Aqua - Christmas in New York City (Aqua Romance Travel Series)

by Amanda S. Jones

  CASEY LOOKED over and saw Harry painting in the next room. How long, she wondered, would this satisfy him before he wanted children. Children. When he stood in front of her door, he held out the first blank page in the book she had written and said, “This is our book to write together. If children find themselves onto this page, I will be thrilled, but there’s nothing I want more than you.”

  Could she trust that? In time, would sharing the pandoro and ceppo mean as much without a growing family of children? Would he be satisfied with only her?

  She didn’t want to be a novelty as the Christmas tree was for Harry when he first moved to the States with his father. In Venice, other than Murano’s massive glass-blown tree, evergreens weren’t a big tradition, as people didn’t want to lug them up flights of stairs. Other parts of Italy had the commercial appeal and his mother had taken him to Rome one year to see the trees at the Piazza Venezia and the Colosseum but overall, it wasn’t till he landed in North America that he embraced all facets of Christmas. Now, though, he was reaching back for the authentic experience. Would it be similar in another five years? Would he long for a traditional household of children? Would the magic they once held fade away?

  Harry had talked so fondly of ‘Natale’, the one occasion of the year where his grandparents, aunt and uncle spent days in the kitchen to create elaborate meals. His grandmother, nonna, would flick fresh pasta shells from her hand faster than any of her children, while his grandfather, nonno cracked open walnuts and tossed the shells into the fire. The meals, digesting and conversation in between made it a day-long affair and children were a major focal point.

  As a teen, Harry didn’t appreciate these traditions. He’d rather ski in the Dolomites with torches at midnight like his cousins in northern Italy did. Instead he welcomed Christmas by going to mass with his parents, and taking in the annual Concerto di Natale at the Basilica. It was an invitation-only event and because his mother was well-connected they went every year, much to his protest.

  As much as he said it didn’t matter whether they had children, he would be happier sharing the traditions with their own children rather than just the two of them. They had laughed about the mismatched cultures that would coexist once they merged into one household. Was it selfish of Casey to not give him this dream?

  The Test

  CASEY HELD the stopwatch in one hand and stuck the stick’s absorbent end into her urine stream. After five seconds, she pulled it out and placed the testing stick on the counter with the result window facing upwards. She leaned over the toilet with her elbows on her bare thighs and looked at her watch.

  The second hand moved slowly so she stared at the stick for a while, then buttoned up her jeans, and glanced back at her watch. Only one minute had passed. She had to wait another four.

  She could go outside and do something to distract herself, but it would mean facing Harry. She sat back down on the toilet and waited.

  HARRY PRESSED his ear to the bathroom door. The last thing he heard was Cassandra washing her hands, then the crackling of what he assumed was her removing the testing stick from its wrapper. Since then, nothing.

  He waited patiently as he figured she needed time but as the silence continued, he got worried. “Cassandra, are you okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Can I talk you through it?”

  “It’s already done.”

  “How many minutes?”

  “Just a few.”

  “Come out and we can wait together.”

  “Give me a minute.”

  A minute? The time will be up! “Take your time. I’ll wait in the sitting area.” He stepped onto the rooftop terrace and took in the view of Manhattan. They might miss the holiday performance they had tickets to but with the potential news, Harry didn’t care whether they went at all, even if it meant hosting grumbly Foster at the condo. Perhaps with such exciting news, the man would smile for a change.

  What confounded him was Cassandra. He couldn’t tell if she was just nervous or unhappy about the turn of events. The entire evening during their dinner with his father, she seemed absentminded and not engaged in the conversation. When his father went to the washroom, Harry prompted her and she told him.

  “I’ve missed my period.”

  “How many days?”

  “Three.”

  Harry just beamed.

  “I want to take a pregnancy test.”

  “Shouldn’t you wait a week?”

  “I can’t. I need to know.”

  “Me too.”

  She had discreetly pulled the package from her purse and read through the manufacturer’s instructions under the table.

  “Aren’t most home urine tests the same?” Harry asked anxiously.

  “They can vary. The way you collect the urine, the time you need to urinate, the symbols.”

  “You’ve done this before?”

  She shook her head. “Helped a friend once.”

  They had left dinner thereafter, and went back to the privacy of their home. Now Harry kept pacing from the outdoor terrace, back into the sitting area on the second floor, then leaning over the railing to look through the floor to ceiling windows that encompassed their view. It was all uplifting to him; a world he could introduce to his child. He sank into the couch in front of the wood-burning fireplace and waited.

  CASEY WALKED into the room and sat down next to him with a long sigh. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “Thanks for coming out.”

  “Didn’t want you to think I fell down the toilet.” She flashed a fake smile. How could she not? It was their life and she needed to share all of it with him. Besides, she knew he was excited and didn’t want to dampen his enthusiasm completely.

  “You okay?”

  “Always when I’m around you.”

  He handed her a wrapped box. “Your favorite chocolates.”

  She pulled at the bow and then paused. If she was pregnant, she would need to start eating healthier. Nothing with too much sugar. “Distract me with something else.”

