by Marcy Blesy
“What are you talking about? Man, you make everything so complicated. Whether you get into U of M or not doesn’t change my feelings about you, Mae. But I have to be honest. If this is the way things are always going to be, I don’t think either of us would be very happy. Quit reading into everything I say.” My inclination is to run. Instead I try to warm my hands on my coffee. “Come on. Let’s go. Mom made a nice dinner for us.” He grabs my hands. “You’re freezing.”
I still have a way of killing everything I love because this relationship is hanging on by a thread that’s bound to snap and send us crashing to the ground at any minute.
Chapter 14:
Dinner was tolerable while I did my best to fake my feelings. I spent a year and a half faking my feelings when I was on the run, so I do know how to do it. Ty seems to buy it. I guess he doesn’t know me so well after all. When he comes in to my room tonight, I’ll be faking again—at sleeping. I am not interested in making out or even cuddling for that matter. I need to clear my head.
“You look pretty,” says Ty when I come downstairs for breakfast. “Must have been all that extra beauty sleep you got last night, though you don’t need it.” He goes in for a kiss. He hits my cheek with his lips when I turn my head. “Everything okay?”
“Yes, sure. What’s the plan for this morning? I need to leave after lunch. I told Mom I’d go get a tree with her. We’re kind of running out of time, and with me being, uh, gone last Christmas, I have some making up for lost time to do.”
“Oh. I thought you might stay later, but I understand. I’ll see you on Christmas anyway, so that’s only a few days away.” I smile. He looks genuinely sad. It’s so hard to stay mad at him. It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do for one’s perspective. Even though I want to stay mad, I can’t. Instead, I grab ahold of his shirt and pull him to me.
“Let’s go ice skating. The hot chocolate’s on me.” I kiss him hard on the mouth.
“Well, how can I say no to that?”
The Woodson Ice Arena is packed. Lots of frustrated parents try to fit their wiggly children with the correct skate size. Middle school boys say lots of stupid things to impress the middle school girls giggling nearby. And plenty of couples warm themselves near the wood fireplace that fills an entire wall in the viewing area of the arena. I hope we can find room on the ice.
I put on my pink earmuffs and matching gloves. In my head I can hear my grandmother admonishing me, Macy, you need to wear a hat. Most of your heat is lost through your head. But Grandma didn’t understand that looking cute trumps being warm.
“You look cute,” Ty says.
“I know.” See, Grandma. I was right.
I’ve never skated with Ty before, but he’s good. We hold hands as he leads me around the falling children and saves me from the show-offs who fly by too fast. It’s the young high school couples that interest me the most. To watch their tentative interactions is so sweet. I missed so much of my teenage life when I was switching high schools every time someone got too close. If it hadn’t been for Ty beating a path to my heart I would never have experienced any of those first love feelings at all. Better late than never.
“Hey, you! I can’t believe we keep running into each other.” I watch the girl skate past Ty and me. When she turns around, she’s got a huge smile on her face. Her blonde hair is hanging loose around her shoulders. She has a crocheted headband with a neon green flower that matches her North Face jacket. She’s a model on ice. And her name is Jess.
“What’s she mean?” I ask.
“Huh?”
“Where do you keep running into each other?” I yell. “Just your Mom’s party?”
“It’s no big deal, Mae. Don’t make anything out of it.”
“Of what?”
“I ran into Jess at a party at school.” Ty pulls me closer as a young girl trips over her own skates.
“In Ann Arbor?”
“Yeah. She’s got some friends there. No big deal.” It might not be a big deal to him, but why do I feel like he’s kept this from me because there’s something he’s not telling me? I skate a little faster. He pushes my waist from behind. “I like this view better anyway.”
“I’m ready for that hot chocolate,” I say.
After we take off our skates I stand in line to purchase our hot chocolates. When I walk back, careful not to spill the scalding hot liquid on the kids running under foot, Ty is at a table near the fireplace. Of course, he’s not alone.
“Hi, Jess,” I say. Keep the enemy closer, I tell myself.
