December 22, 2003
It was through a haze of a very sour whiskey sour hangover that I had spent the weekend cleaning up my apartment and trying to remember the significant events of the party.
1. My tree was trimmed. With its colored lights and multi-generational, multicultural mishmash of ornaments, this tree had character.
2. Ryan had invited everyone at my party to his place for an open house on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t remember his face, but I assume that he must have been as drunk as I was to extend such a sweeping invitation. Which reminded me, I needed to warn Ryan to expect a crowd. Knowing my friends, they’d show.
3. Everyone had celebrated Sugar’s appearance in Playboy. I vaguely remembered extracting staples so that we didn’t rip her belly button.
On Monday, at the office, Nicole was so in love with Ryan, she was chattering a mile a minute. “He lives in a carriage house. Have you seen his place? It’s so charming, sort of like a country home in the middle of the city. I’m helping him decorate for the open house. You’re coming, aren’t you? Oh, it’s going to be a wonderful party. By the way, Ryan wanted to make sure you’re still on for the toy delivery today. You’re supposed to call him if it’s cancelled. You have his number, right? At the architectural design firm? I can’t believe I’m dating an architect . . .”
I tried to ignore her as I draped gluey newspaper around the cardboard tube from a paper towel, trying to shape my creation into a mummy’s sarcophagus. It was one of the crafts I was writing up for our Ancient Arts Educational Guide, and I never included a craft that I couldn’t do myself. However, when I chose this activity, I hadn’t expected to have the nearly irresistible desire to cover myself with sticky paper and curl up in a mummy’s coffin for a few thousand years.
Why was I so depressed? I had just matched up two people who were bound to be infinitely more happy than J. Lo and Ben. I had just thrown one of the wildest, most festive, tree-trimming parties in my building’s history (much to Ralph’s dismay—he’d warned me that I’d be getting a slap on the wrist from the co-op board).
Pinching the edges of my mummy’s head, I shaped a headdress, then sat it on the edge of my desk to dry. Tomorrow, I would see whether paint or markers worked best to draw the face and decorate the body. So far, the project seemed easy enough, though my hands, covered with varying layers of white, peeling glue, were beginning to resemble a decaying mummy. I was on my way to the rest room to wash my gluey hands when I nearly ran into Ryan in the reception area.
“Oh, that’s right, we’ve got a delivery this afternoon,” I said, peeling some dried glue from one thumb. Then I noticed that Ryan held a bouquet of flowers—red roses surrounded by a delicate white spray. I lifted my peeling hands toward them, feeling a little tickled that he’d brought me flowers, then annoyed that he was so persistent with this ridiculous courtship . . . then embarrassed when I realized they probably weren’t for me.
“They’re for Nicole,” he said, confirming my suspicion. “What happened to your hands? Molting season?”
“I was doing a kid project,” I said, dropping my hands to my sides. “Why don’t you go on into the office? I’ll be there in a second.” Swiftly I turned away to make my escape. Maybe if I dunked my head in cold water my big, red face would cool down.
When I returned to the office, Ryan sat on the edge of Nicole’s desk, which was beside mine, while Nicole fluttered around looking for a flower vase and gushing over how “gooagious” the flowers were.
“Did you see them, Madison?” she asked. “Aren’t they beautiful? That was so sweet of you, Ryan. Flowers for no reason. Isn’t he great?”
“He’s amazing.” I sat at my desk and shook the mouse to bring my computer to life. “If you don’t mind, Ryan, I just want to update my notes before we go. We’re actually not due at KayBee Toys for another hour.”
“No problem,” he said, swinging around toward my desk. He leaned close to my sticky project. “What’s this? A model of a mummy?”
“Ten points for you,” I said, clicking open the Ancient Treasures file. “It’s one of the projects that will be added to our family guide for the Ancient Treasures exhibit.”
“A guidebook?”
“Actually, it’s a complimentary activity book that’s given out to all visitors under the age of twelve.” I handed him a pamphlet from our Medieval World exhibit. “It contains kid-friendly information about the exhibit, along with activities to reinforce learning at home. Places to draw pictures, crosswords, word searches, projects.”
