Meadowlarks

by Ashley Christine

  The auctioneer raises his hand. “Sold! To number three one three nine. Thank you, sir!”

  After the auction house takes their twenty percent, the older man at the desk hands me my money, and I smile. “Thank you, sir. Have a good day.” I tip my hat and turn to the guys. “What's the plan now, boys?” I slap the stack of cash in my hand, fold it up and put it in to my pocket.

  “Beer?” Alex suggests with a smile.

  Beer is always a good suggestion in my book.

  “Beer.” Jer and I say in unison.

  The auction house happens to be located in a busy edge of town, so we don't even have to drive to find a good place for a drink. One of the staff members tells us there's a place one street over, and we head off on foot.

  Mazey's is a lot like Lake’s, a diner, but this one is complete with a bar. Liquor bottles line the shelves behind the counter, displaying all the options they have for their patrons. We sit on green stools rimmed with steel at the counter. Only four other people are here, all older men sitting at a table drinking coffee.

  “Three Buds, please,” Jer asks the waitress kindly, and she smiles. Turning her back to get the bottles, he nods in her direction and raises both eyebrows suggestively. He's like a horny teenager; I think living with Alex has made him worse in that aspect.

  “Well thank you, Lucy.” Reading her name tag, he tips his hat at her, and she blushes.

  “Anything else for you boys?” Lucy asks.

  “We're good. Thank you,” I answer her before Jer can say something else.

  She smiles and walks into the kitchen.

  He elbows me. “What?”

  “Nothin'.” I smirk while sipping my Budweiser.

  Jer and Alex have two more each, but I stop at one since I'll be driving home. Jer has managed to charm Lucy into giving him her number, which she scrawls down onto a white square napkin.

  “You have a good day now, darlin'.” He folds the napkin up neatly and puts it into his pocket.

  I pay for the beer, and Jeremiah gives her a twenty dollar tip on top of the tab. He walks out of the diner backwards, smiling at her, and almost falls when he trips over his own feet.

  Alex and I laugh hysterically at him, and Lucy giggles. He graciously bows, laughs at himself and tips his hat to her. “Ma'am.”

  ***

  “How was work, baby?”

  The best part of any day is seeing Addison walk through the door. The dogs both run up to her, and she bends down to give them affection. “Hello, my boys! Did you miss me?” Luca licks her cheek, and she giggles.

  “So, what do I get to do to you if I've missed you too?” I grin and cross my arms.

  “Mmm, well, what exactly do you want?” When she gets close enough, I grab her and pull her into me. I want her, and that's all.

  We sit on the couch, and I pull her legs up on my lap. Pulling off each shoe and sock, I rub her feet.

  “Mmm, that feels so good.” She closes her eyes and sighs deeply.

  “I sold Del Mar today.”

  She opens them. “Did you?”

  “Along with twelve others. Made a good profit, too.” I kiss each toe slowly, my stubble tickling her skin.

  She pulls her foot away. “That tickles! Well, I'm happy if you're happy. Whatever you decide to do.” She smiles.

  “I was also thinking about Thanksgiving,” I mention.

  “Yeah, I guess we should talk about what we are going to do this year.” She crawls over to me and lies down, her head in my lap. “What were you thinking?”

  I've only ever spent holidays with my family, never a girlfriend, or anyone remotely close to that. “Well, I don't know. What does your family do for the holidays?”

  She's quiet for a while. “I don't know if I can take any time off work to fly to Maine again.”

  “Well, we could fly your parents here.” I surprise myself, even though I actually wouldn't mind seeing Richard and Lillian again. Addison hasn't seen them since we were last on the East Coast, and I'm sure she wants to talk about the wedding with her parents since they heard about the engagement over the phone.

  “I would love to see them, baby! That would be so nice.” She kisses my thigh and rubs her hand over my shin.

