by S. M. Smith
Caleb has surprised me with three more bouquets of flowers, brought me lunch twice, dinner once and had me over to watch a movie at his house, all since our fight. I’m not feeling 100 percent about our relationship, but I am feeling better. Since he hasn’t dragged me to any fancy places in a couple of weeks, I have decided that I’m going to let him off the hook for now and try my best to enjoy what holiday time we will have together. I’m really excited about Daphne’s party too. Well, until he shows up at my door while I’m baking.
I answer in my “I shoot people for a living” apron that Daphne made me, coincidentally, for Christmas one year, hair in a mess, and I’m pretty sure flour and chocolate are all over my face. I let him in and go to turn my Sinatra Christmas album down. He almost pulls me into a hug, but I stop him, looking down at the flour and powdered sugar all over me. Laughing, he leans forward almost in half to give me a kiss instead.
“To what do I owe this treat to see you early?” I grin at him as I walk around the kitchen peninsula to continue dipping tiny pretzels into melted chocolate. He pulls a long thin box wrapped in shiny gold paper from his coat pocket.
“I thought I would come bring this by.” The look on his face is guilty and I know where this is headed before he can even get it out. I feel my good mood start to deflate. “I have to leave for London in the morning if I want to be there for Christmas. Apparently they are getting a major storm in and if I don’t fly in earlier than Sunday, I may not be able to go at all.”
I really, REALLY want to be mad. I want to be raving angry. But in all fairness, this isn’t business, this is his family that he hardly gets to see. Being mad at him for leaving me early so that he can be with this sister seems awfully selfish of me. However, I can’t say I’m not disappointed. I have been looking very forward to him going with me to Daphne’s party on Saturday, then to come with me, to church on Sunday, and finally getting to meet my dad.
“I know you’re upset with me, but I was hoping you might find it in you to forgive me just one more time,” he pleads. I sigh.
“Honestly, how can I be mad at you for something you can’t control? Am I disappointed? Yes, but I can’t be mad.” He looks relieved, but I still feel a twinge. I try to shake it off. “Will you at least be able to get back in time for New Year’s?”
“That is the plan.” He reaches his hand out and touches my cheek, getting powdered sugar all over his hand. He pulls it back and chuckles.
“Well open it,” he says all excited as he hands me the box. He is like a school kid, all excited for Christmas, so I wipe my hands on my apron again and lean up against the end of the counter. He comes around to stand beside me, his eyes sparkling with excitement as I pull the paper off and open the box.
“Wow…” is all I can say. Glimmering up at me is the most delicate of white gold tennis bracelets. Every little stud glitters with its own ray of light as I pull it out of its box. The whole thing has to have thirty or more dainty stones and I am afraid off dropping it, let alone wearing it. He reaches over, taking it from my hands so that he can put it on me. I start to let him then my anxiety kicks in and I jerk my wrist back.
“I don’t want to get anything on it,” I say, quickly examining my disastrous kitchen. He smiles as if he understands my need to keep it clean, but really, I am more concerned with losing a stone out of it, or dropping it and all the stones scattering across the floor, or any of the other million ways I could possibly destroy something so exquisite. I’ve never owned something this fancy and I’m not sure I will ever need, or want, to wear it for that matter.
“But thank you though. This is,” more than I can ever wear, probably worth more than all that could be found in all of my apartment. There are a lot of things I could say to express my anxiety, but I settle for, “beautiful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He kisses my temple and replaces the bracelet back in the box for me.
“Oh, one second.” I jog down the hall to my bedroom and pull out the two canvases of the black and white photos I shot for him. One is of a still shot of the fountains at the Plaza at night, the contrasts of the lights in the fountains and the buildings behind the night sky will be just perfect with the design in his living room. The other is a more contemporary piece of various drinking glasses against a black background. Having found his walls uncomfortably bare at his house, I thought a little art would be a perfect gift. I do my best to hide them as I walk back down the hall but after nearly banging the wood framing into the wall, I opt for a less subtle approach and carry them carefully in front of me.
