by Sarah Jio
342 Pine Street #4
It’s Christmas Eve. Tonight there’s a candlelight service at the Presbyterian church on Fifth Avenue. At breakfast, Vivian said she was going, and even though Mel has never considered himself religious in any way, he has never felt more drawn to a church service in all his life.
He selects a tweed suit from his closet, the nicest one he owns, which isn’t saying much. Adele patched the elbows years before. He dresses and then combs his hair, what he has left of it, at least. Should he get her a Christmas present? He scolds himself for not thinking of that ahead of time. He’s never been good at presents. But Vivian deserves something. He can’t afford anything fancy, certainly not the expensive jewelry she’s accustomed to. But something. Surely, he can think of something. He glances at his watch. Most of the shops at the market will be open for another hour. Flowers. He’ll stop at Jane’s shop and get Vivian the most beautiful bouquet he can find. That’s the ticket.
The air outside is cold. Cold enough to snow, maybe. But the sky is clear, and he’s glad of that. The walk to the church on Fifth would be complicated in the snow.
Mel is disappointed when he notices the lights are dim in the flower shop ahead, but he breathes a sigh of relief when he sees Jane approaching and she kindly offers him the vase of flowers in her arms.
Jane’s voice sounds cheerful, but her eyes don’t match. They look weighted down, heavy with some matter of the heart, and he worries about her the way a father might worry about his daughter.
“You’re not going to be alone tonight, are you?”
She deflects his concern with a smile. “I have Sam, don’t forget. And where are you off to on this wintry Christmas Eve?”
He smiles shyly. “A church service.” He lowers his voice. “Where Vivian will be.”
Jane smiles. “And you’re going empty-handed?”
“Well,” he says. “I was hoping to bring her some flowers, but I see that you’re all closed up for the night.”
Jane regards the arrangement in her arms. “Take these,” she says suddenly. “They’ll be perfect. Everyone thinks they want red roses to express their love. And it represents love, yes, but more of a fleeting love. A fire that burns hot but ultimately burns out. You want to show her the purity, the realness of your love. And this arrangement will make your point.” He can see tears in her eyes then. “I promise you that.”
Mel beams. “Thank you, sweet Janey.”
Jane can tell he wants to linger. He wants to make sure she is OK, but she waves him on. “Go,” she says. “Go find her.”
He winks at his young friend and continues along the sidewalk. It must be thirty degrees, definitely below the freezing point, but Mel doesn’t feel the cold, not really. He’s warmed by his love.
The church is just ahead. A glow of orange bathes each street-facing window as he makes his way up the steps. Inside, the sanctuary is filled with the quiet hum of an organ and the sweet voices of the children’s choir singing “O Holy Night.” He takes a seat in one of the back pews and scours the church for Vivian. He doesn’t see her at first, but then he notices a woman sitting tall in the pew, with an elegance that could belong only to Vivian. In the dim candlelight, she turns slightly, and he can see the curve of her beautiful cheeks, her exquisite mouth, her regal nose. It’s her. And as the children’s choir shifts octaves to begin “Silent Night,” Mel notices the man sitting beside Vivian. He’s impeccably dressed, tall, and broad shouldered. His suit, well pressed and expensive looking. Yes, this is the type of man she deserves, his Vivian. And as he sits in the back pew, holding the bouquet of flowers, listening to the choir, Mel is struck with the realization that he only wants the best for her. And as much as his love is true, he is not the best for her. He will never be good enough for her.
She turns her head then, and their eyes meet, only for a moment, and her regal face melts into a smile. Mel stands to leave, and on his way out to the reception area, he hands the vase of flowers to a man in the entryway. “I have to go,” he says. “But would you mind giving these to someone?” He describes Vivian to the man and then walks out to the street alone.
Chapter 26
Christmas Day 2013
I open the old book and reach for a pen. It is my thirtieth birthday, and I contemplate my year. When I think of Cam, my heart twinges. I was wrong about him, so wrong. But I can finish my journey. I can finish it, and I will own it.