“Hi, uh…”
“Mae,” I say.
“Right. Sorry. My bad. Ty and I were just talking about that awesome party we went to last weekend. I think I need to get up there more often. Of course, maybe I need to go a little slower on that red punch you kept giving me, right, Ty?” She knocks him on the shoulder. His response is a nervous laugh. “So, do you guys have big plans for Christmas?”
“Ty and I are spending the day with my family,” I say.
“Nice,” she says fakely. “I always get my fill of all my family on Christmas, too. There are so many annoying people, right? As if spending the days with my parents and brothers and sisters isn’t enough, throw in a dozen cousins, some crazy aunts and uncles, and pinch-the-cheeks grandparents, and I think I could vomit. Right?”
“I have a small family,” I say. I hate this girl so much.
“Oh, you’re so lucky. Anyway, you guys should come to the Woodson Center for New Year’s. They’re throwing a to-die-for party.”
“Don’t you have to work the event?” Ty asks. He seems to have found his voice.
“That’s the best part. I promised my aunt and uncle I’d set up for the party, serve dinner, and stay to clean up if I could be off from 9:00-midnight. Isn’t that great?” I swear she throws her chest out as she says great. It makes me stand up straighter. What is this? Middle school?
“We haven’t talked about our plans yet, but that sounds like fun. We’ll consider it.”
“Please do, Ty. I’d love to spend more time with you and Kay.” She shoots me a phony smile.
“Mae.”
“Text me.” We both watch her walk away, back to a group of girls that must be her friends, though I have a hard time imagining any girl wanting to be friends with her.
“What a bitch,” I say, though I don’t realize I’m speaking it out loud.
“Really?” he asks.
“Really. It sure didn’t take long for her to get your number now, did it?”
“Let’s go. I don’t have time for this,” he says. I take both of our hot chocolates, now cold, and toss them in the trash. What a lovely ending to a lovely weekend.
When we are in the car, I don’t say much. I know Ty is waiting for me to lay into him with accusations and questions. I’m done. I’m spent. What difference does it make? It won’t change anything. Ty is completely blind to the fact that she is throwing herself at him, and I am tired of fighting. It was so much easier when we could be together every day. Will it ever be that way again?
I say my goodbyes to Ty’s parents. At least I’m leaving on better terms with them.
“See you on Thursday,” says Ty, pulling me close as I stand next to my car.
“Yep, only a few more days. I love you, Ty.” He just kisses the top of my head.
As I drive back to Andersonville, I can’t help but wonder if my love is enough to save this relationship.
Chapter 15:
“Mom, this tree is perfect. Stop stressing.”
“But, I think it’s a little tall. I’m not very good with that saw if the tree’s too tall. I can’t cut straight to save me life. That’s what Daddy used to….” She sits on a sawed tree stump. Right there in the middle of the tree farm, and my mom is sitting on a tree stump surrounded by Christmas trees and snow up to the top of her boots. She starts to cry.
“It’s okay, Mom. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“I’m sorry. It�
��s just that—”
“I know. This was Dad’s job. I get it, but we can handle this. You’ve got me, right? I think maybe you’re right. These trees are kind of big. Let’s go find a Laura tree.” Mom looks up at the sound of Laura’s name, her baby, four years younger than me. She cries harder. I cry, too, but then we’re laughing because we share an inside joke. Laura must have been four or five at the time. She’d come home from school after watching Charlie Brown’s Christmas. That night we went hunting for the perfect tree. Tree after beautiful tree, Laura kept saying no to. It wasn’t a simple no, either. She had something to say about each one Dad and Mom suggested. That one’s too tall. That one’s too fat. That one’s too green. That one’s too needly. When they’d had enough, they started sawing down the next tree they came upon. I frankly just wanted to leave. It was too cold to be listening to a little kid dictate the type of tree we should be getting. She threw a fit. People were staring and whispering. I know they thought Laura was being a total brat, and she was, but she had her reasons. From that squeaky little voice came the most beautiful words, But I want a Charlie Brown tree. There’s more love and happiness when you have a Charlie Brown tree. Plus, your presents look bigger when there’s not so much green stuff. We’d burst out laughing. How could you resist such sentiment? So, we’d found the most pathetic looking tree we could find that year. And, you know what? There was a whole lot of love that Christmas.
