They stood silently for a long time, just holding each other.
“Whatever it is that’s bothering you, I’m sure everything’s going to turn out all right,” Brenden said gently. “It’s Christmas after all.”
“You’re right, it’s not important.” She pressed against him, and they started with just baby kisses, a kiss on the forehead, the nose, the chin, and then she opened her mouth to his, and they kissed, with a growing passion, until his hands were no longer on top of her coat but underneath it, and up the back of her shirt. His palms rested flat against the small of her back, and she had dug her own hands underneath his denim jacket, inside his flannel shirt, and still they were kissing, and then he was kissing her neck, her clavicles, so softly that each kiss felt like a dance of butterflies against her skin.
Brenden buried his face in her neck and she hugged him tightly, suddenly noticing how much he was shaking from the cold underneath his thin denim jacket.
And that’s when she knew.
She knew exactly what she was going to get him for Christmas, but more important, she knew exactly how she would be able to afford it.
Her hands suddenly felt clammy and cold, knowing the sacrifice she would soon have to make.
Christmas Eve morning shone clear and bright, and in her bedroom Kelsey was standing in front of her closet, contemplating a gray plastic garment bag.
Last night she’d made her decision.
The black leather motorcycle jacket. It was perfect—Brenden would look so kickass in it, riding on his Harley. It was tough, authentic, and well made. Kelsey was sure he would love it as much as his bike. She’d seen the way he’d looked at it at the store when he’d come in to buy replacement grips for his handlebars. It would keep him warm, and it was just his style. She couldn’t imagine him wearing anything else on the back of his bike. He would keep it forever, and would think about her every time he wore it, which would be every day, she was sure.
But the jacket cost four hundred dollars, when she only had forty-five.
Kelsey unzipped the garment bag slowly, taking out her grandmother’s Balenciaga dress so she could see it shine in the light.
She caressed the whisper-soft fabric, the handmade label signed by the master himself. She was too practical a girl to regret never having worn it now. It was the only way. There were a bunch of vintage stores in downtown Cleveland, the city was famous for them—stylists from Hollywood and New York routinely made the rounds to cull the racks for the most fabulous vintage finds. She’d heard of vintage Pucci dresses selling for thousands of dollars, of Oscar starlets wearing 1950s Ossie Clark jersey dresses bought in Cleveland. What would they pay for a real, vintage Cristóbal Balenciaga?
Well, she would just have to find out.
She quickly stowed the dress back in the bag, zipped it up, and walked out of her bedroom before she could change her mind. Downstairs, her mother was standing in the kitchen, making Christmas cookies with Kelsey’s younger sister, Haley, who was eight.
“Hi, sweetheart. Want to help us make thumbprints?” her mother asked, her cheeks white with flour.
“Maybe later. Does Dad need the car?”
“No, he’s sleeping. He worked late last night and he’s off today, for once. It is Christmas Eve, after all.”
“Cool, can I borrow it?” Kelsey asked, trembling slightly. If her mom said no, or if the car was out of gas or something, she wasn’t sure if she could go through with it. She wasn’t that brave.
“Sure, honey.” Her mother nodded.
“I’ll be out for a while, but I’ll be back before dinner,” Kelsey said, taking the keys from the basket by the door.
“Aren’t you going to Gigi’s party tonight?”
“Uh-huh,” Kelsey called over her shoulder. “Brenden’s taking me.”
She drove quickly on newly plowed roads—there had been a snowstorm the night before, and the highway was slick and wet from salting. Her heart beat fast in her chest. There was an elegant vintage resale shop in the Coventry district, a neighborhood dotted with cool record stores and cute French bistros. She’d been there several times before, and she knew the proprietress had an eye for designer dresses.
Kelsey parked the car by a snowbank and entered the cozy warmth of the shop, the garment bag draped over one shoulder.
“Hi,” she said shyly to the stern-looking woman behind the glass counter. “Do you, uh, buy vintage clothes here?”
“Only if they are worthwhile,” the owner said in a frosty voice. She looked at Kelsey, taking in the bargain coat, the jeans, the scuffed cowboy boots.
