Shadow, a grown cat now, sat on the sill in the front window, watching for activity outside, his tail making time like a pendulum, indicating his impatience. Now, as a cat owner, Brittany could defend that cats seemed to have an uncanny ability to sense change. It was as though he was anticipating something would be different about this evening and was waiting for the fun to begin. Brittany grabbed her cell phone to take a picture, hoping to capture him sitting silhouetted against the dark window, reflecting on how much he had added to her life over the past year.
A car’s headlights streaked across the window; it would be Allan bringing their dinner. He lived in an apartment building near his office, recently admitting to her that most years he didn’t give a thought about the hubbub this holiday stirred up, mainly because no one could get past his door man for the purposes of tricking and treating. But, Brittany’s childlike anticipation made him curious to experience what being on the inside looking out felt like. He walked into the house, loudly announcing “Dim Sum”. She took one look at him and was crestfallen when she observed he hadn’t changed his clothes after work.
“What’s wrong?” he asked her, suddenly defensive when he saw her in her Chef’s attire and remembered he was supposed to be in costume. “Okay, so I came as a CPA.” He laughed at his own remark, but he could tell he’d hurt her feelings. Still, he couldn’t believe how she could be upset with him for not wearing a costume. “I didn’t dream you meant for me to really wear a costume. Honest...”
“Fine then...”
“Really, Brittany, you should have been more specific.”
“Allan, I said, 'Wear a costume’, didn’t I? How was that not specific? And, now you have taken all of the fun out of it. This is our first Halloween together!” She looked like she might cry.
He walked over to her, attempting to kiss and make up. She shoved him away. “Leave me alone or you’ll knock my hat off.” It had already tipping to a cockeyed position, and she hurriedly reached up to set it aright one more time. He thought he saw the beginning of a smile just before the doorbell interrupted and she turned to answer it.
“Trick or treat!” little voices cried out in unison.
His attention turned from her to four little people, unrecognizable of course, who were extending their bright orange plastic pumpkins toward Brittany, expectantly watching her to see what she would add to what appeared to already be a significant haul of candy. Brittany squatted down in front of them, with her chef’s hat askew again, intent on being at their eye-level, asking each of them in turn questions about their costumes, inquiring who they were supposed to be, and why, before putting more candy into the waiting pumpkins.
When Allan looked beyond the children he saw three fathers waiting for them on the sidewalk, each holding umbrellas to shelter their young companions on their way to the next house. He had never thought about being a father before, but tonight, for the first time, he wanted it.
And, he knew exactly who it was that he wanted to be their mother.
Chapter Fifteen
It was the afternoon of Christmas Eve. Draped across Brittany’s bed was a red silk pant suit she’d purchased to wear for their dinner later that evening. It seemed a bit much, but the color red had become so symbolic to them, she hadn’t been able to resist it. The suit was an Armani she had miraculously found in her favorite consignment shop—the original tags still on it. Even though it had been greatly reduced in price, it was still a splurge, justified because how could she have imagined a year ago that she would be spending Christmas Eve with someone she hadn’t known existed, much less be so madly in love with him that her heart hurt?
When they discovered in early November that their birthdays were only a week apart, they agreed to not exchange gifts, but instead put the gift money into Brittany’s trust, now named More than the Sum, taken from Aristotle’s quote, “The whole is greater than the sum of its parts”—for Brittany it summed up her last year, if not her life. God’s goodness to her was in every way more than the sum—and with time's passage, she could now look back and see that it was more than the whole as well. When she gave God permission to put the pieces back together, the outcome was bigger than the best whole imaginable.
She also believed she understood the lapse in time between seeing Allan at the gallery and when he called her in the fall. God had been at work in both their lives during that time and had they been seeing each other it might have distracted them both from what was now clearly a blessed relationship.
The day before the Thanksgiving holiday Brittany, Allan, Jeanne, and Randy, along with some volunteers from the church, delivered all of the fixings for turkey dinners to the women in her group who were struggling with making ends meet. And, for the Christmas holiday, what the women didn’t know was that Santa, in the flesh, would soon be arriving at their homes, bringing presents for their children, and for them. There were no words to describe the feeling that came from doing something good and taking no credit for it.
She drew a hot tub, tossing a handful of scented salts into it, before dimming the lights and lighting a candle. Allan had called saying something unexpected had come up, allowing her time to indulge herself with the luxury of a too infrequent bath. She slid into the silky water, letting her head rest on the cushioned pillow attached to the back of the tub. There would be no disrespectful bubbles this afternoon—she wanted total silence, so she could reflect on what the holiday meant to her now that she truly grasped “The Reason for the Season”.
“Thank you, God,” she whispered, looking over at a picture on her dressing table. It was one she had taken of Allan one evening a few weeks prior. The picture was of his profile; he was lounging on the sofa, wearing his reading glasses and reading the newspaper, his stocking feet were propped up on her coffee table and Shadow was proprietarily curled up on his lap. That night was the first time Brittany allowed herself to look ahead and see her future with him, and with his children, should God so bless them.
