laughed. “But does he do it backwards and in heels, like Ginger?”

  “No. It’s more about enthusiasm than precision. He’d never make the cut.”

  “So this raven is loose in your apartment?”

  “He has a perch.”

  “Of course, there’s not far to go in that glorified closet of yours. Good thing he doesn’t need to fly around for exercise.”

  “It’s not a glorified closet...”

  Naomi interrupted him. “That apartment makes my last hotel room in London look palatial.”

  “You haven’t seen it.”

  “You sent pictures and a floor plan, though why you’d need a floor plan when you can just stand in the middle of the room and reach anything is unfathomable. It reminds me of those cubbies you can rent in Japan...”

  “It’s my place and I like it.” Theo spoke firmly, guessing it wouldn’t change anything.

  It didn’t. “Did you at least paint that one wall purple like your friend suggested?”

  “Damon. I did.”

  “Damon,” she echoed and he heard the implication in her tone.

  “Got married in September. And before you ask, it was to Haley, a nurse.”

  “So, they’re all married but you?”

  “We don’t actually need to review this.”

  “Well, I think we do. You know how Auntie Tess likes to update her records. Your love life—or lack of it—seems to provide most of her entertainment. I need notes.”

  Theo shook his head. “I’m too busy to date.”

  “I thought maybe that pop-up thing was a ploy to meet women.”

  He laughed. “It wasn’t, but it might work out that way. I feel like a celebrity.”

  “What’s that like?”

  “Not bad in small quantities, but I think I’d get done with it.”

  “Good thing there are only twelve days of Christmas.”

  “Amen to that.”

  “I have to say, I was encouraged by the mention of Tristan for a minute there. It seemed to explain so much.”

  “I didn’t realize I was supposed to be giving you updates.”

  “Tell me, please: are you at least getting a shag at regular intervals?”

  Theo straightened. “Do we really have to talk about this?”

  “I just want you to be happy.”

  “Maybe I’m happy on my own. Married people always think that being married is the only way to be happy.”

  “That would be a more persuasive argument if I thought you were happy.”

  “I am!”

  Naomi dismissed his claim with a skeptical sound and he could see her waving her hand.

  “Besides, that’s not your real motivation,” he said.

  “Isn’t it?”

  “You have a diabolical plan for me to have kids, so you can perpetuate the whole Father Christmas magic thing without going to the bother of having more kids of your own.”

  “It is a bother, but it’s rather worth it in the end.”

  “I’ll take your word on it.”

  Naomi laughed, surprised into it, just as Theo knew she would. “Well, the possibility of you making more did occur to me. But I’d have to come visit you on Christmas Eve to play along, and there’s no way we could all stay at your place. You don’t have nearly enough floor space, let alone beds.”

  “Manhattan is full of hotels.”

  “Apparently with bedbugs. Thank you very much, I’ll pass. The infinitely better plan is for you to fall in love, get married, buy a great big whonking flat with all the money you’re saving while you decide whether you want to live here or there, and then have babies.”

  “I’ll keep that strategy in mind.”

  Naomi cleared her throat. “Okay, let’s talk about Mum.”

  “Mum?” Theo was immediately concerned by the abrupt change of topic. “Why?”

  “I wanted them to come here for Christmas, you know, even with Auntie Tess, but Mum wouldn’t do it. She’s convinced that you’re going to show up at the last minute.”

  “I told her that I was working...”

  “Even though the internet provides the proof, she clings to her theory. And really, why else would you stay in America for the holidays?”

  “I’m a partner at the club. I have to pull my weight and this promotion...”

  “Plus you’re the only one who isn’t married. There’s another motivation to tie the knot. You won’t have to work all the holidays then.”

  “I’m not going to marry someone just for the sake of marrying someone,” Theo said with impatience.

  “You should watch Four Weddings and a Funeral with the bird,” Naomi said. “It argues the case for thunderbolt city. No dance numbers, though. Tristan might not like it.”

  “Thunderbolt city?”

  “You know, that electric spark of recognition. The love at first sight thing, that convinces you that a certain individual is The One. If you’d ever felt it, you’d know what I mean.”

