His observation rips a laugh out of me, jolting me out of the funk I slipped into when he spoke about leaving and family. A one-two punch of things I don’t want to deal with. “I never looked at it like that. But yeah, I guess that’s what we do.”
“That’s a power move. Those trees know who’s boss. Sorry, the one tree left in Central Park knows who’s boss.”
I bump him with my shoulder. “You know we have more trees than that. At least a baker’s dozen, probably. Per park. Even more in that central one.”
We walk along the pathway, seeing a little Statue of Liberty, little Empire State Building and little St. Patrick’s Cathedral among the tropical lush greenery. Little trains decked out in Christmas lights and decorations zip around the buildings, which are also all lit up.
“The city just doesn’t have the beauty of the country.”
“Nothingness isn’t beauty.” Yes, this I can do. I can argue city vs. country all day if it means I don’t have to confront any feelings.
Because really, what’s the point of analyzing them if you can’t change them?
“It’s pure.”
“No, it’s boring. Whereas buildings are perfectly planned beauty. Human ingenuity on display.”
“But nature is peaceful.”
“Nature irritates allergies.”
He doesn’t respond to that one and I look over, watching him bend down to see a train roll past a tiny Yankee Stadium. The Christmas lights from the trees project a colorful show on his face, making him look pretty festive himself.
I lift an eyebrow even though he’s not looking at me. I’ve always found that gloating is such a strong emotion it can be felt even if the person isn’t looking directly at you.
When he doesn’t respond to it, I prod him, wanting some verbal validation. “Nothing to say to that?”
“I’m sure people are allergic to city things. But the allergies on the orchard are bad,” he concedes with a self-deprecating smile.
Kids with so much energy they must have injected liquid candy canes directly into their veins cut between us. The stampede of wildebeest is followed by harried parents at a much slower pace.
“I don’t think I was ever that wild.” Beau shakes his head at them, putting the “old” in Old MacDonald.
I laugh in his face. “I think we should ask your mom to see how she remembers that.”
“Let’s not do that.” He puts that hand on my lower back as we continue the walk around the conservatory. While I imagine a tiny Beau running around, creating havoc. Kind of adorable. Even from me, who isn’t entirely comfortable around children.
After making a full circuit, I tug on Beau’s hand, bringing him back outside to the cold. “I’ll text Tom and then I have one more Christmas event for the day.”
Beau absentmindedly rubs my arms to ward off the cold as we wait. “You guys are serious about your Christmas. I think there may betoomuch to do in the city.”
“That’s a possibility.” I agree easily, tired myself from the Christmas activities and all the bedroom activities, meaning I’ve had very little sleep in the last few days. “But I usually don’t cram so much Christmas into quite this short a time. Usually it’s spread out from the entire month between Thanksgiving and the holiday.”
“A Christmas sprint. I’m so lucky.” His voice is thick with sarcasm.
Now I feel guilty. “I don’t want you to hate the city. We can call it a night so you can get some rest.”
“No. I’m enjoying myself.” He pulls me in closer and I tuck my head into his shoulder and neck area. I inhale the scent of cinnamon and snuggle close to him on the exhale. The only way this would be a better moment is if it started snowing.
Tom brings the car around and we get in. “You replenished the hot chocolate? You’re the best.” I help myself to another glass.
“There’s Baileys and peppermint schnapps in the back if you want to spike the drink. I won’t tell Mr. Gupta.” He winks conspiratorially as he turns to focus on the road.
“Tom, you outdid yourself,” I say, shoving tumblers, thermoses, and tiny alcohol bottles at Beau. He gives me a nervous look every time I rearrange the equipment so I can make the drinks, probably thinking I’m going to spill. No faith.
But he keeps up the intricate juggling act every time I take something and shove another thing back at him. I top off the hot chocolate with marshmallows. Sugar and alcohol. The way to a perfect Christmas night.
I take in the festive lights of the city as Tom whisks us away to the next event.