“Well, I have something of my grandmother’s. I don’t know, but I think it could be worth something.” She laid the garment bag on the counter and unzipped it, removing the dress from its tissued environment. “It’s a Balenciaga, from the sixties. It’s only been worn once, I think. She got it in Paris.”
The shopkeeper put on a pair of half-moon spectacles, and regarded the dress silently. Her wrinkled hands caressed the soft fabric. “My goodness.”
“It’s nice, isn’t it?”
“How much do you want for it?” the owner asked sharply.
Kelsey was at a loss. She had never considered naming a price. She’d just thought it would be worth something—but what? She shrugged. “How much would you give me for it?”
“Three hundred.”
Kelsey tried not to look too excited. Three hundred dollars! But then she remembered: The motorcycle jacket was four hundred. She noticed a few gowns hanging by the rack. One of them read HALSTON, 1975, $565.
“Six hundred,” she countered, looking the woman in the eye.
“Four,” the owner said.
“Five.”
“Four-fifty, and that’s my final offer.”
Then the deal was done, and Kelsey walked out of the shop, clutching in her hand four one-hundred dollar bills, two twenties, and a ten. She’d done it.
She got into her car, shut the door, and blinked back tears. This was stupid, she thought. She’d wanted to sell it. She was doing it for Brenden. Her heart leaped when she thought of how he would smile when she saw his brand-new leather jacket! She drove straight to the Harley-Davidson store; she had to get there soon since it would probably close early for Christmas Eve.
A few hours later, inside her bedroom, Kelsey looked at herself in the mirror that hung over the door. The Wade Hill girls were certainly going to have a field day. She was wearing the same black dress she’d worn several times already. It was a simple, serviceable, average, black wool crepe with a square neckline, spaghetti straps. She’d purchased it on sale at the Gap for a fraction of its original price. She brushed her hair back until it shone, and carefully applied her makeup.
She took a step back from the mirror, assessing her reflection. She knew Brenden would be looking forward to seeing her in the silver Balenciaga. Would he be disappointed if he saw her in the same old dress? Would he still think she was the prettiest girl in the room? Next to the Wade Hill peacocks and all their new and expensive finery?
Kelsey clipped on her earrings—gold-tone hoops—and attempted a smile. So what if she was wearing the same old thing? There would be no grand entrance at the party, no star-making turn. She would just be one of the girls in the background. She chided herself for her girlish vanity; it was Gigi’s birthday party, after all, not hers. Why had she been so obsessed with making a splash?
“Sweetheart, Brenden’s here,” her mother singsonged from downstairs.
She took a final pirouette, pulled up on the bustline to make sure it stayed in place, and then walked downstairs. The Coopers’ living room had been richly decorated for Christmas—pine needles were scattered on the mantel, and the tree shone with multicolored lights, decorated with the handmade ornaments she and her sister had made in a succession of art classes—a wooden carved teddy bear with her name on it, Haley’s handprint from kindergarten.
The fireplace was crackling, throwing off red sparks, and the
house was warm and inviting. Brenden was waiting for her at the bottom of the staircase.
For a moment, Kelsey wasn’t sure what she was seeing. “Bren—you’re in a tie!” she exclaimed. “And your hair!” She almost tripped on the final step in her excitement.
She couldn’t believe it. Brenden was wearing a proper sport coat and a dark tie. Gone were his dirty, grease-stained jeans and his ragged T-shirts. There wasn’t a black armband in sight. He had even combed his long hair back, just like she’d always wanted him to, and she was right—without the hair in his eyes, he was even more incredibly handsome. Now everyone would notice, not just her. But why was he looking at her with that peculiar expression on his face?
“What’s up?” he asked, holding a corsage in a plastic container and another package under his arm. “Where’s your grandmother’s dress?”
Kelsey pretended not to hear him. “I thought ties made you claustrophobic,” she said flirtatiously, walking toward him, her fingers reaching out to brush his lapel.
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about his makeover. “But what’s going on? Why aren’t you wearing you-know-what?”