  At least this will give our families times to get to know one another before we get married. I realize how much time I spend thinking about the wedding, and I wonder if all guys think about it this much. I guess I'm just preparing for the inevitable? No, that sounds bad. I just want everything to be perfect for her; after all this is her world, and I'm just living in it.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  “Let's all bow our heads and give thanks.” My dad stands at the head of the long harvest table in my dining room. “Father, we thank you for today, a day where we are blessed to be surrounded by family and this wonderful meal. We thank you for uniting the Blackstock and Cole families and most importantly for your son, our Saviour, Jesus Christ. Amen.”

  “Amen!” We open our eyes and smile while filling up our plates. Almost every inch of the table is covered with turkey and ham, potatoes, corn, beans, stuffing, cranberries and other little dishes I haven't yet figured out but I am excited to try.

  “This is just perfect!” Lillian beams and clutches her daughter's hand from across the table. She almost looks like she's going to cry but shakes her head, smiling, like she's pushing the emotion away.

  After dinner I feel like someone is going to have to roll me out of the room; I've never eaten so much in my life. I finished almost an entire pumpkin pie myself, not to mention the two helpings of trifle that Lillian made. Layers of strawberry, sponge cake and custard are all deliciously flowing through my veins.

  The kids play a bowling game on the Wii in the living room, and Lillian tells Maria and Kelsey all about Maine. They're both wide-eyed and completely captivated.

  “Have you two decided where you're having the wedding?” Richard asks while sipping coffee from a small white mug.

  “We're going to get married here, dad.” Addison smiles and holds my hand.

  “A nice country wedding—are there any other kinds?” My dad chuckles, and Richard nods his head, smiling. Two different worlds are sitting at my long wooden table, two worlds about to become one, and it's going so well I'm afraid it's too good to be true. Something's gotta give—isn't that what they say?

  “Dad, we should get going. It's getting late.” Maria puts her hands on my dad's shoulders and leans in, making sure he's heard her.

  “Well, if you say so.” He stands and puts his hand out.

  Richard stands as well and shakes his extended kindness. “Lil and I are very happy to be a part of this day. Safe drive home, now.”

  I load the dishwasher and turn it on; the quiet flow of water sprinkling is all that fills the house. The Cole’s went to bed after everyone else left, and Addison and I have finished cleaning up. We're both beat, and I'm still full to the brim from dinner.

  “Want to know what I'm thankful for?” she asks, smiling at me later, while we're lying in bed face to face.

  I nod.

  “I'm thankful for foxes on midnight adventures into barns, and dogs with bionic hearing.” She smiles.

  We kiss and fall asleep, tangled.

  * * *

  “Blaine, it's snowing!” Addison stands at the bedroom window, barefoot and smiling back at me over her shoulder. She looks so sweet and innocent, big green eyes looking out of the window like it's the first time she's ever seen snow before. (Even though it isn’t).

  I smile, putting my hands behind my head and lay in the warm bed watching her. “You know, we're gonna have to get you a car that you can drive safely in the winter.” As much as I like seeing her in that muscle car, it's rear-wheel drive and not something I'm comfortable having her drive in the snow with.

  “I'm not getting rid of my car. We’ve made it through winters just fine in Maine.”

  “I wasn't saying that you’re getting rid of it. I just think you should drive someth
ing safer in the snow. That's all.”

  She stands in front of me now, arms crossed against her chest and giving me a raised brow. “What do you have in mind? Do I really need another car? Can't I just get snow tires or something?”

  She's really sexy when she's being difficult.

  “Come here.” I push the blanket down my body, stopping it right above my pubic bone.

  “If I come over there you will distract me,” she states with her arms still crossed, brow still raised.

  I know I'll get my way if I play dirty. She does it to me all the time, so what can I say? I lead by example, and kick the blankets right off of me, exposing my naked body. Naked and fully erect, I hope I'm not too distracting. Even after all this time I can still make her jaw drop, just as she can mine.

  “Like I said, come here,” I growl, slowly and as salaciously as I possibly can, enunciating each and every word like I'm trying to seduce my own request.

  She slowly pulls my t-shirt up and off her beautiful body. My eyes wander down her flesh, drinking in every inch of her.

