“I’d rather think of what I might be doing a year from now.”
“Let’s don’t.”
Genevie’s stern words surprised me. “Why not?”
She shook her head and looked down at the table.
“What? What’d I say?”
“Nothing. It’s nothing.”
“Gen, what? Look at me. What’d I say?”
In the glow of the candlelight, I could see the glistening of tears in her dark brown eyes. She wiped them away and smiled. “I didn’t want to bring this up tonight.”
“What do you mean? Bring what up?”
“Well, I just got some news this week—I was offered a job at a counseling office I had applied to a while ago. Starting this spring.”
“That’s great, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve been looking for.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“I didn’t even know—”
“I know. I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin tonight with all of this.”
“You’re not. You haven’t ruined anything. This is great news.”
“The office is in Northern California, close to where my father lives.”
The air went out of me with her words. I breathed in and nodded, understanding now why she was hesitant in talking about the job and why she had not told me.
“California? Wow.”
“I haven’t said anything in response yet. I just found out this week.”
I nodded. “Does it sound like a good job?”
Tears dampened her eyes as she nodded. “A very good job.”
I swallowed hard, then forced myself to smile. “Then we should be celebrating. That’s really wonderful.”
“It is?”
“Of course it is. You’ve been looking for something like this, right? Why wouldn’t you be excited?”
I shouldn’t have said that. I was provoking her, trying to get an answer. I knew what I wanted to hear. I was only unsure if I would actually hear it.
“I am. It’s just… well, you know why, Sheridan.”
“What? A great job. Going back to be around your family. You have every right to be excited.”
She looked at me with kind yet sad eyes. Her raven hair was pulled back except for a few falling strands that dangled perfectly along her cheek. “But it seems like everything is going so well—with us, I mean—and now, well…”
She controlled her tears and wiped them away. I should have never forced her to admit anything.
“I’m sorry, Gen. Look, I understand. I mean, I think I do. Look, this isn’t really good news for me, either. I don’t want you moving halfway across the country, not after I just met you.”
“I know.”
“I guess I’m not sure where things stand between us right now. Not exactly.”
“I don’t either. I thought I was beginning to. And I just… well, I assumed this job in California wouldn’t happen, that I wouldn’t hear back from them. So now I don’t know… “
“Gen, I don’t want to pressure you. That’s the last thing I want to do with you. Like I said, these last few months have been incredible. But if I can only be around you for a few months… well… so be it.”
“Is that all you want?”
“Are you kidding?” I laughed. “Look at this, Gen. You think I would do this for anyone?”
She smiled in answer.
“If some of my old buddies could see me now. Candles and music and all that. They’d flip. Though my mother would approve…”
“I admit, it’s all pretty incredible.”
“Well, then, why don’t we just concentrate on tonight? Let’s not talk about California and jobs and all that stuff.” I took her hand. “We can talk about all that later.”
“You do still have your presents to open.”
“I’m expecting something big, you know,” I said with forced levity.
“Just wait.”
We opened presents around nine o’clock, after watching It’s a Wonderful Life while we ate dessert. All during the movie, as Genevie snuggled against me on the couch with her boots off and a blanket over her and her head resting on my shoulder, I couldn’t help wanting to kiss her. At the end of the film, as Genevie’s eyes teared up with emotion, I kissed her gently on the cheek and told her again how beautiful she looked.
Then we gathered all the wrapped packages from under the tree and started to unwrap them.
The dogs came first, of course. Gen had bought Barney and Ralphie each a flavored bone to chew on, which they began doing with contented looks on their furry faces—until Ralph grew bored with his and decided to investigate Uncle Barney’s.
After we separated the two animals, I opened my gifts from Genevie. The first turned out to be a wonderful book that featured interviews with various movie composers.
“Where’d you find this?”
“It’s new,” she said, her grin revealing her pleasure in my surprise. “Amazing the things you can find on the Internet.”
“It’s great.”
The second gift was small, heavy, and square. I opened the box to find a silver model of a piano. The meaning was obvious, and I thanked her for it without saying too much. I didn’t want to let her see me get too emotional.
The third gift was a leather journal with the following words inscribed on the cover: Sheridan Blake’s Musical Journal.
“It’s for writing music in,” she told me. “Some of the pages have musical staffs, and some are plain. For the words…”
I held the journal and marveled at the thoughtfulness of her gifts. She knew me better than I thought she did—not only what I would like but also what I needed.
“These are… these are all very unexpected, Gen. Thank you.”
She beamed. “I knew you’d like them.”
“Okay,” I said. “You have to open your gifts now.”
“Oh, Sheridan, your dinner is enough of a present.”
“I know. It was a culinary masterpiece. But go on, open them.”
I had given her three things as well. One was a cassette with choice selections from all my favorite soundtracks.
“I’ll love this,” she said, turning it over.
“It’s got a lot of music from movies we’ve seen together.”
“Thank you. I can’t wait to hear it.”