  Theo did know what she meant, but he wasn’t going to admit as much. “Have you felt it?”

  “Oh, God, yes. One look at Graeme and I was a goner. He should have had a warning tag that he couldn’t clean up biological messes generated by small children. Not that I would have paid any attention
to that. Head over heels.”

  “You don’t sound very troubled about his deficiencies.”

  “No, I’m not. I’m splendidly happy, actually, even when there are...incidents. That’s why I want you to be, too.”

  “And this is your Christmas message. Go to bed, Naomi.”

  She didn’t answer right away and when she did speak, she sounded serious. “It was weird that you’re not going to be there tomorrow. First time ever.”

  “I know.” Theo felt guilty for not being at his parents’ home, yet he loved being in Manhattan over the holidays. Not for the first time, he felt torn between two continents.

  “Are you ever coming back here to live?”

  Theo tipped his head back, considering. “I’m not sure. There are things I like about both places, but neither feels like home anymore.”

  “You know what I’m going to say.”

  He smiled. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “But I’ll say it anyway. Home is where the heart is, Theo. Fall in love, get married and make your home with her.”

  “That would be my plan.”

  “And buy a flat big enough for me to come visit with the entourage.”

  “Request duly noted.”

  They wished each other goodnight and Theo smiled as he ended the call.

  Follow his heart. It always led him straight back to Lyssa. Always had and always would. He wondered again what she wanted to talk to him about, and whether he could convince her to try again.

  It all came back to reassuring her that he’d listen. A book on the shelf caught his eye, and Theo knew then exactly how he’d send that message.

  On Christmas morning, Lyssa took her morning trip to the gym to skip, then ordered breakfast from room service. She and Logan lounged around, opening their gifts to each other. They called Franco and Giancarlo again, and when Logan was talking to them, someone came to the door.

  Lyssa answered, surprised to find one of the bell boys there. He handed her a small parcel. “This was delivered for you at the front desk,” he said. “Merry Christmas.”

  It was a Christmas parcel, wrapped in red foil and topped with a shiny gold bow. There was no card and Lyssa had a moment when she thought about stalkers—but then she realized that no one knew where she was, much less her real name. She spoke to Franco and Giancarlo for a moment before they ended the call, then sat on the couch.

  “What is it?” Logan asked.

  “I don’t know. It feels like a book.”

  “Who’s it from?”

  “I don’t know. There’s no card.”

  “Then open it!” he demanded. “Rip it!” he added when she tried to open it without ruining the paper. Lyssa laughed and tore the paper, then stared at the book in her hands.

  “It’s just an old book,” Logan said with disappointment. “Who would send you that?”

  A Collection of Nineteenth Century Romantic Poetry.

  It was a textbook, and there was only one person who could have sent it to her. There was a bookmark between the pages and Lyssa opened the book there, wondering if it was important.

  It had to be.

  Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art—

  Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night

  And watching, with eternal lids apart,

  Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,

  The moving waters at their priestlike task

  Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,

  Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask

  Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—

  No—yet still stedfast, still unchangeable,

  Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,

  To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,

  Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,

  Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,

  And so live ever—or else swoon to death.

  Keats. The very poem that Theo had read to her that first day to try to convince her that poetry wasn’t irrelevant. Lyssa had been skeptical, until she’d heard Theo read it. She still thought it was the most achingly romantic piece of poetry they’d read in that course. She still didn’t believe it, but reading it again, and remembering that day, made her wish she was more whimsical than she was.

  She wanted to believe it. One true love forever. What a seductive idea.

  Lyssa ran her fingertips across the printing, remembering how earnest Theo had been, reading from his textbook in the student coffee shop. She smiled, recalling her impression that he’d looked like such a Business Admin guy, dressed conservatively and neatly, that she’d never have expected him to admire poetry.

  Much less to be able to read it so beautifully that she’d wanted to jump his bones right then and there.

  Apparently, he still had that effect upon her.

  “I don’t get it,” Logan said from beside her. He sat back, having read the poem himself.

  “It’s about wanting to live forever, so you can always be with the person you love.”

  “But then, you’d be really old.”

  “I think the point is that you’d be together, even if you were old.”

  “And that you’d still love each other? Even though you were both old?”