He flipped through the family guide. “You wrote this?”
I nodded. “That’s my job.”
“It’s great. Very accessible, and I like the choice of illustration.”
My fingers flew over the keyboard as I wrote in a few new sentences. “I didn’t bust my butt on an MFA for nothing.”
“Do you enjoy your work?”
I paused, my fingers poised over the keyboard. “Actually, I do. When I came here, the museum had nothing in the way of educational programs. Attendance was down, and when children came to visit, the docents didn’t have tours that tied in with school curricula. Now, all that’s changed. Not only do we have docents trained to guide school groups, but also we have the educational materials to reinforce what kids learned on their visit.” I shrugged. “I feel as if I made a difference here, and it’s a joy to write about art treasures from different historic periods.”
He nodded. “That’s what it’s about, isn’t it? Making a difference. Accomplishing goals that matter to you.”
“Yes,” I said, thoughtfully. “That’s true.” I hadn’t thought much about my job since I’d joined the museum four years ago, but looking back, I was proud of the body of work I’d accomplished here.
“My niece would love this,” he said. “Maybe she can tour the museum when she visits for Christmas.”
“I’m sure we can get her in,” I said, projecting ahead. Christmas was Thursday, and at the moment, aside from the open house at Ryan’s place, my calendar was completely open. Hell, I could give the kid a personally guided tour.
I was that available. Scary.
A few minutes later, I yanked Ryan away from a gushing, blushing Nicole and headed off to KayBee Toys to pick up a shipment of dolls, games, and cars. Today’s booty was headed for Union Hill Hospital, where the pediatrics ward was in need of some diversions for their patients. When we arrived at the hospital, we were given wheelie carts and told to bring the gifts straight to the ward, where a nurse met us with a smile.
“This is wonderful!” she said. “The children are in the dayroom, and they’ll be thrilled to see you. If you’ll suit up, you can go on in and give out some of the toys yourself.”
I looked at Ryan. “Do you have the time?” Although we’d made nearly a dozen toy deliveries, this was the first time we were invited to meet the children.
“Sure,” he said. “Just wish I’d brought my clown nose.”
Suiting up meant changing into scrubs in prints of pink, bright red, purple, and turquoise. “Some of the children have compromised immune systems, so we need to keep out the street bacteria,” the nurse said. She even gave us little booties to cover our shoes. Then we headed in.
“We heard you needed some new toys in here,” I said as we wheeled in our stash.
“Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!” Ryan bellowed, making me laugh.
A little girl with bright eyes and baby dreads looked up from her wheelchair. “You’re not Santa,” she said. “You’re way too skinny.”
“And I don’t come from the North Pole, either,” Ryan said, going over to squat beside her so that his face was at her level. “You’re very observant. What’s your name?”
I handed cars to two squealing boys who were playing with blocks on a mat. As I grabbed a few dolls, Ryan settled in with his new friend Nayasia.
She frowned at him. “Where you from?”
“Northern California,” he said. “But don’t hold it against me. Would you
like a doll?” When she looked away, he added: “No, you look too mature for dolls. How about a game? Monopoly? Guess Who?”
“Guess Who,” Nayasia said.
“Excellent choice,” Ryan said, taking the game from the cart. “I never did understand why anyone would want to invent a game about American economics.”
She laughed as he handed her the game and wheeled her over to a table. “You’re funny.”
As Ryan started a game with Nayasia, I handed out toys to the other children in the room. I got down on the mat to play with the boys, who seemed to enjoy knocking down every tower I built by driving their car into it. A few minutes later, a nurse came to take them back to their rooms, and other children came in. I made sure each child received a gift, but Ryan made sure they all had a chance to laugh. He clowned around, juggling blocks, then stacking them on his head to do a dramatic pratfall on the mat. He made a show of letting one of the baby dolls wet his shirt, then complained that the doll was leaking. The girls got a huge giggle out of that one.
