by Gina Henning
I tap on the number for The Red Door and there is only ring before they pick up.
“Hi, yes, I want to order a Moo Gai Pan Combo and the Veggie Lo Mein spicy, for pick-up.”
Jack pinches my thigh. I brush his hand away and he grabs mine and kisses it. I eye him with the “don’t do this while I’m making a business call” stern glare.
“That’s right, thank you.” I hit the red end button and squeeze Jack’s biceps. “You are incorrigible.”
“Only about you.” Jack flashes me a sly grin.
I shake my head at him. “All right, Mr. Uber driver, you’ll need to take the next exit, The Red Door is on 18th street on the right.”
“Sure thing, Ms. Hauser, I will make sure you get to your proper destination.” Jack clicks on his turn signal.
“My proper destination? You mean The Red Door?” I cock my head to the right.
“That’s on the route.” Jack parallel parks in front of The Red Door and jumps out of the car. I release the silver handle and Jack pulls the door the rest of the way open. We stroll up to the dark-red doors and Jack tugs on the gold faded handles.
Our take-out bag is sitting on the hostess counter. Jack hands over his card and the hostess smiles at me. This is the first time I have come to the restaurant with someone other than Brianna. She is nodding at me with approval. I can only politely smile back. Jack thanks her and we scurry back to the car. The winter air is dropping into icicles with each step. Thank goodness he found such a close spot. Jack opens my car door and I practically fall into the leather seat.
Jack runs around to the driver side and hops in without our food. “Where’s the food?” I peer in the backseat.
“I put it in the trunk. The smell of take-out food can linger for days.” He starts the engine and pulls away from the restaurant.
I nod my head. Proper planning, yet again. “So you said your mother was big into Christmas traditions, what else did y’all do as a family?” I rub my arms, even with the heat on blast I’m an ice tray of frozen limbs.
“Every Christmas eve, my mom would make this amazing Red Velvet Cake. She would layer it in the most delicious homemade cheesecake frosting. It was the best dessert I’ve ever had.” Jack takes in a deep breath.
“That sounds decadent.” I rub his arm. His face is almost that of a young child. His mother obviously made a good impression on him. “Do you have the recipe?”
Jack blows out through his lips. “I do.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought her up.” I comb my hair with my fingers.
“No, it’s fine. I should talk about her.”
“But it’s okay if you don’t want to.” I rub my lips together.
“I do, Lauren, but I’ve never really had anyone in my life that was significant enough to do so.” Jack squeezes my hand and brings it up to his lips and kisses my knuckles.
My insides are melting, little sparks flickering all over my body. I flitter my eyelashes. I’m sinking further into this sea of deep emotions and I don’t have a map. I can barely navigate with my GPS. But this is different, it’s like I’m on an amazing voyage with Jack and he is at the wheel and I’m not sure if I can raise the anchor and truly float away.
Jack parks the car in front of my garage. I have a mini-driveway just big enough for a sedan-size vehicle. Which is perfect for Jack’s rental.
“It’s probably easier to get the tree in from your front door.” Jack opens his door.
I follow suit and run up my steps and unlock the door. I push it open and flatten myself to the wall as Jack passes. He has the tree with both hands and a tree stand is in the crook of his arm. I hadn’t even thought about needing a tree stand. I roll my eyes and sigh.
He lumbers through my living room with the tree and stand and places them on the floor near my window. It is far enough away from the fireplace to avoid catching any flames. Though the only flickering happening in my living room is from my candles and my heart.
Jack stands up after screwing the trunk of the tree into the stand. He takes a step back and inspects each angle to ensure it isn’t leaning and nods.
“It looks beautiful, Jack.” I take in a deep breath. This is the biggest tree I’ve ever had in my house. The smell of Christmas fills my living room. I’m drunk on happiness. Jack is here. I’ve got an amazing tree in my living room and Christmas hasn’t even happened yet. I’m grinning from ear to ear, my cheeks almost hurt.
Jack’s expression is pensive. “I’ll be right back, I need to get the food.” He glides past me and out of the door.