“I chose music that reminded me of you. Music that seemed full of passion and life.”
And love, a thought told me.
The second gift was a pendant I had found at a jeweler a while back—a ruby stone in a gold setting. I had made sure it didn’t look ostentatious or too expensive, but it had been costly. I was glad to spend some of the money in my savings account on this gift for Genevie. She certainly deserved it.
“It’s gorgeous. Sheridan, you shouldn’t have.”
“It’s no big deal, really. I wasn’t sure if you’d like it, but—”
“I love it.”
It’s almost as beautiful as you are, Gen.
She tried it on. She gave me a hug since we were sitting together on the couch. “What’s this?” she asked of the small box.
“That’s your third gift.”
She opened it up. It was another cassette tape. On it was a single recording, a piece I had composed a couple of days ago. It was entitled “Genevie.”
She read the word and then looked at me with curiosity.
“It’s something I wrote the other day,” I said.
“And you put it on this tape?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t that difficult. I was playing around with my synthesizer for the first time in a while, and—well, that’s what came out.”
I looked at Gen’s eyes and the tears came again. Her hands trembled, and she looked up at me with questioning, surrendering eyes. “Sheridan, I can’t believe you wrote this for me—”
“It’s nothing, really. I just—well, I hope you like it.”
“Can I play it now?”
“No, please—”
“Oh, I want to.
”
“Please, I’d rather you didn’t.”
“Why?” Gen asked.
“I get uncomfortable seeing others react to my music. It’s always been a very private thing for me.”
“Okay. But I’m going to listen to it the second I get back to my room.”
“That’s fine. I hope you do.”
Her gleaming eyes were only inches from my own. So was her smile, her upturned lips. And her trembling hands holding something that had obviously struck a chord within her.
The CD player in the background played “It Came upon the Midnight Clear.” The candles in the room still glowed. The lights weren’t as bright as they had been. Maybe that was my imagination, but I couldn’t tell since I was looking into Genevie’s eyes and nothing else really mattered.
“Thank you,” Genevie told me as she placed the tape next to her.
I was going to say “you’re welcome,” but Genevie stopped me with a soft and gentle kiss. We stayed on the couch for a long time, the rest of the world seeming far away.
Then with her cheek against mine, she whispered words I will never forget. “Thank you for coming into my life when you did. I don’t think you’ll know how much I needed someone like you to be here.”
The words felt like they could have been my own.
December 26
Dear Amy,
This past week I’ve been able to forget about these letters I’ve been writing to you. I have actually been able to forget about the past. But as I come to the familiar lines on this paper, I once again am reminded.
I wonder what would have happened had I never encountered you. Where would I be? Would I be at this point now in my life?
Would I have ever met Genevie?
I can never go back and change the past. No matter how many letters I write, Amy. No matter how many times I try to say I’m sorry. But for the first time, I’m wondering if this was all in God’s plan. I’ve despised people mouthing that phrase in the midst of tragedy. But maybe—maybe God can work miracles—even out of horrible mistakes.
Sheridan
fourteen
An hour before midnight on Christmas Eve, in a hard pew of a warm church full of more than a thousand people, I found myself far away in another time and another place. I imagined what it must have been like for Joseph and Mary, two familiar characters who took on a whole new meaning when I actually thought of them as real people. As the pastor spoke, I imagined their joy at the birth of their baby. Their wonder at all the events that went with his birth—with perhaps some anxiety over what was to come.
I thought of my special evening with Genevie and wondered if I could give up something so dear to me for the sake of someone else. But wasn’t this what Christ did? Didn’t he step down from the glory of heaven to live on earth as a simple and mortal man? Didn’t he walk away from God’s beauty and adoration to save sinners he had every right not to save?
Would I have done something even remotely similar? Of course I wouldn’t have.
Why did you, Lord? Why did you come? Why would you allow yourself to be away from the magnificence of your home to be put to death by a bunch of uncaring, unknowing mortals?
The birth was truly a miracle—not just because Mary was a virgin, but because Jesus actually came. He had every right not to come, but he did—for a world that still had no clue who he was.
Do they have a clue even now, Lord? Do I have any clue? Will I ever possibly begin to understand the sacrifice you made in coming here to save us?
During the final song and prayer of the service, I felt a love toward the Lord that I had not felt in years. Perhaps in a decade.
Would I ever be able to really feel the love I knew he had toward me?
Genevie stood at the front door of my parents’ house, smiling nervously. An hour earlier I had picked her up on campus, and we had driven to the suburbs.
I raised my eyebrows and returned her gesture of slight alarm. “It’ll be fine. They’re pretty harmless, you know.”
The door opened on my mother and all her typical radiance, who folded me in a warm hug.
“Mom, this is Genevie Liu.”
“Well, hello, Genevie. It’s certainly a pleasure to meet you. And it’s so good to see Barney again. But who might this be?”
