“We’re here,” he said. “But close your eyes and wait in the truck until I get things ready. And don’t peek, okay?”
I closed my eyes—why not?—and listened as he got out and closed the door behind him. Even so, I could vaguely hear him occasionally reminding Daisy not to run off while he made a few trips back and forth between the truck and wherever he was going.
After what was probably a few minutes but seemed longer, I finally heard his voice through my window.
“Keep your eyes closed,” he called through the glass. “I’m going to open the door and help you down and walk you to where I want you to go. Then you can open them, okay?”
“Don’t let me fall,” I cautioned.
I heard the door open, felt his hand when I reached for it. Lowering myself carefully, I stretched out my toe until it finally reached the ground. After that, it was easy, Bryce guiding me across the cool sand, the strong wind whipping my hair about.
“There’s nothing in front of you,” he assured me. “Just walk.”
After a few steps I felt a surge of heat and there seemed to be light pushing its way through my eyelids. He gently pulled me to a stop.
“You can open your eyes now.”
The shadowy outline I had spotted earlier was a pile of sand forming a semicircular wall around a flat-bottomed pit about two feet deep. On the ocean side of the hole was a pyramid of wood already glowing with dancing flames, and he’d set up two small lawn chairs facing it, with a blanket draped over each. In between the chairs was a small cooler and behind that was something mounted on a tripod. In the realm of romantic movie gestures, it might not have counted for much, but to me it was absolutely perfect.
“Wow,” I finally said, my voice quiet. I was so overwhelmed that nothing else leaped to mind.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“How did you get the fire going so fast?”
“Charcoal briquettes and lighter fluid.”
“And what’s that thing?” I asked, pointing toward the tripod.
“A telescope,” he said. “My dad let me borrow it. It’s his, but the whole family uses it.”
“Am I going to see Halley’s Comet or something like that?”
“No,” he said. “That came in 1986. The next time it’s visible will be 2061.”
“And you just happen to know that?”
“I think everyone with a telescope knows it.”
Of course he thinks that. “What will we see, then?”
“Venus and Mars. Sirius, which is also called the Dog Star. Lepus. Cassiopeia. Orion. A few other constellations. And the moon and Jupiter are almost in conjunction.”
“And the cooler?”
“S’mores,” he said. “They’re fun to cook over campfires.”
He swept an arm toward the chairs and I sauntered over, choosing the one farthest away. I leaned forward, freeing the blanket, but as I spread it across my lap, I realized that the wind was now practically nonexistent because of the pit and the sand wall behind me. Daisy wandered up and lay beside Bryce. With the campfire, it felt downright toasty.
“When did you do all this?”
“I dug the hole and set up the wood and charcoal after I dropped you off.”
While I was napping. Which explained the difference between him and me—he did, while I slept. “It’s…incredible. Thank you for doing all this.”
“I also got you something for Valentine’s Day.”
“You already brought me flowers.”
“I wanted to give you something that will remind you of Ocracoke.”
I already had a feeling I’d remember this place—and this night—forever, but I watched in fascination as he reached into the pocket of his jacket, removed a small box wrapped in red-and-green paper, and handed it to me. It weighed next to nothing.
“Sorry. There was only Christmas wrapping paper in the house.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Should I open it now?”
“Please.”
“I didn’t get you anything.”
“You let me take you to dinner, which is more than enough.”
At his words, my heart did that funny racing thing again, which had been happening all too often lately. I lowered my gaze and began picking at the wrapping before finally pulling it free. Inside was a box for a staple remover.
“There were no gift boxes, either,” he apologized.
When I opened it and tilted the box, a thin gold chain fell into my palm. I gently shook the chain, freeing up a small gold pendant in the shape of a scallop shell. I held it up to the flickering light of the fire, too heart-struck to say anything. It was the first time a boy had ever bought me jewelry of any kind.
“Read the back,” he said.
I turned it over and leaned closer to the firelight. It was hard to read, but not impossible.
Ocracoke
Memories
I continued to stare at the pendant, unable to turn my gaze away. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered past the lump in my throat.
“I’ve never seen you wear a necklace, so I wasn’t sure you’d like it.”
“It’s perfect,” I said, finally turning to him. “But now I feel bad about not getting you anything.”
“But you did,” he said, the firelight flickering in his dark eyes. “You gave me the memories.”
I could almost believe the two of us were alone in the world, and I longed to tell him how much he meant to me. I searched for the right words, but they wouldn’t seem to come. In the end, I let my gaze slip away.
Beyond the firelight, it was impossible to see the waves, but I could hear them rolling onto the shore, muffling the sound of the crackling fire. I smelled smoke and salt and noticed that even more stars had emerged overhead. Daisy had curled into a ball at my feet. Feeling Bryce’s eyes on me, I suddenly knew that he had fallen in love with me. He didn’t care that I was carrying someone else’s child or that I would be leaving soon. It didn’t matter to him that I wasn’t as smart as he was, or as talented, or that even on my best day, I would never be pretty enough for a boy like him.