“I was going to wait and bring them to you to make sure they didn’t get damaged, so you will just have to do your best and keep them safe.” He holds them out with a thoughtful look and turns to me.
“These are great. Did you take these yourself?” He holds the one of the glasses out, admiring it for a few seconds before plastering a smile on his face. I get the sinking feeling he doesn’t like them. I wouldn’t be as hurt by that if I hadn’t taken the pictures myself.
“Yes, I did. I figured you needed some art for those bare walls of yours.”
“Well, they will look great on my bare walls.” He smiles and pecks my cheek. He pulls his keys out of his pocket and gives off all the signals of his needing to go.
“So, I take it you can’t hang around and help me with my impossible baking to-do list?”
“I haven’t packed yet. And I have a few things to double check on at the office to make sure I’m good to be gone for the week.”
A small voice in the back of my head tells me that he’s making excuses. He is already planning on leaving Monday morning anyway, so what is so important at work that he could possibly need to double check? Some excuse that he is going to use on me to get out of something this weekend anyway?
“You know, though,” he interrupts my thoughts, “you do look awfully sexy with this mess you’ve made.” He takes a few steps toward me and tugs on the strings of my apron, successfully managing to untie it. He pulls the apron over my head and with one quick movement pulls me into his arms. His kiss is deep, searching and longing. He pulls me tight to him and I wrap my arms up around his neck. He lifts me up off the floor and hugs me tight until we’re interrupted by the buzz of his phone. With a sigh, he puts me down and retrieves his phone out of his coat pocket.
“I have to go. I’m sorry.” He quickly backs away and picks up the canvases and his jacket, throwing it on. “I’ll call you just as soon as I get back.” He comes back to where I’m standing and gives me a quick kiss. His phone starts buzzing again and this time, he answers.
“I’m on my way. I told you I had an errand to run. I will be there-“ he says, shutting the door behind him. Less than a minute passes from the first time his phone went off and I have no clue what just happened. It’s like whoever called him is so important he forgot he was even with me. And apparently I’m an errand? So this person doesn’t know I exist. And he was already on his way there? Guess that explains why he couldn’t stay. But who is he going to meet? I’m getting tired of all the playing second to his world, of being the outsider. If I’m going to be a part of his life, be his girlfriend, or whatever, aren’t I entitled to know what is so important as to why he has to leave instead of spending what was left of his free time with me?
Incredibly irritated, I pick up the phone and dial Daphne. She picks up on the second ring.
“Please don’t tell me you’re not going to finish all the baking! I don’t know if I can handle another thing going wrong.” She sounds frantic and everything that had just happened with Caleb immediately goes on the back burner.
“Oh, no. What’s wrong?”
It takes her ten minutes of ranting to tell me that the shipment of champagne she had ordered isn’t in and that the room she needs has been double booked so now she is going to have to have the party for 30 people in her tiny apartment.
“Twenty-nine.” I correct her.
“What? Oh no he didn’t!
” I can just picture her wildly curly red hair flipping around as what I say registers to her. I’m fairly confident there is some murderous look in her eyes and I’m pretty sure that had Caleb been within arm’s reach, he would have gotten a right hook to the face. Luckily he is rushing off to meet up with someone else, because I’m starting to feel like I could punch him too.
“Oh yes, he did. And you should see what he got me for Christmas too!”
“Ooo! Let me guess. Is it expensive?”
“Uh huh.”
“Does it sparkle?”
“Yep.”
“Would you only wear it to one of his dinners?”
“Pretty much.”
“It’s either a diamond necklace, like the one what’s his face gets her in Pretty Woman, or some fancy bracelet.”
“You are really good at this.”
“The necklace?”
“The bracelet. Oh! And, I’m pretty sure he didn’t like the canvases I had made for him.”
“Leave him,” she says as nonchalantly, as if the dirt under her nails is more important than him.