I squint my eyes. That was a little odd. I inhale and take in the scent of Christmas again and saunter into the kitchen and take down a couple of black plates from my cabinet and place them on the counter. I inspect my wine rack and take down a luscious cabernet I’ve been saving for a celebratory moment. If having a gorgeous man and beautiful tree in my house together at the same time isn’t a celebratory moment, then I don’t know what is. I pop the cork and pour the ruby liquid into our glasses. Jack strides into the kitchen, drops the take-out on the counter next to the plates and pulls me into his arms.
He kisses me hard. I’m falling hard, but is it real? My mind is washed of all senses other than pleasure. Jacks hands run through my hair and my head tingles like a sparkler made out of icicles is tickling my scalp. I shiver.
“Are you cold?” Jack releases me.
I laugh. “No, not at all.” I pick up one of the wine glasses and offer it to him. “Cheers to a fun day.” I take the other glass and clink it against his.
Jack beams at me. “The day’s not over yet.” He feasts his eyes on me like a wolf in a hen house.
“True, we have a tree to decorate and tasty…food to eat.” I purse my lips to the side. I’ll need to keep a better rein on my emotions around him or the next thing I know, I’ll be all in. And I’m not sure if I’m ready.
***
Sunday morning came too fast. We both rush around, figuring out each other’s routines. Like, Jack is an early riser and makes coffee immediately. To me this is a huge bonus to getting to know each other. Of course he realized that I need to have time in the morning to myself to make sure I don’t have bed hair or smeared makeup before seeing him. Since our relationship is new and fresh, I want to make a lasting impression and this doesn’t include looking like a mess in the morning. I’m sure Jack doesn’t live in a fantasy where I wake up looking the same as I do when I see him in the daylight, but I also don’t want him to have a constant reminder of me not looking my best. Yes, I’m vain. Oh well. It’s a small flaw of mine. Everyone has their downfalls, and if a bit of vanity is mine, then so be it. I think my positive qualities make up for it. Or at least I hope so. I probably should do something charitable this season. I usually adopt an angel from the mall. It’s one of my favorite Christmas charities. Each year I alternate between the gender and age of the child. Sometimes I even adopt a senior instead of a child. My mom has been adopting angels for as long as I can remember. She always adopts both a boy and girl angel, but there have been many times she has grabbed more than two angel cards off the tree because she felt called to provide Christmas to more than two children.
I had been feeling so down and out about Jack that I had been avoiding all things holiday related. I bet if I swing by the mall after work there are still some available. I’ll have to set a reminder on my phone. I pull out my phone and type in a quick note to myself. The little white text tells me Jack’s plane will be departing in three minutes.
The window is cold against my finger. I know Jack is in his seat waiting at the gate to take off and fly back to Texas, without me. Knowing he is on the plane tears at my heart. We had such an amazing weekend. It wasn’t only the magic of the tree farm and decorating my Christmas tree, being with him only confirmed what I already knew. I want to be with him. I don’t want him on a plane. Yet, he has to go back and figure things out. I wait until the wheels begin to roll away from the gate and then I retract m
y finger from the chilly window and turn to wander away.
Once I make it to my car, there is a bit of water coming from my eyes. Pull it together, Lauren. I don’t want to be torn at the seams with him leaving. He said he’ll come back when he can and now I’ll be going home for Christmas. Of course the price is steeper for waiting so long to book. But it doesn’t matter because I’ll be going home for Christmas and I’ll get to see Jack again.
I cruise peacefully and hit the third button on my CD player to hear my Carpenters Christmas album. My dad got it for me in high school and besides my Christmas classics CD, it’s one of my favorites. I guess my favorite is ‘Chestnuts roasting on an open fire’…nuts…pecans…Jack.
Maybe I should figure out something to make for Christmas, everyone was really impressed by the way the pecan pie had turned out over Thanksgiving. Of course I did have Jack’s help, but still it was really good. I could probably come up with a new recipe and build my own tradition about a special Christmas dish. Normally, my sister Megan makes the entire Christmas meal, she is a Food Network-aphile. My mom appeases Megan’s desire to make the entire Christmas and Thanksgiving meal, but my mom always makes the baked swordfish. My mom used to make the entire Feast of the Seven Fishes on Christmas Eve, but it turned out that my dad, along with Luke, were not big fans of fish other than the swordfish, so my mom changed the typical Italian tradition and created a special Hauser family tradition. Instead of the huge fish meal on Christmas Eve, she only makes swordfish for our Christmas meal.