By the time we left, I was feeling warm and fuzzy toward this new Ryan, a guy who could laugh at himself and reach kids on their own level. As we walked toward the lobby, I couldn’t help but tease him. “What’s with the comedy routine? Have you been taking lessons from Jim Carrey?”
“Those kids need a few laughs,” he said.
“But from you? I mean, honestly, Ryan, I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“See, that’s the thing about you, Madison. You’ve got me pigeon-holed in this pimply high school geek place. What would you say my greatest flaws were?”
“Before today?” I bit my lip. “Well, that you’re corny and sort of dull and ... persistent.”
“Aha! I knew it.” He pointed a finger at me as we reached the lobby. “You left out pimply.”
“Not anymore.” Outside, fat flakes of snow were falling.
“I love snow in December.” I smiled. “So fair is fair. Now you get to take a shot at me. What are my greatest flaws?”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s easy. You’re inflexible, resistant to change, and stubborn as a bull.”
“I am not! That is so not true.”
“Do you want to cancel your evening plans and have dinner with me?”
“No way.”
He grinned. “Told you.” He flicked a finger on my nose, then danced off into the snow, jumping up to click his heels. “I’m singin’ in the snow,” he sang.
I stood there in awe. Who was this man?
“Corny, maybe,” he called to me. “But dull? Now that is completely wrong. You underestimate me.”
Buttoning my coat under the hospital awning, I realized Ryan was right. I had mistaken him for the guy he was ten years ago, and he’d definitely evolved into a person with many facets and dimensions. But silliness? Who was this man, dancing and singing down the snowy avenue?
I was no longer quite sure.
34
December 22, 2003
When my cell phone rang I was on the eighth floor of Bloomingdale’s, holding a delicate pink blown-glass ornament frosted at the top with sparkling white glitter. It was shaped like a tiny little sprite, an enthralled pixie holding a thin glass wand that stretched out, as if casting a spell over the world. The wand wobbled in place, but the salesclerk had checked in the back and this was the last one. I figured that was an omen, so I had to have it. Although the ornament wasn’t very Christmasy, something about it had attracted me. The fairy was so ethereal and joyous that I wanted her on my tree, bringing a ray of hope into my life.
But really, how many more ornaments did I need? She was totally impractical. Which made me want her that much more.
Anyway, when my cell rang, I had to put her on the shelf beside two baskets of candy canes and dig through my bag. I flipped open the phone. “Hello?”
“It’s me.” Ryan. Why was I disappointed? He was supposed to meet me here in half an hour.
“I’m at Bloomingdale’s already,” he said. “Do you want me to go up to the customer service office and get things going?”
“No, no, I’m here, too. Meet me up on the eighth floor and we’ll go together.”
“Gotcha.”
I moved down the aisle, browsing through snow globes of Victorian scenes and Hanukkah candies. I was eyeing some adorable foil-wrapped chocolate dreidels when Ryan joined me.
He wore a brown leather bomber jacket and worn blue jeans—very casual, but there was something different about him. His eyes seemed sharper, shinier, and happy. Ryan looked as if he’d just won the lottery.
“Wow.” He put his hands in his pockets and eyeballed the place. “Wow.”
“Ready to go?” I asked. “Customer service is just around the corner.”
“This is an amazing place,” he said, walking over to a bin of ornaments. “The music, the decorations . . . I mean, look at these trees. What a fabulous Christmasland. Don’t you just want to crawl under one of the tables and stay until New Year’s?”
I clutched the edge of a fake snow-covered bin and wondered why the right things happened with the wrong person. This was the reaction I had been waiting for all these years. Finally, a man who shared my hopeless enthusiasm for Christmas, and with my screwy luck that man had to be Ryan. The fates were definitely cursing me this year.
“It’s a great little Christmas boutique,” I said begrudgingly. “Let me just pay for this ornament and then we’ll go.” I went back to the shelf with the candy canes and reached for my little pink fairy. She sat there on the shelf, but somehow her little glass wand had broken off.