“I’m not going to break up with him because he gives me a bad gift.”
“No, you should break up with him because he doesn’t get you. Not like Stephen does.”
“Please don’t start with that again.”
“Fine, but you can’t give up on your baking. Do you want some help?”
“Yes, but you have an apartment to decorate.”
“You’re right. I do. I was going to tell you to call Stephen.” I roll my eyes at her, even though she can’t see my face.
“You’re impossible.”
“And you love me for it,” she says like she just won a game.
“I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
“Be here by three. I may need your help finishing up.”
“Okay, bye.” I hang up the phone feeling slightly better, but only slightly. I turn around and face the mess that is my kitchen and slump over again, thinking, It’s gonna be a loooonnnggg night.
Chapter Fifteen
Daphne has definitely outdone herself with the garland and blinking colored lights and jingle bells hanging from the ceiling every few feet. It is busy and fun and cheesy all at the same time, but that is part of what makes her parties so much fun. Jingle Bell Rock plays softly in the background as she scurries about, hanging up last minute details. On top of an antique traveler’s trunk that she keeps most of her ornaments and decorations she has for her home in, sits a four-foot Christmas tree, twinkling with white lights and strung with cranberry colored beads with a brightly lit star placed strategically on top. A small wrapped box sits lonely on top of the trunk, so I set the coffee mug I made, wrapped neatly in its own box, beside it to keep her gift company.
What had started out as an ugly sweater party back in college is now an ugly sweater, caroling karaoke, homemade dirty Santa and, new this year, holiday card photo booth party. It really is pretty amazing how much she is able to accomplish in her dinky apartment, yet still leave so much floor space for people to mingle. All the furniture has been pushed closer to the walls so that there is a stage/runway for the sweater competition and a place to have people make fools of themselves while they sing caroling karaoke.
Her tiny dining room has been turned into a photo booth of sorts. Her square kitchen table holds a tripod where Isaiah will set up his camera and some lights from the studio that will shine on a couple of chairs set in the corner. A black curtain hangs from the ceiling to create the traditional photo booth feel, and a box of props sits under the table for partygoers to add to what is surely to be their already ridiculous outfits.
It takes three trips from my car, up two flights of stairs and through the obstacle course that is Daphne’s apartment to get all the baked goods to the party. I start to set up the snacks table as quickly as I can, arranging cookies and pretzels around the gingerbread houses and plates of veggies Daphne has put together. I feel a hand on the small on my back as I’m setting the fruit cake in its place at the center of the table. I turn to see a beaming Stephen, who pulls me into a tight hug.
“Merry Christmas!” He pulls back and takes in all the sweets. “Looks like you’ve outdone yourself this year,” he says snagging a piece of peanut butter fudge. “Mmm. Wow! These get better every year.” I chuckle and shake my head at him because my recipe hasn’t changed in over eight years, but he tells me that every Christmas.
“Only by request of our marvelous hostess. She’s out of control, you know.” A quick glance around the kitchen area confirms that some poor Hallmark store is now out of inventory. I’m starting to wonder just what her credit limit is.
“Isn’t it all so great?” Daphne bounces in. She opens the fridge where she pulls out three giant pitchers. “Stephen, darlin’, would you mind helpin’ me out with this egg nog, please? It needs to be poured into the bowl over there.”
I leave them to get the egg nog in the punchbowl and excuse myself to put on my creatively ugly sweater. This year’s model is a red sweatshirt with a shimmery white boa sewn into the collar and waist band. I found an old reindeer applique that has googly eyes and a red pompom for the nose and had ironed it on. It takes up the majority of my shirt, so to add to the cheesiness of it all, I outlined each part of the reindeer with black glitter paint. I sewed some jingle bells on the arms and near the reindeer’s neck to complete the sweater. Then for a final touch, I brought my very own antler headband, complete with another set of jingle bells. I’m sure that if I don’t win the “Most Annoying Sweater” award this year, then I will at least be sufficiently annoyed by all the jingling myself.