He had not seen the picture, nor had she shared her thoughts with him, guarding them protectively, not wanting to test their fragility. Hanging above the picture of Allan was the painting she had bought at the gallery that crazy night they watched the moon fill the sky from her front porch. Father Fate, as she called her Father above, must have had fun arranging that date.
Rich mentioned that he had pictures for her from the show, but she had declined seeing them, still grimacing when she remembered the fashion fiasco that day was.
***
For some reason she was feeling anxious, not in a bad way, but nervous in the fluttery way one feels when they are anticipating something good. She was aware that, as it is with everything else in life, the moment would become, all too quickly, a memory.
With the holiday approaching, they’d decided together it was vital to plan something that would overshadow the events in Brittany’s life a year ago; this was their first Christmas together, after all. Rather than celebrate at home, Allan suggested they go to the Willard Intercontinental Hotel for dinner, and afterward to the Washington Cathedral for the Christmas Eve services there. Brittany felt like a traitor for not going to her own church, but she was very excited about Allan’s suggestion. She and Craig had never attended church services together, so their traditions, while personal and meaningful to them, completely missed the point of the holiday’s true meaning.
“Only God,” she whispered thinking of the man who would shortly be on his way to pick her up, and the ironies of how their lives had intersected.
***
By the time they arrived at the hotel, the forecast of snow for the holiday changed from thirty percent to one hundred. Magically, large flakes began falling from the sky, as if in slow motion, clinging passively to the branches of the trees and shrubs, creating a Christmas fantasy with the decorations, and havoc with the traffic. Brittany drew her favorite golden colored silk shawl over her hair before stepping from the car.
On some other occasions, Brittany had wa
lked through the Willard Hotel, but had never stayed there, nor eaten at one of their restaurants. When Allan told her where they were dining she was thrilled, because its history had always fascinated her. The best part was it retained no memories of her past life.
When she and Allan stepped inside she tried to picture the political giants, celebrities, dignitaries, and even royalty who had also had these same doors held open for them, hoping that the privilege of the experience hadn’t been missed by them because they felt entitled to it. She was thankful that before tonight she could not have imagined spending Christmas Eve there, and gladder still that she wasn’t preoccupied with anything, but able to take in every detail possible.
Allan’s thoughts, however, were clearly preoccupied that evening. He couldn’t take his eyes off Brittany.
Before they were seated, Brittany slipped out of her blonde mink jacket, cautiously handing it over to the waiting steward. Some years ago the jacket had been fashioned from her grandmother’s mink coat, and Brittany only wore it on the most special occasions. In her make-believe mind she had convinced herself that when she wore it, she and her grandmother had a special telepathy that allowed her grandmother to be with her. While it might seem silly to anyone else, her grandmother was her biggest fan when she was little, and it was her unconditional acceptance that helped steer Brittany through some rough waters with her mom. Brittany could picture her grandmother smiling with approval, should she be watching. Sorry Grandma, she thought, handing the jacket to the steward, who quickly disappeared through a door with it dangling over his arm.
It was a surprise to both of them that the restaurant wasn’t overly crowded and several tables in the vast space were empty. But, of course, she thought, most people who are visiting Washington this time of year are no doubt in church or with their families. At the far end of the room, a man wearing a tuxedo was playing Christmas carols on a grand piano that stood in front of a huge Christmas tree.
Once they were seated, she looked around and above her, taking in the magnificent room. Extravagant chandeliers hung from the ceiling high above, sending prisms of light dancing across the paneled wood walls and the guests seated below. Oh if these walls could talk, she thought.
They waited to order, instead taking in the surrounding's ambiance. Her preoccupation with the room’s history served Allan’s purposes well. While she was distracted Allan nodded to their waiter, who disappeared on cue, returning to their table with a gaily wrapped package, about the size of a shoebox, which he placed on the table in front of Brittany before discreetly stepping back.
“What is this?” she exclaimed, looking at Allan while clasping her hands under her chin. He looked at her, amused, able to picture her as a little girl, expressing herself in the same way when delighted with something.
“Oh, it’s a little something I wanted you to have tonight,” Allan said, looking rather pleased with himself.
“But, I didn’t bring anything along to give you.” She looked like she was about to cry, which was unexpected, and the last thing he wanted.
“Well, why don’t you see what’s in it, before you worry yourself about a gift for me,” he said, watching her reach out to touch the package with her index finger as if it would break or disappear.
“I-don’t-want-to-open-it.” She said, hesitating with each word.
He could tell she was struggling to stay composed. “But, tell me why not?” he asked her, gently.
It took a moment for her to voice what she was feeling, and in a trembling voice she answered, “Because after I do, one part of this evening will be over.”
He leaned forward, whispering as if they were keeping a confidence, “Well, then, we will just have to repeat it again next year, won’t we?”