“Oh, no,” I frowned. “My little fairy of hope.”
“Nice ornament,” Ryan said.
“It’s broken.” Disappointment weighed me down.
He looked closely. “I see. Where did you find it? You can pick up another one.”
“No, it’s the last one,” I said, sitting her on the shelf again. I hated to leave her behind, and I wondered how she had snapped apart. “We’d better go,” I said, feeling inordinately sad about the little pink ornament. Hormones, I told myself as Ryan and I headed off to customer service. Hormone imbalance coupled with Christmas frenzy. A dangerous combination.
It turned out that our toy donation was ready, but the customer service people wanted to gift wrap them for us. “It’ll just take us an hour or so,” said the store representative. “Why don’t you go take a walk or something and meet us at the loading dock in two hours?”
“Hungry?” Ryan asked.
I had to admit, it had been awhile since I’d eaten. “You know, there’s a cute place near here, and if you liked the Christmasland, you’ll love Serendipity,” I said, thinking of Serendipity 3. It was one of those little fairy-tale enclaves that put on a festive, whimsical face even when it wasn’t decorated for Christmas. Besides, they sold cool little toys downstairs. “Let’s go grab a sandwich.”
While we waited for a table at Serendipity, Ryan and I had fun playing with the little toys and sorting through the sparkly tchotchkes in the ninety million bins lining the shelves. The restaurant was draped with garland adorned with glittering white lights, just enough glitter to make you feel festive without feeling like you’re in a casino.
“Check this out,” he said, showing me a spinning whirly doo-hickey.
“How do you make that spin? I was working on that one for hours,” I insisted.
“I’ll give you lessons at the table,” he said, handing me the toy. After we were seated, he showed me how to operate the complicated gizmo. It twirled so fast it made my hair blow back.
“I see. Yes, Ryan, that engineering degree has definitely paid off. Your mother would be proud to know that you can make the whirligigs at toy stores go round.”
He grinned. “I always told you I had hidden talents.”
“Right.” I snapped open my menu, realizing I’d been unduly hard on Ryan over the years. His intentions were always kind, and underneath that dull facade he had a smart sense of humor.
Yes, I’d underestimated him. Nicole would have to thank me big-time. I’d reeled in a major catch and dropped him right into her fishing basket.
“So tell me,” I said, feeling a burst of seasonal generosity. “How is everything going for you here in New York? I mean, it must be kind of hard to come to a strange city and just strike out on your own.”
“So far it’s been great,” he said. “I live in a warm house with a lot of character, and you and Todd have introduced me to some nice people. I enjoy my work.” He spread his hands out expansively. “Life is good.”
“Really?” I smiled. “I’m so jealous.”
He laughed. “Why? From what I see you have a wonderful life, too. It’s a Wonderful Life, George Bailey.”
I winced. “Do I sound ungrateful? Because I don’t mean to be. It’s just that I’m not really where I had planned to be at thirty-one.”
“And where might that be?”
I squirmed in my chair, a little uncomfortable at revealing so much to Ryan, but I was the one who opened this can of worms, and besides, it was Ryan, the mayor of understanding.
“You know, maybe engineering was wrong for you. Did you ever think of psychology?”
“You’re dodging my question,” he said. “What’s so secretive about your life plan?”
“It’s no secret. It’s just . . . a little ordinary when you get down to it. But to answer your question, I thought I would be married by now, with one or two kids. I mean, the husband thing still is a possibility for me, but at the rate things are going, it’s not likely to happen until I hit retirement age. Which would then rule out the possibility of kids.”
He nodded. “And you haven’t met anyone who could help you along with your dream?”
I let out a breath. “Not even close. Well, there was one guy . . . I really thought we were in love, but he turned out to be all facade. A big fake. He was married, lying to me about it all the time. Can you imagine? I felt so stupid . . . and hurt.”
“But you haven’t met the person who completes you? Your soul mate?”
Ghosts of Boyfriends Past Page 27