  When she finally climbs on to the bed, I don't give her the chance to get away, I flip her over and pin her down with my hands on her wrists, my knee between her legs.

  “You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. I love you so much.” I kiss her lips, her neck, chest and stomach. When I let go of her wrists, she runs her fingers through my hair, pulling gently.

  “I love you more,” she breathes and moans when I trail my tongue along her hip.

  * * *

  I lazily sleep in on Christmas morning. Every year I wake up alone, make toast and wander around outside with Rex doing odd jobs around the house. My brothers always invite me over, and I always decline, telling them I'm not into the present thing and maybe next year I'll make it over. Next year I never do, but I always send a card to each of them with money inside for each of the kids. The kids always call to thank me and tell me what they plan on buying with the cash. But by not going for the present thing, I also miss out on a real Christmas dinner.

  Jeremiah and I usually go into town to get beer and some sort of conciliation prize of a meal for people without family. At The Wolfbarrow, Jesse has his cook whip up ham, potatoes and all the fixings, even plum pudding for dessert.

  This year I wake up to the smell of bacon frying, French toast crisping and fresh coffee being brewed. I tip-toe down the stairs, holding on to the banister like a little boy trying to sneak a peek of Santa putting presents under the tree. Addison and I put up our tree three weeks ago; we picked out the tallest one we could find, over eight feet, I think. It’s trimmed with silver beads, all different shades of blue ornaments, and a beautiful antique angel with real feather wings on the top, in place of a star. At the base is a large white piece of fabric, which I was told is a tree skirt by a snobby cashier while we checked out with our decorations.

  Addison must have heard me get out of bed, because when I walk into the living room, she has breakfast sitting on the coffee table, two white plates heaped with food still steaming.

  It's snowing, so it's not very bright out, and all the lights in the house are off except for the twinkling white strands around the tree—six strands to be exact, all of which had to be circled around just right.

  The dogs are sprawled on the floor in front of the fireplace. They don't get up when they see me, but they perk up their ears, and Addison looks over.

  “Merry Christmas, beautiful.” I smile and sit down beside her. She wraps her arms around my neck; I put mine around her waist and we kiss. It’s our first Christmas together, the first of many, I pray, and maybe someday we will have kids to share this beautiful morning with.

  “Merry Christmas! I hope you're hungry.” She flips on the TV, choosing a satellite radio channel called Country Christmas. Alison Krauss and Alan Jackson sing their song about angels crying while we quietly eat breakfast.

  I'm not sure if it's the atmosphere, the song and the story they're singing about, or the fact that I'm not alone today, but I can't eat. I feel my eyes start to water and I get up from the couch. Walking toward the door, I open it, staring outside into the cold.

  “Blaine, are you okay?” she asks.

  I'm not okay, but I don't want her to see that I'm upset. In this moment I feel so vulnerable, like a child; part of me just wants to cry out for my mother. A woman I never knew, but a woman who loved me so much that she died giving me life.

  When I was growing up, Christmas was never warm like those commercials you see on TV during the entire month of December, or like what other kids grow up with. Mine was cold—a few presents under a sad little tree. It wasn't even the lack of boxes or bows; it was the warmth that was missing. It was a little boy in pajamas getting presents but not the hugs from his parents after he goes crazy with excitement over his new R/C truck.

  “Blaine? You're scaring me, babe…” She steps in front of me, trying to catch my lost gaze. It's cold, and she pushes me back in the house, closing the door behind her.

  “I'm sorry. I'm okay. That song just made me...”

  “It's okay. Don't be sorry.” She hugs me, kissing me under my ear. “Can we talk about why you're upset?” She sits down and pats the leather cushion on the couch for me to sit beside her.

  “I don't know what to say. I just felt so emotional all of a sudden.” I feel stupid, so I stop, shaking my head and covering my face with my hands.

  “Don't cover your face; talk to me.”

  “Everything is perfect. Breakfast, the tree, even those damn dogs.” I point at them, sleeping in the same spots they were in when I came downstairs.

