Page 47 of This Christmas
I love my life and there was a time when Zane wanted this life as well. I truly wonder if he’s ready forthis. And I wonder if I’m ready or even willing to give it to him.
Kissing him is nice though. For so many years I put it out of my mind—what it felt like to be kissed by him; what it felt like to be in his presence. He’s always had an air about him. Strong and confident, but not arrogant. Growing up, people would comment on how well Bernie raised Zane, mostly as a single parent. Zane could’ve easily gone off the rails and become a menace, but he didn’t. He excelled in high school, as an undergrad, and then law school. He would’ve graduated the top of our class had he not left. His boss must have a lot of pull in order to get Zane’s last semester transferred so he could graduate in New York.
Did he graduate?
I look over my shoulder at Zane, standing in the large window looking out over Main Street. After we finished at the community center, we ordered a pizza to go, and stopped by the store to make sure his father didn’t need help closing up. The smile on Mr. Whitaker’s face when Zane walked in was brighter than a thousand bulbs. He is so happy his son is home. Can’t say I blame him.
Now, the empty pizza box sits on my counter, ready to go in the trash downstairs, and I stand at my stove, boiling water for hot cocoa while Christmas music plays from my portable speaker. I look at Zane again, and this time I catch him looking at my tree. It’s not a huge tree, but perfect for the space next to the other window. I don’t have a lot of ornaments on there, mostly white lights with red bows.
Once the kettle whistles, I add the water to the hot chocolate mixture my mom has mastered but refuses to give me the recipe for. Someday, she will. Her and my dad talk about selling the house and land, and retiring. The thought makes my stomach churn. I know the tree farm is a lot of work, but I can’t imagine not having it be part of my life.
“Here ya go.” I hand Zane the mug and then stand next to him. Main Street is beautiful at night. With two weeks to go until Christmas, the boutiques are open well past their normal closing hours to allow for those last-minute shoppers.
Each streetlight, a replica of early America, has garlands and white lights wrapped around it with a big red bow affixed to the lantern style light. The town does each pole the weekend after Thanksgiving. And when it snows, like it’s doing now, the magic of the holidays spreads cheer to all.
“It’s too bad these windows don’t open.”
“Why’s that?”
Zane points, forcing me to step forward and look down the road. Carolers are standing under the streetlight on the corner, and they look like they’re straight out of a Dickens novel.
“I think they performed at the community theater tonight,” I tell him. “But yes, it would be nice to listen to them. Do you want to go downstairs?”
Zane looks at me and shakes his head. “I’m very content right here.”
“Me too.” Besides, there will be ample time to hear them.
We sip our drinks in silence, watching the snow fall, the people outside, and listening to the music coming from my speaker.
“You know, when they renovated, they should’ve put the kitchen in the middle so your couch could be here.”
“I know. I would’ve definitely designed this differently had it been me. But I still love it.”
“Do you ever see yourself leaving?”
I give him a half shrug. “I’d love to own one of the houses on Monument Drive. I’ve always loved the historic features of a colonial style home. But I also think my parents are going to sell in the spring and I’m not sure I’m willing to give up the farm.”
“They’re selling?”
I nod. “My dad is ready to retire, and mom wants to travel.”
Zane looks out the window again and sighs. “I wish my dad would retire. Each time I walk in there, I look at how much it would cost to renovate the store.”
“It’s on the historic registry, Zane.”
“It is?”
“I petitioned to have it put there so the town couldn’t raise the taxes. But it means it also limits what structural modifications can be done.”
“You did that to help my dad, didn’t you?”
“Yes. He would’ve lost it otherwise.”
Zane sighs and shakes his head. “I failed him.”
I rest my hand on his back, hopefully offering him a bit ofcomfort.
“What matters is you’re here now and you’re not going anywhere.”