I drive my car in my garage and hop out. My garage is like a freezer, it’s not insulated. I climb the stairs to my living room and turn the key. I open my door and quickly shut out the cold. I’m ready to figure out a special tradition of my own. Obviously, I’m not much of a chef or a baker or a smoker, or a midnight toker and so on. But I’ve watched plenty of Food Network programs to know I can find some inspiration there. I grab my remote from my coffee table and click to the right channel. There is something so comforting about the Food Network.
It’s three o’clock, a little early for wine? No, of course not, I saunter into the kitchen. Thankfully, the previous owners had great style and renovated my kitchen to the max. It’s got white granite counters with dark mahogany cabinets. All of the knobs are a brushed nickel. My favorite part about the kitchen is the sink. It’s huge. Deep, porcelain farmhouse-style. I could stack dishes for days in it. Not that I would want to, but it is nice to know I have this capability. My wine rank is also pretty awesome. I made it myself from a post I found on Pinterest. It is made of wood and has ten shelves. I even covered part of it with chalk paint. I grab a bottle of Carmenere from the third row. Underneath the bottle, I had written “Delish” in chalk. Our glasses from last night are sitting in the sink. They are like two sad faces staring up at me. I choose a clean glass out of the cupboard and leave the kitchen with my glass and the bottle in hand.
I slide into my couch, almost spilling my wine. Oh no, not today, all of this wine belongs in me, not on the couch. My attention is pulled towards the television. Be still my heart. It’s Tyler Florence, he always makes both mine, Megan’s, and Brianna’s celebrity list. What’s he cooking? Oh it’s the special holiday cooking show. Tyler’s stirring up a big bowl of sweet potatoes? Or is it carrots? I can’t tell. I reach for the remote and turn up the volume.
“You’re really going to want to make a smooth batter. Lumps in this batter will mean dry flour in your mouth.” Tyler scrunches up his nose in disgust.
I wouldn’t want dry flour in my mouth either. Ugh. Flour. Jack. Baking. Is this a good idea? Yes! Don’t be a downer, Lauren, you’re learning new ideas here.
“Stay tuned, because when we come back, I’ll be listing off my Fresh book tour hot spots.”
Ooh, book tour hot spots, this sounds enticing. I wouldn’t mind rubbing elbows with Tyler Florence. I pick up my phone and pull up a search bar. Patience might be a virtue but it is not one of my strong characteristics. I type in Tyler Florence book tour in my google app. Loading…loading PC…load letter…WTF does that mean? I laugh. Oh…Office Space always makes me smile.
All right, ooh well shucks corn, dost my eyes deceive me? Tyler Florence is coming here Baltimore, Wednesday night! I tap on my text app.
Me: Bri - TYLER MF FLORENCE is going to be at William Sonoma Town Center Wednesday!
Brianna: Who is this?
Me: Ha-ha!
Brianna: Wait…is this my best friend?
Me: Yes, Bri! Come on!
Brianna: Weird, I just finished printing up all of your missing flyers. I was about to go posting them all over town. Even got my stapler…
Me: Hey! That’s my swingline!
Brianna: Well you’re neva going get it.
Me: Neva going get…
Brianna: Exactly
Me: So back to the program at hand
My phone shakes from side to side. My text message is being intercepted by Brianna’s actual voice call.
“Yo, my hands are getting tired.” Brianna says as I push the green talk button.
I laugh. “Awe, poor baby.”
“So, what’s the scoop on my boyfriend?” Brianna asks.
“Owen?”
“No. Tyler, hello? What are we even talking about?” Brianna says with a tsk.
I turn the volume down on the TV. “Yes, Tyler Florence is going to be signing his new cookbook on Wednesday at BN Town Center. We need to be there.”
“Yes. We. Do. All right, what time?”
“He starts signing at seven, but you know there’ll be a line, so what do you think, we could meet at my place at five, make sure our outfits look fantabuloso?”