  “So what's the matter?” She looks worried, and I need to find the words to ease her mind.

  “I haven't ever had this before.” I hold my hands out, palms up, looking at everything around me. “Christmas was never like this.”

  She hugs me again, squeezing tightly like she's afraid I'm going to lose it and leave the couch again.

  “I'm okay, really,” I tell her. “I'm sorry to upset you.”

  She doesn't believe me, and eventually makes me talk. I tell her about when I was younger, how my dad was cold, that this was my house but it didn't feel like a home. That is, not until she came into my life, moved in and put those flowers in a vase on my table.

  “He was always on me about something. Keeping oil in my truck, not letting the gas gauge get below half…” I smirk and flash back to being seventeen. “I ran out once, on the side of the road. He flipped out, and I didn't think I was going to ever hear the end of it.”

  She narrows her eyes, taking everything I'm saying in, but not saying anything herself.

  “I just felt like...nothing I did was ever fucking good enough for him.”

  “Blaine. Do you ever think that maybe losing his wife was devastating enough, but having to raise a little boy basically on his own was even harder?” she asks quietly. After a pause, she continues. “I think your father loves you very much, even though he couldn't express it to you by telling you.” She stops and inhales deeply. “Maybe he was always on you because that's the only way he knew how to express love after he lost her.”

  I stop breathing. No, that can't be right. It doesn't make sense—does it? I'm whirling through every moment I spent with him as a child. The weekend he took us three boys fishing, I couldn't get the worm on the hook properly, and he snatched it from me, grumbling to himself and handing it back when he managed to put it on with one hand. Then the time we went to Lake’s for pizza, and I started choking on a piece of pineapple; he lost it, and we left the restaurant, not finishing the pizza. Now that I think about it, the look on his face wasn't anger—it was worry.

  I start breathing again. I can't believe I'm thirty years old, and I've just realized for the first time in my life that my dad really does love me.

  “Baby, I'm sorry,” Addison says. “We can stop talking about it if you want.”

  “It's okay. I'm okay. Thank you; it all makes sense now.” I
'm wide-eyed and piecing it all together. I look down at her. “Thank you for everything, for all of this, and for making me see clearly.”

  I feel the urge to call my father and tell him I love him, to wish him a Merry Christmas. I decide that I will later—after presents, I need to get out of my funk and start enjoying this day with my beloved. This revelation was the best gift I could have asked for, and I finally feel at peace.

  We sit cross-legged on my mom's quilt on the floor. I slide over a large box wrapped in gold paper. She rips it open, smiling and when she opens it. She has to stand to pull out her gift. I know she likes bareback, but I wanted her to have her own saddle, too.

  “Blaine, it's beautiful! Thank you.” She lifts out the black leather Billy Cook and traces her fingertips around the detail in the leather.

  AB is engraved in the horn.

  “This part is my favourite.” Addison smiles. “Here you go!” She sits back down and holds her hands clasped together under her chin in anticipation.

  I tear open the paper, and inside the slim box are two tickets for a trip to Texas. My eyes fly to meet hers. “Texas!”

  I'm elated. Aside from Maine, I've only ever visited three states around Wyoming: Nebraska, South Dakota and Colorado. Texas is a dream.

  “Thank you! When do we go?” I'm not sure if she can tell if I'm excited or not, so my voice raises a little, and I blush.

  “Well, I booked time off in March so we can spend a whole week. Can you wait that long or should I call the hosp—”

  I cut her off by pulling her onto my lap and kissing her, tongues twisting, tasting and softly lapping. I could kiss her all day. “I can wait to go anywhere, as long as it's with you.”

  We call everyone to wish them a Merry Christmas. When I call Jeremiah I'm surprised when it sounds like I haven't woken him up. Alex didn't fly home to Maine; instead he stayed at Jer's. They even cut down their own Charlie Brown tree, bachelor-style.

  The plan this year is for us all to drive to Nick's for Christmas dinner, including Jeremiah and Alex, who I'm sure have exchanged cases of beer as gifts.