by Holly Jacobs
I guess I’d have to say my biggest advice would be, don’t be in a hurry for this year to pass. It will do that in its own time. So enjoy the moments. Enjoy your classes and your classmates. Enjoy the sense of possibility in all the things that will follow high school. The world is your oyster. I’m not sure why that’s a saying, but it is.
Enjoy this last year of being your parents’ child. When you leave for college, that will change. Oh, you’ll always be their daughter, but you’ll be meeting them as one adult to another.
I know the dynamics of my relationship with my parents changed when I left for OSU.
To be honest, it shifted when I was pregnant. My parents allowed me to decide what to do. They supported me the whole way. And after that, they treated me as an adult. It colored my last years of school.
I hope your year is a happy one and that you savor all the moments and milestones.
Know that you’re in my thoughts, as always.
Love,
Piper
“You’ve got the book out,” Ned said.
I jumped, startled. “I’m going to have to bell you like a cat. You’re too quiet.”
“Ah, so it’s a bear-trap day, huh?” He grinned and leaned against the porch railing.
I closed the journal and walked to the edge of the porch, leaned over, and kissed him. It shouldn’t have seemed novel after all these months, but it did. Novel and wonderful . . . and right.
Every time I was in his arms I wondered why it had taken so long.
I kissed him again just because I could. “Not a bear trap at all.”
He walked around the porch and up the stairs. “I don’t have to be to work for another hour.” It was a statement, but it was laced with suggestion and an invitation.
“Turns out, it’s the first day of school and I can’t work, so I’ve decided to play hooky. The only problem is, I don’t know what to do with myself if I’m not working.”
“I have a suggestion or two,” Ned offered as he led me toward the door. I grabbed the journal and followed him inside, anxious to hear just what he was suggesting.
Maybe I’d make a few suggestions of my own.
Ned and I fell into a new routine as our relationship moved from spring to summer and finally into fall. We walked the dogs. He came with me to weekend meals and picnics at my folks’. And he spent the night at my house more often than at his own.
When he traveled, Princess came to stay with me.
I’d been in other relationships and worried about where they were going or what would happen next, but with Ned, it was as if the friendship that we’d shared for years accommodated the new dimension in our relationship without straining.
I took his advice and didn’t allow myself to ask what if. I lived in the moment and I didn’t worry or try to see into the future.
As the holidays approached, I realized I couldn’t imagine my life without Ned any more. He’d become part of not just the new rhythm of my life, but part of me.
He’d eased his way into every aspect. My mornings now started with him. In the warmer weather, we took our coffee and papers out into the backyard and sat in companionable silence as we passed sections back and forth.
As the weather cooled, we sat at the kitchen table, watching my backyard’s wild landscape shift and alter. Leaves fell, flowers died back, birds came more frequently to the feeders.
When fall gave way to winter and it started to snow, our relationship showed no signs of ebbing. Ned and I started our days with snow shovels in hand. Occasionally shovels gave way to snowballs. Mrs. W. came out after one particularly rambunctious fight and rather than scold us about the racket we were making, she threw two snowballs of her own . . . and hit us both.
Turned out, Mrs. W. had a good arm for an eighty-something-year-old.
Then she invited us in for hot chocolate and thanked us for the umpteenth time for taking care of her sidewalk and drive.
I told her that’s what neighbors do.
She assured me that not all of them do and I thought that was a shame.
Christmas arrived early, though I ignored the too-early decorations and waited to begin my personal celebration until after Thanksgiving.
I’d always adored the season. It was as if for a short span of weeks every year, people remembered to be kind to one another. Donations came in at Amanda’s Pantry. People asked to volunteer.
People smiled, despite the record snowfalls.
Christmas music played nonstop on the radio.
I love Christmas, but this year more than most. I knew the difference was Ned.
I’d spent Christmases with him before, but this was the first time we were together. It was the first Christmas that he was my boyfriend.
I used the word for lack of a better one, but it felt way too high-school-ish, and really didn’t do justice to how I felt about Ned.
Not that either of us had put our feelings into words.
I didn’t feel rushed or pressured. I was sure of my feelings and felt confident in his for me. Whatever this stage of our relationship was called, it was good.
The only fly in my ointment was what to get him for Christmas.
I went round and round about what to buy him.
I went shopping with Cooper and with Mom. I found a lot of things I thought he’d like. I bought an antique toy detective kit at one of Mom’s favorite antique stores. I bought him a sweater and a new series of mystery novels. He wasn’t much of a reader, but I couldn’t imagine buying someone gifts that didn’t include a book or two.
Still, I looked for that one special present.
And then it hit me.
I laughed with relief, and wondered why it took me so long to find the present. It was simple and perfect.
On Christmas morning, I woke up first, grabbed my ratty black cable-knit sweater that I wore instead of a bathrobe and tiptoed out of the room.
