Page 44 of Season's Schemings
I stand in the entryway for a second, wondering if I’ve got the wrong place. But no, this is where I live—in an unbridled explosion of holiday cheer, apparently.
The riot of colors and chaos defy all the usual rules of festive decor. Tinsel hangs in unruly clumps from the ceiling, twisting and tangling together in a metallic cascade of gold and silver. Multicolored lights blink erratically from the tree in the corner, which is decked out with ornaments of all shapes and sizes, from shiny baubles and stars to…are those hockey figurines?
There’s a collection of penguin-shaped cookie jars on the kitchen island, arranged in a semi-circle like they’re caroling. Garlands—apparently not having enough space on the walls—have made their way to the furniture, wrapping around chairs and sofas like festive boa constrictors. An inflatable snowman with a missing arm sits at the kitchen table like he’s waiting for his next meal.
And speaking of meals, the smells coming from the kitchen are mouthwatering. Sugar and spice and all things nice.
“What the…”
I don’t get to finish the sentence because a red-cheeked Maddie is suddenly skidding into the living area in reindeer-socked feet. “Hi!”
She’s changed out of my jersey, and into leggings and a ridiculous Christmas sweater that says “Happy Birthday, Jesus!” on the front. Complete with a picture of a festive Jesus in a party-hat, his arm around a Santa Claus sporting sunglasses.
“Sorry I wasn’t there after your game, but I had to run home to finish this,” she continues in a burst. “Do you like it? Are you surprised?”
“I’m…”
I’m remembering our conversation the other evening as we were watching one of the Hallmark movies. She told me that my—our—apartment looked shockingly unfestive and asked where my Christmas decorations were. I told her that I didn’t have any, and the look on her face could only be described as sheer horror. She questioned me about last Christmas, and I ended up confessing that I spent it working out, watching game tape, eating chicken and steamed veggies, and getting ready for the Cyclones’ first game after the break. Alone, in my decoration-less apartment.
“Oh, no!” Maddie’s face falls as I stand on the spot like a freaking lemon, my words caught in my throat. “You hate it, don’t you? I’ll take it all down. It was an overstep and I’m—”
“No.” I cut her off as I catch her arm. “I don’t hate it at all, I’m just… very surprised. You did this for me?”
She looks down, those luminous eyes falling on the spot where my fingertips are gently pressing into her arm, soaking up the warmth of her skin through her sweater. She then peeks up to meet my gaze, carefully taking me in before she eventually says, “I did it for us both.” She wrinkles her little button nose. “Your story about your solo, veggie-eating Christmas day last year was the saddest thing I ever heard. Tonight’s our last night before we go to my family’s Christmas of Horrors, and so I wanted us to have a nice Christmas to remember, too.”
I’m touched beyond words. So I settle for a simple, “Thank you, Maddie.”
She perks up. “Well, come on, then. I’ve baked a bunch of treats that are tailored for your macros… ish.” She gives me a little bashful smile. “Figured there was some leeway for the holidays. And I even haveHome Aloneready to play.”
The thought she’s put into this is above and beyond. Like someone who really, truly knows me and cares about me.
And that’s without her even knowing how much this cheerful, festive scene reminds me of the gaudy and bright Christmases of my childhood, growing up in Canada. The whole thing makes me miss my family, but at the same time, makes me glad that I have Maddie with me for Christmas this year. I make a mental note to check in with my family soon to see if the gifts I sent up there have arrived. I haven’t gotten Maddie a gift yet, but I know for a fact that I want to get her something as thoughtful and meaningful as what she’s just given me.
“I should get married more often,” I say playfully, reverting to humor to attempt to soothe the painful thumping coming from that pesky organ in my chest.
She pokes her tongue out at me. “No other wife would be able to plan something this amazing.”
“No,” I agree softly. “She wouldn’t.”
Maddie holds my gaze for a long, heated moment, before throwing a ball of green fabric at me. “Here. Suit up.”
I sputter a laugh as I unfurl a sweater with the words “Get Lit!” splashed across the front. There’s a huge Christmas tree, complete with actual flashing lights, underneath.
Maddie grins wickedly. “In commemoration of our very lit wedding.”
“You are too much.”
But she’s not. She’s exactly the right amount of… everything.
I pull the sweater over my head, and then we curl up on the couch under a huge blanket with bulldogs wearing hats and scarves (seriously, where did she get this stuff?). Press play on the movie as we dig into an assortment of cookies, each better than the last. We wash them down with peppermint hot chocolate, which wecheerslike it’s champagne… but better.
As the movie gets underway, her feet find their way into my lap, and I rest my hands on them. Before long, my thumbs are gently massaging her arches, which makes her groan with happiness.
I don’t remember the last time I felt this relaxed. This content. My mind is at rest, rather than spinning through a million different goals and achievements I’m working towards… all hockey-related.
And yet, Maddie seems to be growing more and more tense by the moment. I can see it in the corner of my eye, can feel it radiating off her—her knuckles are whitening on her lap, her feet are suddenly stiff.
I reach for the remote. Hit pause.