I nod to myself and stare at the brittle page before me, yellowed over the years. I think of the first type of love: Pragma, love driven by the head, not the heart. Elaine called me last night, in tears. She’d made her decision. I write “Pragma” on the page, followed by her name, and Charles’s. And then I let loose my pen to describe their love.
2201 Hamlin Street
Elaine feels Matthew’s eyes on her, even before she opens her own. It’s Christmas morning, and she can’t help but remember how her life changed when Charles walked into her kitchen last year.
“Morning, beautiful,” Matthew says, stroking her cheek softly.
“Morning,” she whispers. “Are the kids up?”
He nods. “They’re waiting for us downstairs. We wanted to let you sleep a little longer.”
Elaine looks at her husband, this man who loves her with such sincerity. She loves him too, of course. How could she not? He is her partner. He is her best friend.
“Mom, Dad?” She hears her son Jack’s impatient voice coming from downstairs.
“You go ahead,” Elaine says. “Tell them I’ll be down in a minute.”
Matthew kisses her forehead and heads downstairs. When she hears his footsteps on the stairs, Elaine walks to the window that looks out to the street and feels a pang in her chest as her eyes survey the house that once belonged to Charles. Her Charles. The for-sale sign still stands out front, even though it sold last week, to a nice family from Cleveland. The moving truck came three days ago, and just like that, Charles and his daughter were gone.
Elaine touches the cold glass of the window, tracing the outline of the house with her finger, remembering the way he looked at her before he left, feeling his love wash over her all over again. And in an instant, she is in his arms once more, steeped in the same joy and shame of loving a man who isn’t her husband, loving a man whom she can never have a life with, because she already has one with someone else.
She brought over cinnamon rolls on the Thursday night that Charles told her about the job offer in San Francisco. “Come with me,” he pleaded. “Let’s start a life together. Let’s do this.”
No one would ever know how much she wanted to set the cinnamon rolls down that day, just drop them on the ground, reach for Charles’s hand, and catch the next flight out of town. They could be together and then sort out the rest later. For once in her life, she could follow her heart, instead of her head. She could choose love. But instead, Elaine trembled from a place deep inside. Because she knew she could never leave Matthew. Leaving wasn’t a part of her DNA, even for great love, for true love, for the one and only love of her life.
And so she said good-bye to Charles. She kissed him once and walked home, where she collapsed in a heap in her kitchen and burned the cupcakes for Ellie’s school bake sale.
“Mama, are you coming?” Elaine turns to see her daughter standing in the doorway.
“Yes, honey,” she says, collecting herself.
Downstairs, the Christmas presents are opened with the same fury that they are every year, and then silence descends upon the house again. When Matthew gets up to make coffee, Ellie suddenly squeals. She runs to the tree and finds a tiny box, wrapped in gold paper, that got lost in the piles of crumpled wrapping paper and torn-open boxes. “Look,” she says. “Another present!” She pauses to read the tag. “It’s for you, Mama.”
Ellie hands Elaine the box, and she stares at it curiously for a moment before untying the ribb
on and unwrapping the gold paper. When she lifts the lid of the box, she’s perplexed for a moment, and then her heart seizes. Inside is a charm for her bracelet: a tiny hot air balloon, attached to a delicate silver clasp. “I . . . ,” she says in a faltering voice. “This is . . .” Her voice trails off as Matthew returns to the living room with two cups of coffee.
“Are you OK, Mama?” Ellie asks, wrapping her arm around her mother.
“Yes, honey,” Elaine says through tears.
Ellie’s eyes are big. “Is it a charm for your bracelet?”
Elaine nods.
“Did Santa bring it to you?”
Matthew smiles at his wife. “Santa’s sorry for getting it wrong so many years before.”
Jack and Ellie run upstairs to their rooms to play with their new toys, and Matthew nestles beside Elaine on the couch. “I thought you could fill the bracelet with memories we make together,” he says, watching as she attaches the charm to the bracelet that clings to her wrist. “Starting with a hot air balloon ride. What do you say?”