A few years ago, my mom had bought me some buffalo plaid flannel pajama pants. I’d worn them for the holiday and caught sight of them when I plugged in the tree. They were starting to wear a bit thin but were still my favorite pajama pants.
Both dogs followed me down. While they were outside, I started coffee and turned on my iPod Christmas playlist.
Steve and Eydie were soon crooning about having a merry Christmas.
Ned walked into the kitchen, pulled me into his arms and sang along as he twirled me around. I laughed, not because it was funny, but because at that moment, I had so much utter joy inside me that it had to go somewhere. A laugh seemed just the thing.
“Merry Christmas,” I said, my head still pressed against his bare chest. Ned wore boxers and padded around the house barefoot while I wore heavy socks and slippers. He never seemed to get cold.
It worked out well for me because he never complained when I stole the covers.
The dogs barked and I reluctantly left his arms to let them in. I handed him a cup of coffee. “That definitely makes it merrier,” he assured me.
After we fed the dogs, we went out to the tree.
“Can I go first?” I asked.
He nodded. I hurried to the small pile of gifts I’d bought him and pulled the smallest box off the top of the pile. “I went round and round about what to buy you.” I handed it to him.
Ned was not a neat paper puller. He tore through the pretty wrapping and tossed it on the floor. Princess pounced on it, assuming he’d meant it for her, and Bruce opened one eye, then shut it after deciding paper wasn’t something worth waking up for.
Ned opened the box. He pulled out the key on the Star Trek Enterprise key ring. The key ring was an extra little bit of fun for the gift.
Ned looked at me with questions in his eyes.
“It’s a key to my house,” I explained.
“Pip, I already have a key to your hou
se,” he said, obviously still confused. “I’ve had it since shortly after I moved in next door.”
“No, you have myyyyy,” I dragged out and put a heavy emphasis on the word my, “emergency set of keys that I store at your house. This is your key to my house. What I’m saying is you can come and go as you please . . . and I hope you please often.”
Understanding dawned in his eyes. He leaned forward and kissed me. I kissed him back.
I’d never given Anthony a key.
As my lips pressed to Ned’s, I wondered how I could have ever believed I loved anyone else.
Love.
Neither of us had said the word, but I was pretty sure that’s what this feeling was.
I’d complained about not feeling a spark with Anthony but realized as I watched Ned open his gifts, I’d felt it for Ned, and, when I allowed it to burn, it had settled into a warm glow.
It was no raging fire. I didn’t meet him and instantly know that this was the man I was destined to spend my life with. I’d gotten over my initial worry about taking our relationship beyond friendship. I knew that no matter what, Ned would be in my life. Since I settled that, I’d had no questions or qualms about us as a couple.
Instead, falling in love with Ned had been so easy, it had happened without any fuss or fanfare. That didn’t make the love less. In fact, I thought it made for a stronger, more stable love.
I’d never been the one to tell someone I loved him easily, and never first, but I had no fear or anxiety about saying the words to Ned. As our kiss slowed, I said, “I love you, you know.”
He nodded and grinned. “Of course you do. I mean what’s not to love?” We both laughed and he pulled me close. “I love you, too, you know.”
“I do,” I admitted. “But you only love me two. I love you one.”
He caught my play on the word too and rolled his eyes. “Goof.”
He gave me a teapot that matched the teacup he’d replaced. It was a lovely, thoughtful gift. But the best gift I received for Christmas was Ned’s love.
Dear Amanda,
It’s Christmas again. I’m sitting by the front window, waiting for Ned to get done clearing snow. Erie took the term white Christmas to heart this year. We both cleared our sidewalks and Mrs. W.’s, but a car got stuck in a drive down the block and he went to help.
I’ve spent holidays with Ned before, but this was our first Christmas together as a couple. I told him I loved him.
Sometimes in books people agonize over saying those words, or hearing them, but with Ned, it was natural. Easy, even. I could give him that piece of my heart and know that he’d protect it.
I added another charm to your bracelet this year. A graduation cap. I know you’ve got a few months to go, and at your age, that feels like forever, but it’s the blink of an eye.
I suspect that the end of May will be busy for you. It will be poignant for me. You’ll be in my thoughts.
I wonder what your plans are after you graduate. College? A job?
I hope whatever path you take, you’re happy.
As someone who’s living in the glow of a new love, I can tell you that happy matters.
The pages in this journal are almost full. When I finish them all, I’ll tuck it up in Talia Piper Eliason’s antique wedding chest . . . your chest. It will be there, along with the letters from Amanda’s Pantry, all the books I wrote for you, and your bracelet.
When this journal is full and I’ve told your story here, I need you to know that you’ll still always be on my mind.
More than that, you’ll always be in my heart.
It’s just now, instead of you being there alone, Ned is there as well.
Merry Christmas.
All My Love,
Piper
Chapter Thirteen
“Deep breath, Pip,” Ned commanded as he stood next to my dad at the bottom of my staircase.
I needed the reminder. I’d been bubbling over with excitement all day.