  He turned on the TV. “What was your favorite Christmas movie as a child?”

  “Let’s not mention that word right now.”

  He turned off the TV. “Ok, then let’s think back to your favorite Christmas day so far.”

  She thought hard. So much of what he was doing for the Days of Christmas gifts were based on her childhood memories. “The shopping spree on 5th Ave.”

  “You?”

  “This very moment.”

  The timer rang on her phone and they both got up at the same time.

  “I’ll check-” They said it on the same breath and started laughing.

  “You go, Cassandra.”

  “I don’t know if I can.”

  “Then I’ll go.”

  He started to walk toward the bathroom and then she grabbed his arm. “Wait. I’ll do it.”

  She walked slowly, as if she were pushing her body against a strong current of water. By the time she reached the counter her hands were shaking. She sat down on the toilet and held her wrist tightly to calm her hand.

  She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and leaned her back against the wall. There’s only a 50% chance, Cass. The hesitation surprised her. She was the kind of person that looked at facts and handled a situation logically, but as much as she knew the answer lay right on the counter, and as much as she wanted to know the result, she couldn’t bear the thought if she was pregnant.

  If only her mother was alive.

  Casey shook her head and snatched one more long breath. She had particularly chosen a test where she couldn’t misinterpret the results. She didn’t want colors or symbols, just the words on the digital display. She opened her eyes and reached for the stick.

  Not pregnant.

  She read it again to make sure, mouthing out the words until she believed it herself. All the images she dreaded flushed from her body - her daughter at ten, standing at her grave; her daughter at her university graduation, lo
oking into the crowd for her mother’s face; her adult daughter, crouching over a pregnancy test waiting for results.

  Not pregnant. A big smile spread across her face.

  HARRY WAS pacing the room when Cassandra walked back in. When he saw her smile, he hugged her tight. “She’s going to be beautiful.”

  “She?”

  “I feel like it’s a girl.”

  Cassandra pulled away. “I’m not pregnant.”

  “You sure?”

  She nodded.

  “Did you check the expiration date on the box?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Was the box intact?”

  “Harry, it was negative.”

  “Wear and tear can affect the results.”

  “I know.”

  “We should try again.”

  “It’s too stressful.”

  “The pregnancy test could have been sitting on a shelf for months. Or been in warm or damp conditions.”

  “I got it at a large store. It wouldn’t happen there.”

  “Maybe it’s the brand.”

  “Private labels are produced in the same factory as the brand name. It’s all marketing.”

  “Maybe we tested too early.”

  The doorbell rang. “That’s Foster,” Casey’s voice dropped.

  As Harry went to the door, Casey tried to gain her composure. She was too happy to have Foster ruin it.

  Foster stepped into the lobby, snow spreading from his boots onto the tiles. “No parking in this building.”

  Harry held out his hand. “Good to see you, Foster.”

  He grunted and handed Harry his coat.

  “Did you tell your doorman I was coming?”

  “Yes.”

  “He gave me the fourth degree.”

  “It’s security.”

  “Do I look like a thug?”

  Casey called out from the kitchen. “With that scowl you do, Dad.”

  Foster walked into the living room and looked out the window. “Where’s your TV?”

  “Hidden in the cabinet.”

  “Remote control?”

  Harry nodded and handed him the switcher but he waved him off and continued into the kitchen. “There.” Foster plopped a gift onto the counter.

  Casey just looked at it. The dollar store price tag was still attached to the gift bag.

  “Well, open it, Cass.”

  She pulled out the tissue paper and read ‘Santa bath toys’ across the top of the box. “Is there something else in the box?”

  “No.” He handed her the gift receipt.

  “What is this for, Dad?”

  “You said I threw out everything. You had one of those when you were young.”

  “I don’t remember.”

  “Then give it to your kids.”

  “We don’t have any.”

  “You will.” Foster laughed out loud, his tobacco-stained teeth jutting out from his lips.

  She looked at Harry, then back at Foster.

  “Remember the Jansens across the street?” Foster moved the bar stool back from the kitchen island and squeezed his belly along the counter to fit. “Lost his eyesight.”

  “Is he in a home?”

  “His kids will take care of him.”

  “They won’t quit their jobs and come up here.”

  “Sure they will.”

  “They never even visited. The Jansens shuttled between California, Colorado and St. Louis just to see their kids once a year.”

  “The kids should.” He dipped a carrot into the dip, took a bite and then dunked the remainder back into the dish. “Family isn’t what it used to be.”

  Like you can talk. “It’s different than it was fifty years ago.”

  He waved a shaky finger. “With your cell phones and your iPads and your e-Readers. You don’t know the value of family.”

  And you do? Casey folded her hands in submission. “Your health okay?”

  “Fine. Not a problem.” He coughed and waved her off. “I’m not needing you to look after me.”

  Not that you’d ask. Casey placed the gift on a side table.

  He coughed again. “What will you do if you don’t have kids?”

  “Continue my life.”