  Lyssa hadn’t thought of that. “Yes, I think so.” She’d told Theo that she was getting too old for modeling—did he think she believed she was too old for love?

  “Who’s it from, though?” Logan asked.

  “A friend of mine from college,” Lyssa said. “This was the textbook for a course we took together. I saw him the other day for the first time in a long time.”

  Her son was watching her closely. “You liked him.”

  “I did, and I do. It was nice to see him again.” Nice didn’t begin to describe how she felt about being with Theo again. She couldn’t stop running her hands over the book or stop wishing for more than she had.

  “Are you going to see him again?”

  “Maybe.”

  Lyssa urged Logan to take the first turn in the shower and put aside the book. Was that what Theo meant? That they could start all over again? She knew that would only be possible once she’d been completely honest with him.

  New Year’s Eve first. She’d regain his trust by delivering on her promise. She’d then tell him the truth. And then, she’d see where they were.

  Because Logan’s happiness relied upon Theo being gracious even if he was furious with her, Lyssa made a Christmas wish.

  Then, because wishes were less important than the actions taken to make them happen, she began to plan for Angel’s final appearance, at F5.

  Lyssa was transfixed.

  She sat cross-legged in the student-run coffee shop she liked best and watched Theo read from their textbook. He was determined to convince her that poetry mattered and even though she knew he was wrong—just like her mentor—she couldn’t resist the invitation to spend time with him.

  He was so handsome. So serious and intense. Neat. Perfectly groomed. His manners were elegant and his accent was amazing. But her interest was rooted in more than that.

  He surprised her.

  She didn’t expect a business student to care about poetry, much less to have taken the class. She didn’t expect him to argue about the merit of looking beyond the surface—and sound a lot like her mentor in doing so—and she certainly hadn’t expected him to be so persuasive. She’d thought they’d be the two pragmatists in the class, but had called it completely wrong.

  That was interesting.

  She barely listened to the words of the poem and certainly didn’t think about its meaning. She was too absorbed in watching him. She liked how his lips moved when he formed the words, as if he was giving each one its due.

  He looked up when he was done and closed the book, putting it on the table. Then he sipped his coffee. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t understand it.”

  “That’s because you weren’t really listening.
”

  Lyssa smiled. “True. I was listening to your accent.”

  He rolled his eyes and she realized he probably heard that a lot. “Listen to the words, though.”

  “You read the poem like you knew it already.”

  “I do.”

  “Do you read a lot of poetry?”

  “My mom’s an English teacher. My sister and I were both expected to bring home high marks in English.” He was matter-of-fact about his mom’s expectations, which was a complete contrast to Lyssa’s struggle against her own parents’ ideas about her studies.

  “My father’s a surgeon,” she said. “I was supposed to like biology or math.”

  “That sounds like you don’t.”

  “I don’t. I’ve always wanted to be an artist.”

  “Well, you’re here and in the Fine Arts program. You must be good.”

  “That’s a nice assumption. Thanks!”

  “But don’t you have to apply to the program with a portfolio?”

  “You’re right. And they only take about a third of the people who apply. I thought that might make a difference, if someone who knew about art said I was good.” She shrugged and smiled. “So much for that. All fabulous marks in my first year, but that wasn’t good enough. They were in the wrong courses.” She took a swig of her coffee, still disappointed in that.

  Theo seemed to be startled. “Your parents aren’t supportive?”

  Lyssa understood immediately that his upbringing had been completely different and she felt a twinge of jealousy. “They have firm ideas about my future. My sister’s, too, but she decided to be a nurse. That was the right answer.”

  “Not Fine Art.”

  She shook her head. “An impractical choice that will leave me financially destitute forever. In fact, poverty might start sooner than that.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that there were conditions for my tuition being paid this year. I knew there would be and I worked all summer to save some money. And I’ve already dropped the biology and math courses I was supposed to be taking. I’m really no good at them and it bites to be the dope of the class. I decided to make this term count and loaded up with art classes.”

  “You like it?”

  “I love it! But I can only paint what I see in front of me and my mentor says that’s holding back my progress. I want to capture it exactly and make it last forever.”