March was one of those in-between months. Not quite winter, not quite spring.
In between. That’s how I’d felt all day. Not quite excited, not quite nervous. I swung between the two emotions like a pendulum, neither one thing nor the other for long. Ned was right; breathing seemed to be something optional.
I took a second and forced myself to inhale. I exhaled as I stepped off the last step.
Coop and my mom followed me down the stairs.
I told myself to capture this moment so that I could savor it once it passed. I was surrounded by the people I loved and about to go to an event that celebrated a project I was passionate about. It was a moment that deserved to be preserved.
My mother moved next to my father, as if they were drawn to one another by some invisible force. Coop and Ned took up positions on either side of me. Friends I couldn’t do without—friends I knew I’d never have to do without.
The dogs even seemed to sense my bubbling emotions. They danced around at the foot of the steps, pulling me from my moment.
“Down,” I warned them. Even they went into my save-the-moment snapshot.
“If your beasts mess up that dress . . . well, no dog bones for a month,” Coop threated them.
“Week,” she corrected, then sighed as Bruce and Princess realized she was talking to them and sat down in front of her.
Coop leaned down and petted them both. “Fine. You’d still get bones, but I’d be very disappointed in you.”
“Sucker,” Ned said to Coop, then turned to me. “How does she handle a class of eighth graders?”
“I’m very scary,” Coop said at the same time I said, “They love her, so they listen.”
My version was more truthful than hers.
I glanced at the clock, wanting to be sure I’d be on time.
Ned noticed and said, “You’ve got plenty of time.”
“You’ve done a lot of talks before, honey,” Mom said. “And I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so worked up.”
“This is different, Mom. This isn’t about me or my books. It’s about the kids who worked so hard on these stories. It’s about the stories they shared. I’m so thrilled to be a part of the project.”
After that letter from Jo Larson, I went to the school board with Coop at my side. She’d helped me teacher-up my proposal. With her help and the school board’s backing, we’d put together a book of stories written by school district students.
I always get excited when a new release arrives at my door, but this time excited seemed an inadequate description. I trembled the first time I held a copy of Raise Your Hands: Stories from Today’s Classrooms.
Not only had Jo and other school district students contributed to it, the cover art was done by an amazing student artist. One of the English classes had proofed the book and one of the computer classes formatted it.
The district was charging for both print and e-book versions, and all the funds were going to support the libraries.
My school—well, technically, not my school, but the school across the street—had agreed to host the release party. I was going to speak and introduce the project. Afterward, there was a book signing. All the students who’d participated were invited to take part.
I walked across the street with my small entourage.
“I’m going to go try to corral the beasts,” Coop said. “Because I’m so tough,” she added.
I wasn’t sure if she was trying to remind us or herself. But if reminding us was her goal, I’m pretty sure the chorus of laughter that followed her told her we weren’t buying her toughness.
“I’m going to get a seat,” Dad said as he kissed my cheek outside the auditorium door. “I need you to know how very, very proud we are of you, Piper. You’ve always made us very proud.”
I felt myself begin to tear up, but Mom scolded him, “Don’t you dare mak
e her cry.”
Dad grinned and hurried into the auditorium.
Mom turned to me. “And don’t listen to your dad and tear up. You’ll mess up your makeup.” Then she leaned forward and kissed my cheek. “But he’s right; we are proud.”
Hey, Miss Pips rang out as we walked to the stage entrance. Mom headed toward the opposite wing and Ned held my hand and waited on our side of the stage. “I don’t want to risk your mother’s wrath and make you tear up again, but for what it’s worth, I’m proud of you, too. And I want to talk to you about something later.”
“What?” Vague comments like that were not normally Ned’s MO.
“I was thinking . . . that maybe it’s time to think about selling my place. I—”
He was nervous, I realized. Whether he was nervous I would say no, or simply nervous about the suggestion, I wasn’t sure, but I was absolutely positive about my answer.
I interrupted him. “Yes. You haven’t spent a night at your place since before Christmas. You live with me in all but name. I think it’s a great idea.”
“Well, that’s part of it. But more than selling my place . . .” He took a deep breath. “I was thinking we should get married,” he blurted out in a very uncharacteristic way. “I know, I’m doing this all wrong. I should have done a fancy meal, had a ring and got down on one knee, but Pip, I love you and as we walked across the street, your hand in mine, I knew that I didn’t want to live another day—hell, not another minute—without you. I want it all. Marriage, a home, kids—”
My heart sank.
I hadn’t told him about Amanda. And I’d never told him that in addition to never really loving Anthony the way I should, the idea of having children had been a problem.
When we were just neighbors, I hadn’t owed him an explanation. Even when I realized we were good friends I didn’t owe it to him. But now, I did. I’d owed him the explanation since Christmas and probably even before that. And I knew it.
Telling him had flitted around the edges of my mind, but I’d swatted the thought away each time it came within reach. Not that I thought he’d judge me.