  “Selfish.” He held the platter of crostini in his hand and the crumbs fell onto his lap and the floor below.

  “Strange comment coming from the man who didn’t want me.”

  “I wanted you, just not when we were that young.”

  “And Mom?”

  “Look,” he plonked both elbows on the counter and leaned toward her. “You were an accident but we raised you. We gave you a roof over your head.”

  “I need to know, Dad, was Mom upset?”

  “No.”

  “But it changed her life.”

  “What kid doesn’t!”

  “When did she want kids?”

  He shrugged.

  “Dad, tell me. I want to know.”

  He waved her off. “It’s so long ago.”

  “I need to know the truth.”

  “She loved you.”

  “I know, but, did she want to have children?”

  For the first time ever, Foster hesitated. He prided himself on shock value, but of his own creation. When his statement was the truth, it took on more of a fatalistic nature and he wasn’t in control of the outcome.

  “Dad! Did Mom want children?”

  “No.”

  Vine-bound

  THE FROSTED hills folded into one another as the road twisted through the countryside toward Trish’s house. Casey pulled on the bow and unwrapped a low cylindrical gift shaped like a drum. “So why did you say this would be good for the drive?”

  “You’ll see,” Harry said with a wide grin.

  Inside were piles of tissue paper and as she dug deeper, she felt a firm, heavy object. One more layer of parchment paper and she held a dark loaf in her hand.

  “Happy fifteenth day of Christmas,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “Panpepato,” said Harry. “An Italian cake.”

  “What’s it made of?”

  “You’ll have to eat it to find out. There’s a special ingredient.”

  Casey took a bite. “It’s gingerbread.”

  “There’s more than that.”

  “Cinnamon.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Nuts.”

  He nodded. “Have another bite.”

  “Chocolate.”

  He smiled.

  “Honey? Cloves? Tell me!”

  He chuckled. “Can’t do that. Have another bite. You’ll figure it out.” And with that, he held out his hand for a piece.

  Casey had finished half of the loaf by the time they pulled into Trish’s driveway. Everyone was still at work or school and the St. Bernard barked and lunged at his chain. They walked a large circle around him and headed for the woods. It was the annual tradition of vine-hunting for Casey’s Christmas wreath.

  Within minutes, they had cut enough vines and laid them out on the back picnic table. They twisted a few vines together and then layered them, thickening the strand.

  “Now, let’s bend it,” said Casey.

  “Won’t it break?”

  “Look,” she pointed toward the vine creeping around the corner of the house. “We’re just replicating what nature does.”

  Harry held out the vine, about a foot in diameter. “Let’s make it bigger.”

  They added a number of vines to lengthen it and then wove additional pieces till it was thick enough, sticking in fresh cedar sprigs and dried berries.

  Casey pulled a long length of red velvet ribbon off of a spool, placed the two loose ends together and folded it to find the center point. Their hands met repeatedly as they bunched small loops together until they had formed a large bow. At the base, Casey braided stalks of dried roses that Harry had given her and then she fastened the bow.

  Harry pulled a long string out to loop around the top and the rope becam
e lodged between their arms, and for a moment they were stuck. They looked at each other, a raw energy rising to the surface. “We better not.” Casey tugged at the vine and loosened it. “They’ll be home any minute.”

  Harry shrugged his shoulders and worked his cold hand up her shirt.

  “They’re Finnish. Dinner at six, sauna at seven.”

  “We’re just replicating what nature does.”

  Casey and Harry were on the floor when they heard Trish’s voice, and rose quickly and adjusted their clothing, their breathing heavy. Casey’s legs were shaking and she unwrapped the panpepato and bit into the last piece. She chewed, then stopped and held her hand on her cheek.

  “What?” Harry had an unusual smirk on his face.

  A strange look crossed her face. “I bit into something hard.”

  “You found the special ingredient.”

  “What is it?”

  “Your gift.”

  Casey pulled a foil wrapped shape out of her mouth. Harry slapped his hands on his shins and couldn’t stop laughing. “I was wondering how long it would take!”

  “That’s why you kept saying, ‘Have another bite’.”

  “My mom always buried something in the panpepato for me.”

  Casey unwrapped the foil slowly, until a small diamond pendant appeared. She held it up into the winter sun, and a clear light shone through it, as bright as the snow around her. “It’s beautiful, Harry.”

  “You are beautiful.” He kissed her. “They match the earrings from Day 14.”

  “I thought so.” She wondered, if there was a ring to match the rest of the set.

  IN THE sauna, Harry dipped the ladle into the bucket and poured some water on the rocks. The water burst into steam with a sharp cracking sound and long drawn out hiss. Instantly the heat in the sauna rose and steamed cedar and lavender wafted in the air.

  Trish and her husband, Osku, talked about the Finnish custom of steam bathing, the karate tournament their son was in and the new school their daughter was attending. As they discussed how valuable the curriculum was, Harry kept watching Cassandra, the perspiration forming into a thick band of sweat between her breasts, her thick lips pursed together as she blew on the bangs plastered to her forehead.