“This is Ralphie, Gen’s puppy,” I told my mom. “We couldn’t exactly leave him alone all day.”
“Sheridan bought him for me as a gift.”
“Well, he’s certainly cute.”
“I’ll stick him in my room for today. We brought his crate and everything. He’ll be fine. He’s almost house-trained.”
“Sheridan’s just joking,” Genevie told her.
“I can grab some old blankets for him,” my mom said.
“Your house is beautiful,” Genevie said as she gave my mother her leather coat and took off her cap, revealing a waterfall of shiny dark hair.
“Come on in, please. Are you two hungry?”
“No, we just stopped off at Taco Bell a couple of minutes ago.”
“Well, that’s okay, I guess, because—”
“Mom, I’m kidding.”
She looked at me with startled eyes, then registered understanding and forced a smile. I realized Mom wasn’t used to my joking around, at least not lately. After we took care of Ralphie, leaving him in his crate in a corner of my bedroom with Barney for company and some blankets for warmth, Mom led us through a large hallway toward the kitchen. I had grown accustomed to the surroundings of my home, but Genevie stopped and looked at the photos on the wall.
“Are these of you and your sister?”
“Yeah, that’s us. Mom and Dad took a lot of photos of us when we were kids. This is the photo wall. Kinda embarrassing every time someone comes over and sees all of this.”
“Is that you?” She pointed at the baby giggling into the camera.
“Yep.”
“Look how blond your hair was. And those curls!”
“I think I should dye it back to that color. I always thought it fit me.”
“These are great. You were a cute kid.”
“Thanks. Yeah, things took a turn for the worse in my junior high years,” I joked.
Genevie poked me in the ribs. “And this is your sister, right?”
I nodded.
“She lives in Washington?”
“Yeah,” I replied. “She and her husband usually come for Christmas. But she just got pregnant after several miscarriages, and the doctor advised her not to fly. So they weren’t able to come this year.”
“You get along with her?” Genevie asked.
“Yeah, now that we’re apart. When we were young I got on her nerves, but now we’re pretty good friends.”
“Do you keep in touch with her much?”
“No. Not as much as I should. I’m not good at long-distance relationships.”
Genevie looked at me. I suddenly realized what I had said, but I didn’t know how to take it back. I just stood there, feeling like a clod. She nodded and walked into the kitchen, deep in thought.
Christmas at the Blake home is never a simple and small affair. It’s more like a month-long marathon full of carols and decorations and shopping and wrapping and candles and cookies and pecan pies and ham and turkey and presents that all culminates in a massive family gathering at our house on Christmas Day. It has been this way for many years—too many to remember the last time it was somewhere else. My parents hire lots of extra help and invite as many people in our family as possible. On this Christmas I knew there might be close to thirty-five people in the sweet-smelling abode where we had just arrived.
Fine for some people, but if anyone were to ask me, I’d tell them I enjoyed smaller gatherings, like the kind we had on Thanksgiving. I always felt like a stranger at one of these family functions—like my family had just written me off as the quiet and artsy musical type and declined to talk to me. It was my fault, to be honest, and I guess years ago I gave up trying to talk over certain l
ouder and more extroverted personalities.
The thing with my parents was that they loved to host an event, but they disliked going somewhere else for one. This is why we stayed at home on Thanksgiving. They loved gathering at their own home so they could control everything—food choices, who came, what games were played, and on and on. Mom could be the perfect hostess, while my father could escape to his study if the company became too overwhelming.
I was sure this year would be more of the same.
Except I had Genevie at my side—and that made everything different.
Walking into the huge family room, which opened up into the oversized kitchen, I said hello to the usual suspects. Uncle Aaron, whom everyone called Uncle Buck because he looked and acted like John Candy in the movie by that title, was Dad’s brother. His tiny wife, Evelyn, still managed to laugh at his jokes. Aaron and Evelyn’s twins, Josh and Jim, were a few years younger than me—they were the ones training for the Olympics. Then there was my dad’s mother, Grandma K as we all called her, who had been rather senile as long as I had known her and who scared me with her probing sinister stares and with questions like “Who in the blue blazes are you?” Aunt Kate, Dad’s older sister, was the mother of Debbie, a tall, blonde cousin two years younger than me, who I always thought could have been a model but instead was a full-time mother of the three kids who were running and whooping through the rooms, dodging around small groups of other family and friends.
Uncle Buck gave me a big bear hug when he ran into me. He smelled like the assorted nuts he had been swiping from the fancy dish in the living room.
“And who’s this lovely lady?” he belted out.
“Genevie Liu,” she replied with no hint of nervousness. I was amazed. Uncle Buck tended to intimidate people, including me.
“Genevie, what’s a pretty woman like yourself doing with this heathen of a boy?”
“Actually, he told me there would be an outstanding Christmas dinner here. I only came for the food.”
Uncle Buck laughed as Gen smiled at me. “Good enough reason. That’s why I come.”
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