“I like that,” she whispered back, playing with the ribbons on her gift. “Next year…” She repeated it and smiled again. “Next year…”
“...and every next year after that,” he said, watching her peel back the wrapping paper and remove the lid. Nestled inside the tissue were two Champagne flutes. She lifted one, holding it up to admire it, noticing that her name was etched around the bottom and on further inspection, saw that a moon was etched into the goblet, surrounded by dozens of little stars.
“They’re beautiful, Allan. I love them,” she said, realizing his thoroughness in remembering what the gift symbolized. He had captured part of that first evening they had spent together at the art show…the Champagne. “I still turn red remembering that evening,” she said, blushing at the memory of one of her more humiliating moments, realizing she was playing into another of the things that made that evening memorable.
He smiled, too, feeling very good about her reaction. “You look good in red. Actually, you look stunning.” He added, “I fell in love with you that night. It was when our eyes met in the gallery window and you recognized it was me.”
She shook her head in disbelief. “That is so amazing. While you were falling in love I was mentally calculating it as the worst night of my life. The gallery still has the picture they took of me that night.”
“No they don’t.” He was laughing. “I have it. They took it of both of us.” Brittany rested her face in both hands at the thought while Allan winked at the waiter who disappeared, reappearing with a bottle of Krug Grand Cuvee. Allan set the glasses on the table between them, intending for them to be used for their toast. She noticed that the other flute had his name etched into it. He put his hand over the glasses, signaling for the waiter to wait a moment before opening the Champagne.
“Brittany, there’s something else inside the box.”
“More? Allan, it’s empty.”
“It only looks empty. You need to look under the tissue; there’s a false bottom in the box with something else underneath.”
She looked at him dubiously, shaking her head. “You are too much, Allan Chandler.” Delicately she removed the tissue and with a fingernail pulled up on the artificial bottom in the box, exposing two passports.
“Oh, my...” she whispered.
“Open them,” he suggested, watching her reaction closely.
She lifted them out. One had her name on it; the other passport had his. The Passport covers were real, only on the inside of each of the covers was part of a picture of the two of them taken one night outside of the Kennedy Center a few weeks earlier—of each of their faces in profile, looking at each other. The inside of each Passport had each been stamped—Italy.
“Allan! Italy? We’re going to Italy? Really? When?”
“I thought we might go for Valentine’s Day. I have an idea of an itinerary, but I wanted for us to plan the trip together.”
“But…” he knew she was thinking of the sleeping arrangements, since they had promised each other to wait.
“No buts tonight, Darling. And, anyway, there’s more inside the box.”
“More?” She asked him, clearly puzzled.
He had to smile—it was going so well. “There’s another false bottom.”
“Another one? Oh, Allan, this is definitely too much.” Her hands resumed their clasped position under her chin.
“Just open it before our Champagne goes flat,” he teased. So, she ran her fingernail along the side of the box one more time, exposing yet another layer of the gift that kept on giving.
“It’s an envelope,” she said looking into the box.
“I know that.”
“It looks like an invitation,” she continued staring into the box.
“It does, doesn’t it?” It was going exceedingly well. “Why don’t you want to take it out? It won’t bite.”
She bit her lip, and lifted out the envelope as cautiously as if it did, indeed, have teeth. She looked up, now aware that not only Allan was watching her intently, but that everyone else in the restaurant was leaning forward, watching them with interest.
Brittany turned the envelope over. It was addressed to her.
He nodded for her to go ahead and open it. She slid an inv
itation out of the second envelope tucked inside the first one. Indeed, it was an invitation—a wedding invitation.
The front of it was engraved with a gold cross with two gold rings entwined underneath. Under them were engraved the words, An invitation…she could feel her heart rate responding already. She looked across at him, his face bathed in candlelight, where he sat looking at her with more love in his eyes than she could have believed possible in her lifetime, watching him blur while her eyes filled with tears.
“Open it, Brittany,” he said softly.
“But if I do one more part of this evening will be over,” her eyes brimmed over.
He reached over, taking the invitation from her, opening it for her, and handing back. “Tonight is only the beginning, Brittany. Would you please read it to me?”
She read aloud, in a faltering voice, the words that had been carefully scribed in calligraphy, “Brittany Lynne Foster, you are cordially invited to become the wife of Allan Joseph Chandler on this upcoming Valentine’s Day. RSVP upon receipt”. While she was reading it, he stood up, moving from his side of the table to hers, now dropping to one knee. With his right hand he reached inside his suit coat, bringing out a ring that he held up between them.
“Brittany, I want you to be my wife until death parts us. I hope you already know how much I love you.”
She was speechless, but unhesitatingly held out her left hand for him to adorn with the ring. She stared at her ring finger, not wanting the evening to end, but knowing it would be retained as a memory that would light every holiday going forward. She looked at him, hoping he saw the same intense love in her eyes as she saw in his. “I love you as much, Allan Chandler. Yes, I very much want to be your wife until death parts us.”
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