“Yes, Macy. Let’s get a Laura tree.”
Mom is making cookies in the kitchen, and I’m drinking hot chocolate while sitting on the couch in front of the Laura tree. It’s rather the idyllic picture except we’re missing half of our family. That, and the tree is dropping needles at such a fast pace that it will be a miracle if it even still resembles a tree at all come Christmas Day.
I wish things could be the way they used to be. That’s not how life works, though. See the future, Dr. Rivers tells me. I close my eyes and imagine a future full of peace and joy, one where everything turns out the way it’s supposed to. My visions all include Ty. I wonder, though, if his include me. He’s kind of a one day at a time kind of guy. The doorbell ringing snaps me back to the present.
“Can you get that, honey? I’ve got cookies in the oven.”
“Sure, Mom.” I peek out the front window and don’t recognize the truck in the driveway, so I open the door cautiously.
“Matt?” I ask. He’s all bundled up which makes him look even more massive in our doorframe. His hat comes over his ears and across his cheeks. I can barely see any facial features. He looks ridiculously adorable. Anyone would think that.
“Oh, good. I wasn’t sure I had the right house.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I…I got you a present, for Christmas.”
“You didn’t have to….”
“I know, but I wanted to. Can I come in?”
“Sure, but I think you need to take off that hat or you’ll scare my mom.” He doesn’t say anything, just looks at me. “It’s a little large, don’t you think?”
“It’s large, but it’s warm. Check it out.” Before I can stop him, he’s putting the hat over my head. I can’t see at all anymore. “Yeah, I guess it’s a little large on freakishly lean people. My head holds a lot from brains.” He knocks the side of his head with his fist.
“Hey! What are you saying?” I ask as I toss the hat at him.
“That you better let me in. It’s freezing outside!”
“Hmm…well, my mom’s in the kitchen making cookies. Would you like to have some if they’re ready?”
“I never turn down cookies.” He flashes his pearly whites at me. I can’t help but smile back. I head to the kitchen where I explain to Mom that a friend is visiting and return with a plate of warm sugar cookies. “These are amazing,” he says, as he takes a bite. He wipes crumbs from his shirt, a long sleeve hunter green polo that hugs his body in the perfect fit. “You don’t frost your Christmas cookies?” he asks.
“Huh?”
“Well, it is Christmas. Were you going to decorate them?” I feel my face get warm, embarrassed that I am going to admit that I still do, in fact, decorate cookies for Christmas, especially this year. I’m trying so hard for Mom’s sake.
“You caught me.”
“Hey! Don’t be embarrassed. My brother and sisters and I fight every year as to how many cookies we’ll each get to decorate. Then we make Mom choose her favorite which she can’t do unless we present them anonymously, so it won’t look like she’s playing favorites. I’ve won twice in the last three years,” he says proudly.
“You don’t say. I…um…I’ll be right back.” I head into the kitchen to confer with Mom. “Do you…do you have to leave right away?” I smile devilishly at him when I return.
“It depends if you can wait a little longer for your present or not.”
“I can wait. Follow me.” I lead Matt to the kitchen.
“Mom, this is Matt. He’s my friend from school.”
“Hello, Matt. Nice to meet you.” She sticks out her hand to shake his, which looks mammoth surrounding her dainty hand.
“You, too, ma’am.”
“So, Mom has agreed to judge our cookie decorating contest,” I say.
“Cookie decorating contest?” he asks.
“Yes. You said you were that good. Well, prove it then.”
“I can never pass up a challenge. Rules?”
“Hmm, two cookies. One with a holiday theme, the other decorated to look like a famous person of your choice,” says Mom. “Points for originality and execution of your plan, scores for both cookies combined.”
“This is serious stuff,” Matt says.
