So that’s what we did. After a slow, sweet, passionate session in bed, we cooked Guy’s traditional Quebecois Christmas Eve feast. We played around and pretended like we weren’t on a sinking ship, dancing in the kitchen like nothing was wrong. A few other couples without family close were coming over for dinner. Guy asked if I wanted to call it off given what we were going through. We decided the distraction might be good for us. A full table would take our minds off our bruised hearts.
Rather than being stuffed with healthy food, Guy’s fridge and pantry were filled with essentials for the dinner menu. Reveillon was to be quite a production. Traditionally, it centered around going to midnight mass. Guy was cutting out that portion in favor of excess eating and wine drinking. Guy spent half the day working on the meat pie, assigning me to the much simpler meatballs. He told me about some of his sweet memories from his childhood, helping Maman and Grandmere make reveillon food. He taught me some French Christmas carols, my horrific pronunciation making him blush on my behalf.
Before the guests were due to arrive, I put on a maroon velvet dress, pulling my hair half up and adding gold earrings Guy had given me the last Christmas. Guy put on a deep blue suit, looking dapper as always. He pulled me into the kitchen and opened a bottle of champagne to settle my nerves. Though I love to perform, hosting is not natural for me. Particularly as a nineteen-year-old serving grown-ups.
“They’re going to love you,ma puce,” he promised with a kiss.
And later, as I looked around the crowded table, warm from wine and stuffed with a crumbly-ass meat pie and cheesecake that one of his friends brought, I felt at peace. Guy squeezed my leg under the table and stood to raise a toast.
“I want to thank all of you for joining Kitty and me tonight, and for being my extended family. And I want to raise a toast to my Kitty Bird, the love of my life,” he said, turning to me and taking my hand that was free of a wine glass. “No matter wherethis road takes us, I’ll always be waiting for you, your home base. In a world full of Pepsi and Coke, you’re my Dr. Pepper.”
Maybe it was the wine, or the sweetness of what he said, or just Guy being my one, but I truly believed that one day, it would all work out.
* * *
Guy and I got up late on Christmas morning. The festivities continued well past midnight, when we shoved some of Guy’s very drunk but very lovable teammates into the cars he’d hired for the evening. Though we woke up blissfully naked, Guy had matching pajamas laid out for us. I commented on how sweet it was.
“If I’m going to keep you away from the Gattos, I want to make it special,” he said. “I know how much your family loves Christmas.”
“We’ll call them later, I’m sure,” I said. “But thank you for being so thoughtful.”
He got an evil grin. “Did you get me presents, woman?” I smacked him.
“Yes, I got you presents, greedy.”
“Come onnnnn,” he wheedled, tugging me out of bed. Pajama’d up, we sat in his living room around his Christmas tree. We started with our smaller gifts: a sweatsuit for his new team for me and some of his favorite coffee from me. I gave him a biography he’d been wanting to read. He gave me a stuffed flea “forma puce” and to go with the rat that he’d given me.
“Fleas and rats, huh? Very Plague chic.”
“I thought it was appropriate. You’re a little flea, and I love my city kitties,” he laughed. “We go together like fleas and rats.”
Guy’s minor at Alden was history, so he loved little facts about the past. I was not surprised he worked a Plague joke into our Christmas gift exchange.
“Okay, you know I’m a poor college student, but here’s your big gift,” I said, handing him a small but heavy box.
“I know I’ll love it,” Guy said, practically glowing at me. He unwrapped it, the outer box still not giving it away.
“Careful with it,” I warned as he slid it out of the box. It was a snow globe with two figures kissing in front of a house. I couldn’t make it look exactly the way I wanted, but I got close.
Guy’s eyes welled with tears. “Birdy, is this us? In front of my house last year?”
I nodded. Guy turned it upside down, watching the snow swirl and covering his mouth.
“Kitty, it’s perfect. Thank you.” His voice crackled. He pulled me to him, and I wrapped my legs around his hips. “That was when you said ‘I love you’ for the first time. I loved that moment.”
“Me, too. That’s why I wanted to remember it.”
We sat in a mini-sea of wrapping paper, our coffee having gone cold in our gift opening frenzy.
“I have one more gift for you. It’s a little different. I want you to hear me out before you freak out. Can you do that?”
“Guy,” I said, looking at him sidelong. “Now you have me nervous.”
He walked to the tree, digging into the branches and pulling out a small box. A box from a jewelry store. He sat in front of me on the coffee table, while I sat on the couch. His hands shook, his long fingers looking out of place on the tiny box.
“Kitty, I meant what I said last night. You’re the love of my life and I don’t want anyone else. I know everything’s a mess now. I wanted to give you this option, in case it’s what you need to hear to stay. In case you need to know how serious I am.”
Guy opened the box, revealing a diamond ring. An engagement ring.