“Will you help me put it on?” I was finally able to ask, my voice sounding alien to me.
“Of course,” he murmured.
I turned and lifted my hair, feeling his fingers brush the nape of my neck. When it was hooked, I touched the pendant, thinking it felt as warm as I did, and slipped it inside my sweater.
I sat back again, dizzy at the realization that he loved me, and wondering how and when it had happened. My mind flashed through a library of memories—meeting Bryce on the ferry, and the morning he’d shown up at my door; his simple response when I’d told him that I was pregnant. I thought about standing beside him at the Christmas flotilla and the sight of Bryce striding among the decorations at the farm in Vanceboro. I remembered his expression when I’d gifted him the biscuit recipe and the anticipation in his eyes when he’d first handed me his camera. Lastly, I pictured him standing on the ladder as he boarded up windows, the image I knew I would own forever.
When he asked if I wanted to gaze through the telescope, I rose from my chair in a dreamlike state and put my eye to the eyepiece, listening as Bryce described what I was seeing. He rotated and adjusted the lens several times before launching into an introduction to planets and constellations and distant stars. He referenced legends and mythology, but distracted by his closeness and my newfound realizations, I barely registered anything he said.
I was still under a kind of spell when Bryce showed me how to make the s’mores. Loading marshmallows onto wooden stakes, he showed me how high above the flames to hold them so they wouldn’t catch on fire. Assembling the graham crackers and Hershey bars, we each put together our s’mores, savoring the sweet and gooey delight. I watched as a strand of marshmallow trailed from his lips on his first bite, making him lean forward and fumble with the s’more. He sat up quickly, bobbling the sticky concoction, somehow getting the strand into his mouth. He laughed, reminding me t
hat as good as he was at practically everything, he never seemed to take himself too seriously.
A few minutes later he stood from his chair and walked back to his truck. Daisy trailed behind as Bryce pulled something large and bulky from the bed; I couldn’t tell what it was. He carried it past our spot and finally stopped at the hard-packed sand near the water’s edge. Only when he launched the kite did I recognize what he was holding, and I watched it rise higher, until it vanished in the darkness.
He waved at me with childlike glee, and I rose from my spot to join him.
“A kite?”
“Robert and my dad helped me build it,” he explained.
“But I can’t see it.”
“Can you hold this for a second?”
Though I hadn’t flown a kite since I was a child, this one seemed glued to the sky. From his back pocket, Bryce pulled out what appeared to be a remote control, similar to a television’s. He pressed a button and the kite suddenly materialized against the dark sky, lit by what I guessed were red Christmas lights. The lights ran along the wood framing, etching a large triangle and series of boxes in the sky.
“Surprise,” he said.
I took in his excited face, then turned back to the kite again. It bobbed a little and I moved my arm, watching the kite respond. I let out some more string, watching as the kite rose higher, almost hypnotized by the sight. Bryce was staring up at it, too.
“Christmas lights?” I said in wonder.
“Yes, along with batteries and a receiver. I can make the lights blink if you’d like.”
“Let’s leave it the way it is,” I said.
Bryce and I stood close enough that I sensed his warmth despite the wind. When I concentrated, I could feel the seashell pendant pressing against my skin; I thought about dinner and the fire and the s’mores and the telescope. Staring up at the kite, I thought about who I’d been when I’d first arrived in Ocracoke and marveled at the new person I’d become.
I sensed Bryce turn toward me and I mirrored him, watching as he took a hesitant step closer. He reached out, placing a hand on my hip, and all at once, I knew what was coming. I felt as he tugged me ever so slightly, his head beginning to tilt. He leaned toward me, his lips drawing ever closer, until they finally touched my own.
It was a gentle kiss, soft and sweet, and part of me wanted to stop him. I wanted to remind him that I was pregnant and a visitor who would soon be leaving; I should have told him there was no future for us as a couple.
But I didn’t say anything. Instead, feeling his arms slide around me and his body press against mine, I suddenly knew I wanted this. His mouth slowly opened and when our tongues came together, I lost myself in a world where spending time with him was the only thing that mattered. Where holding him and kissing him were all I ever wanted.
It wasn’t my first kiss, or even my first French kiss, but it was the first kiss that felt perfect and right in every way, and when we finally separated, I heard him sigh.
“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that,” he whispered. “I love you, Maggie.”
Instead of answering, I leaned back into him, allowing him to hold me, feeling as his fingertips gently traced my spine. I imagined his heart beating in unison with my own, even as his breath seemed steadier than mine.
My body was shaky, and yet I’d never felt more comfortable, more complete.
“Oh, Bryce,” I murmured, the words coming naturally. “I love you, too.”
Holiday Spirit and Christmas Eve
Manhattan
December 2019
In the glow of the gallery’s Christmas tree lights, the memory of that kiss remained vivid in Maggie’s mind. Her throat was dry, and she wondered how long she’d been speaking. As usual, Mark had stayed quiet as she’d recounted the events of that period of her life. He was leaning forward, forearms on his thighs, his hands clasped together.