“Oh, that old thing.” Kelsey tried to affect a careless laugh. “Forget about it. It’s so old-fashioned, really, don’t you think?” She kept talking, babbling, to cover up for her distress. He was disappointed. He kept looking at her with that strange, curious, blank expression on his face.
“What’s wrong with this dress?” she asked a bit fiercely. “Don’t you like how I look?”
“No—no. You look beautiful in whatever you wear, you know that, it’s just …” Brenden shrugged his shoulders helplessly.
“Wait! I want to give you something. Hold on.” Kelsey took the stairs two at a time and returned bearing a large white box with the Harley-Davidson symbol on it.
“Merry Christmas!” she said cheerfully. “C’mon, open it. Don’t just stand there looking at it.” She pulled him over to the couch and balanced the box carefully on his knees. Brenden put aside the corsage and his present for now.
He was speechless and stared at the box with trepidation, as if willing for the black-and-orange logo to transform into something else. Finally, he lifted the lid.
“It’s the jacket you wanted!” Kelsey exclaimed. “See? Put it on! Let’s see how it looks.” She helped him take off his sport coat. “Now you can ride your Harley in style! And it’s sooo warm. The guy at the shop said it’s lined in sheepskin.” Brenden nodded, putting on the motorcycle jacket.
“It looks fantastic!” Kelsey declared. She was right—he looked just like James Dean in it—or was it Marlon Brando? One of those old movie stars in those 1950s films that her mom sometimes watched. She bubbled over with happiness at how good her boyfriend looked in her gift. It was worth the sacrifice. Although she still couldn’t get over how incredibly stunned he seemed—almost as if he were blindsided by her gift. Not quite the reaction she had expected.
“Don’t you like it, Bren?” she asked, her voice quavering.
He finally spoke, and his features relaxed into his quick smile. “Of course I love it. It’s from you,” he said as he began to take off the jacket. He placed it gently on the couch next to him. “But here, I got this for you. So you could wear it to the party tonight.” He handed her a silver box, wrapped in the signature Saks Fifth Avenue holiday paper—silver with red ribbon. “Merry Christmas, Kelsey.”
“Oh, my God,” Kelsey said, sinking back on the couch, not quite sure if she had the right to hope what she was hoping. “You didn’t!”
Brenden smiled, leaning back on the couch and making himself comfortable.
“No way, no way!” she exclaimed as she ripped open the paper and opened the lid. But yes. There they were. She put her hands to her mouth, and tears sprang to her eyes, threatening to smudge her mascara. Brenden had bought them for her. She felt dizzy with shock. How had he been able to afford them? The cherished metallic silver sandals—the crystal disks glowing in the box like diamonds. Gorgeous, and finally hers. The last pair in size six and a half. Her heart quickened to a frantic pulse. This was unbelievable, this was the best Christmas ever. Nothing had prepared her for this …
“Oh, my god, Brenden. How … ?” she whispered, placing the lid back on the box and stroking it affectionately.
“Go on now, go change into that Balen-whatever dress and put ’em on,” he urged, his eyes shining with delight. “Let’s see how they look together.”
Her grandmother’s dress! The Balenciaga! In the excitement of the moment she had completely forgotten that it was no longer hers to wear with the silvery shoes. Utterly miserable and devastated, Kelsey was afraid to meet her boyfriend’s eye. In the smallest voice she could muster, she finally confessed. “I sold the dress to buy you the jacket.”
“You …” Brenden said, trying not to look too alarmed.
“But don’t worry, Bren—I can get it back, I can get on a payment plan with the boutique—once I have enough babysitting money …” Her voice trailed off hopelessly. The dress was gone forever—they both knew that.
He nodded slowly in comprehension, and rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
“But see, they look good with this dress, too!” Kelsey said, slipping off her mom’s old heels and sliding into the precious stilettos. All right, so it didn’t quite have the same effect as it would have had with the Balenciaga dress, but the shoes were still stunning.