“Do you accept the challenge?” I ask.
“I do.”
“Okay, kids. Clean up when you’re done. I’m going to read in the living room. Oh, and don’t forget to decide on a prize. Good luck.” She winks at us as she leaves the kitchen.
“What’s the prize?” I say.
“If you win, I give you your present,” says Matt.
“You mean, you came out here to give me a present, and if I don’t win I don’t get the present you were going to give me before I decided on this contest to begin with?”
“You got it.”
“That doesn’t seem too fair,” I say.
“So be it. And if I win, I get to make my wish come true.”
“I think you need to tell me, so I have some motivation to keep that wish from coming true.”
“Sorry. No more rules. Let’s shake on it.” He grabs my hand. His hand is every bit as rough and strong as I would have imagined it to be, yet surprisingly gentle. We lock eyes for a split second, enough to quicken my heartbeat. I shake my head to ward off the thoughts running through my mind.
We each take a counter in the kitchen. The timer is set for twenty minutes. I spend the first few minutes making a plan. It’s amateur Food Network night. I take a bowl of white frosting and divide it into smaller sections to make different colors. I assemble the first cookie to look like Santa Claus, complete with red frosting hat and red sugar crystals for texture and then use a toothpick to make swirls in the beard. The eyes are blue frosting, and the tip of the nose is a light pink, like Santa’s been out delivering presents on a cold night. The same pink is added to Santa’s cheeks for that rosy glow.
With only six minutes to go, I make the outline of a woman, curvy on the top and at the hips. I trace the outline of a white dress with the skirt in the air as if blown by the wind. The hair is short and yellow. I use black color gel to add the effect of heavy eye makeup. It’s not perfect, but my Marilyn Monroe cookie is pretty damn good. I’ve got this challenge. With a minute left on the timer, I turn to watch him. His back blocks my view of his handiwork, but he’s moving deliberately. He wipes the back of his hand on his forehead. Is he sweating? My goodness, he is so adorable. This is how relationships are supposed to be: easy. I shake my head again to cast out this new thought, but it doesn’t go
away.
The timer goes off.
“Time!” yells Mom from the living room. “Okay, let’s see these cookies.”
“Mrs. Tatum, no disrespect, but how do I know you won’t judge Mae’s the best cookies just because she’s your daughter?” Mom shoots me a look, but not long enough for Matt to notice. I understand. Telepathically, she’s saying, Another boy that calls you Mae?
“Good idea, Matt. Why don’t the two of you mix up your cookies however you would like? I will judge them first and add the scores together after you tell me which two go together.”
“Fair enough.” She turns her back while Matt and I place our cookies on the center island. I cannot believe what I see. Matt’s cookies are a mess! I hold out my hands like What? when I see them. The holiday cookie is decorated like a round ornament. The colors bleed together with no definition whatsoever. The famous person cookie is a giant smiley face. The black eyes are more oval shaped than round, and his smile is straighter than smiley. I don’t even have time to question him before Mom comes back into the room.
“Well, I see a lot of creativity and a lot of…color?” I try not to laugh. “Is it fair to assume that the smiley face and the ornament were created by the same hands?”
“It is,” says Matt.
“Okay. Then, uh, no offense meant, but the winner is the designer of the Santa Claus cookie and Marilyn Monroe cookie. I’m afraid it’s not even close.”
“Thanks,” we both say in unison.
“I hope I didn’t hurt anyone’s feelings.”
“Not at all,” says Matt. “I got what I deserved.” She smiles at Matt and looks at him quizzically. She’s just as confused by him as I am.
“You are either a big fat liar about your cookie decorating abilities, or you threw this contest for some unknown reason,” I say the minute Mom leaves the room.
“Maybe a little bit of both,” he says, moving closer to me.
“Pay up then. Where is my present?” I put my hands on my hips like a spoiled toddler. Matt laughs.
“Here’s present number one.” I take the small box and unwrap it. Inside is a wooden plaque. Engraved in the plaque are the words, Definitely the caramel.