“Wow,” he finally said. “The perfect kiss?”
“Yeah,” she agreed. “I know how it sounds. But…that’s what it was. To this day, it’s the kiss that all others have been compared to.”
He smiled. “I’m happy you had the chance to experience that, but I admit it leaves me feeling a little intimidated.”
“Why?”
“Because when Abigail hears about it, she may ask herself whether she’s missing out—she might go off in search of her own perfect kiss.”
Laughing, Maggie tried to recall how long it had been since she’d sat with a friend for hours and simply…talked. Without self-consciousness or worries, where she felt like she could really be herself? Too long…
“I’m sure Abigail melts whenever you kiss her,” she teased.
Mark blushed to his hairline. Then, suddenly serious, he said, “You meant it. When you said you loved him.”
“I’m not sure I ever stopped loving him.”
“And?”
“And you’ll have to wait to hear the rest. I don’t have the energy to keep going tonight.”
“Fair enough,” he said. “It can hold. But I hope you don’t make me wait too long.”
She stared at the tree, inspecting its shape, the glittering and artfully draped ribbons. “It’s hard for me to believe this will be my last Christmas,” she mused. “Thank you for helping me make it even more special.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m honored you’ve chosen to spend part of it with me.”
“You know what I’ve never done? Even though I’ve lived in New York City all these years?”
“Seen The Nutcracker?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never gone ice skating at Rockefeller Center under the giant tree. In fact, I haven’t even seen the tree except on TV since my early years here.”
“Then we should go! The gallery is closed tomorrow, so why not?”
“I don’t know how to ice skate,” she said with a wistful expression. And I’m not sure I’d have the energy, even if I did.
“I do,” he said. “I played hockey, remember? I can help you.”
She eyed him uncertainly. “Don’t you have something better to do on your day off? You shouldn’t feel like it’s your responsibility to indulge your boss’s crazy whims.”
“Believe me, it sounds a lot more fun than what I usually do on Sundays.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“Laundry. Grocery shopping. A little video gaming. Are we on?”
“I’m going to need to sleep late. I wouldn’t be ready until midafternoon.”
“Why don’t we meet at the gallery at two or so? We can catch an Uber uptown together.”
Despite her reservations, she agreed. “Okay.”
“And afterwards, depending on how you feel, maybe you can fill me in on what happened next between you and Bryce.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Let’s see how I feel.”
* * *
Back in her apartment, Maggie felt a profound exhaustion overtake her, pulling her down like an undertow. She removed her jacket and lay down in bed, wanting to rest her eyes for a minute before changing into her pajamas.
She woke at half-past noon the following day, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn the day before.
It was Sunday, December 22, three days before Christmas.
* * *
Even if she trusted Mark, Maggie was nervous about the thought of falling on ice. Though she’d slept heavily overnight—she doubted she’d even rolled over—she felt weaker than normal, even for her. The pain was back, too, simmering just below a boil, making even the thought of eating impossible.
Her mom had called earlier that morning and left a short message, just checking in on her, hoping she was doing well—the usual—but even in the message, Maggie could hear the strains of worry. Worrying, Maggie had long ago decided, was the way her mom showed Maggie how much she loved her.
But it was also wearying. Worrying, after all, had its roots in disapproval—as though Maggie’s life would have been better if only she’d
listened to her mom all along—and over time it had become her mom’s default position.
While Maggie had wanted to wait until Christmas, she knew she had to call back. If she didn’t, she’d likely receive another, even more frantic message. She sat on the edge of the bed and, after glancing at the clock, realized there was a chance her parents would be at church, which would be ideal. She could leave a message, say that she had a busy day ahead, and avoid the potential for any unnecessary stress. But no such luck. Her mom picked up on the second ring.
They spoke for twenty minutes. Maggie asked about her father and Morgan and her nieces, and her mom dutifully filled her in. She asked Maggie how she was feeling, and Maggie replied that she was doing as well as could be expected. Thankfully, it stopped there and Maggie breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she’d be able to hide the truth until after the holiday. Toward the end of the conversation, Maggie’s father got on the line, and he was his normal laconic self. They spoke about the weather in Seattle and New York, he updated her on the season the Seahawks were having—he loved football—and mentioned that he’d purchased a set of binoculars for Christmas. When Maggie asked why, she was told that her mom had joined a bird-watching club. Maggie wondered how long the interest in the club would last and assumed it would go the same way as other clubs her mom had joined over the years. Initially there would be a lot of enthusiasm and Maggie would listen to raves about how fascinating the members were; after a few months, her mom would note that there were a few people in the club she didn’t get along with; and later, she’d announce to Maggie that she’d quit because most of the people were just awful. In her mom’s world, someone else was always the problem.
Her dad said nothing else, and after hanging up the phone, Maggie wished again that she had a different relationship with her parents, especially with her mom. A relationship characterized more by laughter than by sighs. Most of her friends had good relationships with their moms. Even Trinity got along with his mom, and he was temperamental when compared to other artists. Why was it so hard for Maggie?
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