“Yes,” Elaine says through tears. “Yes.”
I sigh and look to the next line in the book, where I write “Agape.” Unconditional, altruistic love. And below it, I record the names Mary and Luca. I’d never mentioned it to my friend, but I’d seen the two of them together, unexpectedly, one night at Julia’s, where I’d stopped for takeout after a meeting with a vendor in Wallingford. I remember how my vision had changed and the way my heart felt warm when it happened; then I begin writing.
4572 Sunnyside Avenue
Mary reaches for her bag when she hears the cab honking outside. She locks the door behind her and feels the baby kick on the way to the hospital. A baby girl. Her baby girl. She checks in at the reception desk, then sits down in an uncomfortable chair and fills out her paperwork on a clipboard. Eli should be sitting beside her, of course. But when she closes her eyes, it’s Luca’s face she sees. She blinks hard. Funny how life turns out, she thinks.
“Ms. Sherman?” She looks up to see a woman in her early twenties with a nose ring beside a wheelchair. She wears a pair of turquoise scrubs. “If you’re ready, I’ll wheel you up to your room now.”
Mary nods and hands the woman the clipboard, then sinks into the wheelchair. She tucks her bag on her lap and sits back as the woman wheels her to the elevator. It jerks upward, then stops on the third floor. When the doors open, Mary sees someone she recognizes in the distance. At first she hardly believes her eyes, but he sees her too. She opens her mouth to speak, but the elevator door closes.
“Did you see someone you know?” the woman behind the wheelchair asks.
“Yes,” Mary says. “At least I think so.”
In her hospital room on the fifth floor, she changes into her gown, which barely contains her swollen belly. She takes a long look at herself in the bathroom mirror of her hospital room and frowns at her hair, pulled back into a messy ponytail. A hairstylist ought to have better hair on the day she’ll meet her baby girl. But there wasn’t time for a highlight or cut. At her doctor’s appointment yesterday, Christmas Eve, her OB was nervous about her rising blood pressure, so they scheduled an induction, for Christmas Day.
The nurse returns, and Mary watches in silence as the woman attaches various cords to her belly and arms. Eli won’t be coming, of course. He’s in New York or Paris with his new girlfriend. Good riddance, she thinks as she climbs into her hospital bed, but Mary is overcome with a feeling of loneliness as the fetal monitor beeps quietly beside her. The nurse asks for her right arm to start the IV, and Mary closes her eyes as the needle meets her skin. She barely feels the prick. She barely feels anything. She is numb.
“Will you be having any visitors?” the nurse asks. The question is benign enough, but Mary can sense the prying tone of the nurse’s voice and the real question veiled beneath: “Is the baby’s father going to be present for the birth?”
“No,” Mary says quickly. “I mean, yes, well, my friend, Jane. She’ll be here in a few hours.”
The nurse nods and smiles before heading to the doorway. “Just buzz me if you need anything.”
Mary’s mind turns to Luca. She remembers the way he held her hand so tenderly on that walk so many months ago, the way he fixed the drip in her leaking faucet, painted the baby’s nursery. And then she stares out over her enormous belly. She feels foolish, suddenly, to even let the thought cross her mind. Luca deserves so much more than this, a brokenhearted woman carrying another man’s baby. She can’t ask him to be the glue that puts all her broken pieces back together. It’s too much to ask another human being. Besides, he’s gone home to Italy.
She remembers their tearful good-bye. She turned away when he looked at her as if he wanted to kiss her. She would not let him spend his love on her. He’d spend it until he was broke, and she didn’t deserve it. There’s someone else for him, someone better than she.
She wipes a tear from her cheek as the nurse pokes her head in the doorway with a knowing smile. “You have a visitor,” she says.
Mary glances at the clock. Jane isn’t supposed to arrive until this afternoon. “Oh, she must be early,” she says.
The nurse looks confused. “She?” Behind her, Luca appears in the doorway holding a vase of white roses and a pink balloon, shaped like a heart, that reads, “Our Baby Girl.”
Mary sits up, beaming. “Luca!”