She jumped off the couch and pulled him up. “I know it’s cold, but it’s not a long ride up to the party. Do you have my helmet? Let’s get on the Harley and go. I don’t want to miss Gigi’s grand entrance!” she added gaily. “Put on your new jacket now, c’mon!”
Brenden let her help him back into his new black leather jacket and they made their way to the front door. Kelsey flung it open and was flummoxed to find the street empty. Brenden usually parked his Harley right in front of his driveway next door.
“Where’s the Hog?” she asked, looking around wildly. Slowly, she began to understand what he had done. No. She didn’t deserve it. She didn’t deserve him …
“Babe,” Brenden said, pulling her close and kissing her cheek, so she could feel his stubble. “I sold the bike to buy you the shoes.”
He smiled at her, pushing a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. “We’ve got to take my mom’s Dodge Shadow,” he said, motioning to the rusty clunker hunkered on the street with the 1980s-style pastel brush marks on the side.
Brenden, still wearing his tough biker jacket, wrenched open the passenger door to the decades-old compact car and Kelsey climbed inside.
Whatever would people say once they arrived at the party?
Then Kelsey realized with a laugh that she couldn’t care less what anyone thought—of her dress, her shoes, or her boyfriend. Especially what they thought of her boyfriend.
That Christmas, she had received a gift more precious than anything a designer could ever offer or sell. A gift that was truly priceless. A gift akin to those that the magi gave on Christmas Eve. She had received the gift of Brenden’s heart. And even better yet, she had given her heart openly to him—and for that, she felt such an immense swell of happiness it seemed as if her heart would burst from joy.
Brenden turned the key and winked at Kelsey as the engine sputtered to life. “What do you think?” he asked, reaching over to squeeze her hand. “We’re a pair of crazy kids, huh?”
The Dodge Shadow inched its way forward in the snow, the tire chains scrunching on the gravelly road. It was freezing outside, and the car’s heater hadn’t worked since 1989, but neither of them were cold.
Leigh Wells drops her phone into her lap and crosses her arms. Huffs. Never in her life did she expect to hate the sound of Christmas music.
Her eyes scan the ceiling of gate C42 in the heart of the Atlanta airport, hunting—like a hangry hawk, she feels—for the source of what’s usually one of her favorite holiday tunes: Pentatonix’s “White Winter Hymnal.”
Leigh can’t help but growl, though. It’s Christmas friggin Eve and she’s trapped in an airport. And that’s after getting trapped at the super snooty boarding school she attends in western Massachusetts for three days of an already too-short winter break. A massive snowstorm had the whole school locked down, and Leigh narrowly escaped this morning—just to get re-stuck. Again, due to snow. In Atlanta. Where it’s supposed to be warmer and these types of things aren’t supposed to happen.
Maybe she jinxed herself. Her personal preference would’ve been to slide a hundred miles west from school to Boston—home. In truth, she really doesn’t want to reach her final destination. Who wants to spend Christmas in hot/sunny Palm Beach, Florida?
Still though: When the voice came over the loudspeaker to announce that “All flights into and out of Hartsfield-Jackson International Airport” (which, according to a sign she saw, is the “busiest airport in the world”) “have been grounded due to accumulating ice and snow here in Atlanta,” a sour taste filled Leigh’s mouth and she immediately wanted to throw something.
Now the Christmas music sounds like violence-filled noise and she feels personally attacked by the onslaught of wreaths and holly and Christmas trees and twinkling lights strung up friggin everywhere.
On top of all THAT, precisely thirteen minutes after the grounding announcement, her phone buzzed. And THAT, as she’s told her best friend, Niecey, was the final straw, busting Leigh’s hump all to pieces.
Frankly, it shouldn’t be that big a deal, getting an innocuous pair of text messages from Harper Kemp. Yeah, it’s been three years since the girls have seen each other, and yeah, they’re about to inhabit the same space in Palm Beach for a solid seven days, nine hours, and thirty-two minutes—Leigh did the math the minute Mama and Daddy smacked her with the news that they’d be spending Christmas through New Year’s Day at the home of Janice and Kwame Kemp, their best friends from college.
Snow in Love Page 13