“Cinco it is.” The dial tone rings in my ear. I don’t understand how people can end phone conversations without a proper salutation. How hard is it to say goodbye?
“It’s so hard to say goodbye on the telephone,” I sing to myself.
I toss my phone on the couch and turn the volume back up to hear Tyler’s final send-off.
“Happy Holidays from my kitchen to yours.”
I hope he wishes me a happy holiday tomorrow. My phone vibrates on the couch next to me.
A text message pops up on the screen. “Hey, Lauren, I’ve got WiFi on the plane. I miss you.” It’s Jack. My eyes strain as I read the message again.
Should I type up a response immediately or let it sit?
Jack: You don’t have to let my message sit.
I pick up my phone and turn my head around the living room, is Jack here? I stride over to my window and pull back the light-gray curtain and scan the street below. There is no indication of him being here. He must be on the plane but how has he already figured me out? Am I really this predicable? Wow.
My phone is silent. It is not willing to break the code of inanimate object-people relationship in order to give me some advice and guide me in how to respond. Ah, it’s a text message.
I hit the green app and tap on his name: “Jack-the-pecan-hoarder”. I like to create fun names for all my contacts, especially people that I might not remember unless I put the place we met or what was interesting about them.
Obviously, Jack doesn’t fall into this category but he still gets a funny name. Three days ago I had him listed under a different name Jack-I-don’t-want-to-hear-from-ever-again-Walker. I was being a bit dramatic, but what can I say? I was hurt. Anyways, the past is the past, and I’ll leave all of the water under the bridge. No need to stir up the swamp monster of past grievances…onward and upward.
I type back a message. Hey, Jack…how’s that airplane food?
Jack: I see, you’re going with typical airplane scripted conversation? Well, the food is invisible, it’s one of those midday flights and yes, the sky is a bit bumpy today.
I laugh at his response. The sky is bumpy? I hope you’re not going to start quoting from Chicken Little? I type back.
Jack: No, I think if I were going to quote from something it would be a little bit more on your level�
��like ‘Little Red Riding Hood’.
What? Little Red Riding Hood? What does he mean?
Me: Are you wanting to role play or something? Are you a big angry wolf?
Jack sends me back a wolf emoticon. Okay…I guess I could picture him as a wolf. He is big. He’s not angry though. Nor is he really hairy, at least not from what I’ve seen.
Jack: I was just kidding, Lauren, but when we first met you were in red and you were making something for your grandmother.
Wow, Jack remembers what I was wearing when we met? Then again, I was completely drenched, so maybe my wet attire made an impression.
Nice memory. I text back.
Jack: It is. You were soaked. ;)
My face is heated and he’s not even in the room. I grab my wine and take a sip. I stare at my phone and then take another long gulp.
I type back: Yes.
I can’t think of anything clever to say. I hate when that happens. Of course, later tonight when I’m sleeping some brilliantly witty response will come to me.
Jack: Text me when you’re ready for more.
My chest is tight. I exhale. Lauren, get a grip, he isn’t here. In fact he’s on a plane traveling seven hundred miles per hour headed in the opposite direction. The white digits on my phone read 5:00 p.m. I might as well make dinner. Which means either popcorn or cheese. Or I could see if Brianna wants to go out, but we are getting together on Wednesday, so maybe I should hold off on that thought. I don’t want to overload on Brianna, and most likely she already has plans with Owen.
I scan back through our text conversation. I’m heated all over again. I need to put my phone away and get to popping cause it’s popcorn-dinner time.
In the kitchen I grab my green Rachel Ray popcorn pot from underneath the stove and place it on the grates. I have a small one-door pantry with seven shelves. The vegetable oil and clear canister of kernels should be on the same shelf because I use them the most and together, however I like to keep wet ingredients separate from the dry ones. I slide both containers onto the counter. The stove is gas with thick grates, the kind you can grill jalapenos on without them falling through. I drizzle the oil making a thin coated layer in the bottom of the pot and then sprinkle in the kernels until they cover the entire circle. Precision in layering is important to create the perfect batch of popcorn. It’s all about timing and hovering over it until the exact moment before removing the lid and dumping the popped kernels into a big bowl. Once the white kernels are in the bowl, they are shouting to be dashed with salt, lots.