The nurse smiles. “I’ll be at the desk if you need anything.”
“I hope it is OK,” he says, setting the flowers down on the table by the window.
“You didn’t have to,” Mary says through tears.
He sits on the bed beside her and weaves his fingers through hers. “I wanted to.” He takes a deep breath and looks intently into her eyes. “I love you. Do you know?”
She smiles. “You do?”
He nods. “Yes. I love you, my little red fish.” He reaches for the bag beside the balloon and pulls out a copy of Dr. Seuss’s One Fish Two Fish Red Fish Blue Fish.
Still smiling through her tears, she says, “But I don’t deserve your love; I’m . . .” She looks down at her belly.
“I have been thinking,” Luca says. “If you let me, I be her father. I will love her, Mary. I will love her . . .” He pauses for a moment to find the words. “To the moon and back.” He clears his throat. “Mary, please, let me be your husband, and this child’s father. It would be my greatest honor.”
She touches his face lightly. “Do you really mean that? Do you?”
“I do,” he says. “I want to be there for my red fish today, and tomorrow, and for all the tomorrows after that.”
“To infinity,” Mary says.
He looks puzzled.
“It means forever and ever and ever,” she says.
“Yes,” he says, grinning. “And even this ‘infinity’ wouldn’t be enough time with you.”
A tear falls down Mary’s cheek as the door to the room opens, and a man in a white lab coach approaches. “Hello, I’m Dr. Carter,” he says. “I’ll be seeing to your induction today. With any luck, you should have a baby in your arms by five o’clock. Now how does that sound?”
She nods through her tears. “It sounds wonderful.”
“Now,” the doctor continues, “I assume Dad will be cutting the cord?”
Luca nods. “Yes,” he says with confidence.
Mary reaches for his hand and squeezes it. “Yes,” she whispers to him. Then she smiles to herself. “I saw someone today, on the third floor.”
“Oh?”
“Yes, a friend of someone I know,” she says, reaching for her cell phone. “Before this baby comes, I have to make a call.”
I set the book aside and get up to make a cup of coffee, then return to my kitchen table. In three hours I’ll need to be at the hospital. I promised I’d hold Mary’s hand through labor. But first, I’ll finish
this page. I look to the next line and write “Mania.” I remember Colette describing this type of love—obsessive love, filled with highs and lows—and pause only for a moment before writing the names Flynn and Celeste on the line below. I swallow hard before I begin to write their story.
1301 4th Avenue
Flynn wakes before sunrise, which is unusual for him, and especially unusual given that he drank good whiskey with friends last night, perhaps too much of it. But he wakes fortified with energy. Because he’s made a big decision. After months of admiration from afar, he’s decided to knock on Celeste’s door. He knows that when she opens the door and sees him, she will let him take her into his arms. And he knows she will feel as intensely about him as he does about her. It will be the beginning of a beautiful love story. Their love story.
As Flynn showers, he thinks about all the women he’s had. The ones who have sauntered in and out of his door, his bed, his life. Their faces are fuzzy, their names a blur. None have retained so much as a centimeter in his heart. And now, all he sees, all he knows, is Celeste, this woman he hasn’t uttered a single word to yet. As he shaves, he marvels at the absurdity of falling in love from afar. And he doesn’t even flinch at his word choice. Love. He knows it. He feels it. And he can see the way she looks at him through the windows. She feels it too.
As he dresses, he thinks about the way he’s watched her late at night chopping vegetables for salads in her bra. He recalls the way she looked up the other night, gazing into his apartment, knowing he was watching all the while, and smiling in his direction, that sad, beautiful smile, as she pranced by the window in her lacy black panties, tempting him, taunting him, making his feelings for her deepen with every step across her mahogany floors.
He walks into his living room and looks out across the street. The air is thick with fog. A low cloud hovers in the space between their apartment buildings, obscuring his view into her windows. But it doesn’t matter. Rain, snow, sleet, fog—none of it will stand in their way. Today is their day. Today he will declare his love for her. Today is the first day of the rest of their lives.