Stepping out of the bathroom, which is also covered in garland and twinkling lights, I walk into a crowded living room. People mingle around, warmly greeting friends they probably haven’t seen since the last party they attended that Daphne hosted. I find Shelby and Isaiah, who look adorable in matching sweaters. His is made to look like Santa’s coat, and hers to look like Mrs. Claus’s apron. The traditional Santa’s hat adorns each of their heads. I hug them both and mingle around, forgetting all about Caleb not being there. The pile of gifts grows as more people arrive and Daphne circles the room with a tray of egg nog, making sure that everyone is comfortable. I grab a cup from the kitchen myself as well as a couple of carrot sticks before finding Stephen on the couch.
“I think we need to get this party started, don’t you?” He taps his cup with mine and we toast to a fun-filled evening. Daphne slinks her way through the crowd to the karaoke machine and taps on the microphone to get everyone’s attention.
“Hi, y’all and welcome to my eighth annual Christmas Extravaganza! As most y’all know, we have lots of fun things to do, so I don’t wanna see any of you mopin’ around here, okay?” She shoots me a look that says she’s talking to me and I tip my glass at her to let her know I have no intention of being bored.
“Alright. So I have the ugly sweater ballots here on this table. Please pick one up and grab a pencil from the cup and make sure to have your votes in by nine. I will count the votes up and be handin’ out the trophies by nine fifteen, so late ballots won’t be counted. Now remember, we have awards for Most Annoyin’, Best Matchin’ and Most Hideously Ugly sweaters.” She eyeballs Jason’s sweater with a look of disgust when she says the last award. In her defense, his mustard yellow and hunter green 70’s print wool sweater is pretty ugly.
“I’ll crank up the karaoke machine in about five minutes so get signed up for your song now. Also, don’t forget the new photo booth in the dinin’ room and all y’alls’ favorite sweets are piled high in the kitchen thanks to our sweet Jessie.” I get a couple of catcalls and an applause. “Lastly, we’ll do gifts after the sweater contest awards are over. Everybody have fun and enjoy yourselves, but please remember to be responsible tonight. Merry Christmas, everybody!” She lifts her cup and we all follow suit yelling “Merry Christmas” as the festivities begin.
Stephen jumps up and grabs my hand to
drag me over to the karaoke sign ups.
“Ugh, I don’t think I’m going to sing this year,” I whine.
“You are singing. And you are not singing ‘All I want for Christmas is You’ again this year, I won’t let you. I’m sure we can find something you will enjoy.” His finger trails down the list as he makes suggestions.
“What about ‘Feliz Navidad’?” I flatten my lips and shake my head at him. “What about ‘Run Rudolph Run’?” He’s so excited his voice picks up like he’s going through puberty again.
“You should totally sing that one,” I say, but he gives me a pointed look and I can’t help but giggle at him.
“Fine, if you won’t choose one, I’ll pick one for us,” he says matter-of-factly as he picks up the list so that I can’t see it.
“Us?” I ask as I reach for the list, but he turns away from me and shoos me away. “Since when are we singing a duet?”
“Since I said so.” He flashes a grin that says he’s too cute to argue with. He puts the list down and writes our names on the list. I try to peek over his shoulder to see what he’s writing but he moves in the way. I put my hands on my hips as he turns to face me.
“What are we singing?” I ask very seriously, but he gives me an ornery smile and turns toward the table with the contest ballots.
“If you wanted a say in what we are singing, you shouldn’t have been so uncooperative. You’ll just have to find out when we get called up like everyone else,” he tells me as we wait in line to pick up our ballots. I try to give him by best pouty face, but he just laughs at me, causing me to laugh at him.
I survey the room, trying to decide if there is another set of matching sweaters better than Isaiah and Shelby’s. Another couple from Daphne’s church tried to make theirs look like snow men, but they used yellow sweaters. Clever for sure, but I still like Isaiah and Shelby’s sweaters better, so I vote for them.
