“Festival?” That sounds exciting and overwhelming.
“Yes, every year they have a Christmas pageant at night on boats with only fire to light them. You watch them pass as from the docks. It’s a really fun tradition and it’s free to the community. Around the lake is the Christmas market, modeled after ones in Europe where you can get handcrafted gifts and specialty items.”
“Sounds amazing,” I groan, because Juliet is winning this war.
I grumble under my breath as we cross the snowy street toward the library. “You realize you’ve shown me more Christmas spirit in a few hours than I’ve had in my entire life?”
Juliet flashes me a grin that could melt glaciers. “Good, because I am just getting started.”
Inside, the library is glowing with golden light. A group of seniors in loud Christmas sweaters and Santa hats are dancing with headphones on, hips swaying to music from a DJ. A woman with a blinking reindeer necklace spins her partner, and they both laugh like kids. The air smells like apple cider and cinnamon.
Juliet threads her arm through mine and pulls me toward a cozy reading corner. “This,” she whispers, “is my favorite place in the library."
She walks me toward a quaint reading nook. There are pillows piled high in the corner and three large couches alsoadorned with ubiquitous pillows. A couple of big arm chairs, a loveseat, and some soft inviting spaces on the floor, round out the nook. Juliet brings us to the loveseat. She goes to the bookshelf and lifts a worn hardcover from several tattered books and shows me: How the Grinch Stole Christmas. I can’t help but laugh. In the front pocket just behind the first page is a stamped title “Library Book Club" and under it is a handwritten note.Pick a book, read it, and leave your review on the card.
“It’s like talking to everyone who’s ever held it.” Juliet whispers and tucks herself onto the loveseat, patting the spot beside her. I sit in a space barely big enough for us both. She opens the book, clears her throat dramatically, and begins reading softly as a mother is doing the same with her son in the corner. Both Juliet and the mother, who wears a red and green tartan scarf, read with quiet animated voices. The little boy has on antlers I note are from a box of festive apparel on a table that sayswearing these will make you giggle.
Juliet reads using silly accents for different characters.
“Every Who down in Whoville liked Christmas a lot, but the Grinch who lived just north of Whoville did not!”
When she makes a jab into my side, I know she’s teasing me about how much like the Grinch I am and I laugh. My laughter is rusty and reluctant at first, then I’m genuinely giggling. She glows at the sound of my voice as she continues to read about a potbellied green monster that literally robs a sweet insignificant Who village of their Christmas and they find joy anyway.
When she finishes, I take the book from her hands and lean in, kissing her softly. “See the Who’s did just fine without Christmas," I murmur against her lips.
“Ugh, you are horrible,” she protests and lowers her voice so only I can hear her. “You know in the Christmas-to-come version of the story, the Scrooge version, the Grinch ruins a community. He tears down its historic building and displaces all of the lower income residents.” I glare at her, playfully knowing where this is going.
“What happens in that version of events, Ma Chérie?” I am dying to see how she’ll turn the story around on me.
“He and his shriveled up heart are found frozen to death and forgotten.”
“And in the version where he saves the day and the community?” I lean back waiting to see how she’ll spin it.
“He’s a hero, and they put his name on a plaque on the wall. And he has friends and a family. But all of that doesn’t matter because he’s just proud he did the right thing—the only thing. And the one-night stand he initiated into the mile high club will have yet another fond memory of him.” She positively glows as she lowers her voice to whisper these last words.
“Do you know you brighten every corner of the world, Juliet?” Yes, I veer her off topic, but I’m also struck by this notion and I lean in and kiss her, with tongues, perhaps just a little inappropriate for present company.
Her breath catches, and for a moment I feel like maybe, just maybe, there’s a heart in my chest after all. Everyone stares at us for a moment, but go back to their books and each other quickly. Juliet ends our kiss with flushed cheeks and words of caution.
“Careful, Gran is here.” Likely that sparky old woman was, she strikes me as a silent disco-er.
“Yes, well if Gran wants me to save Christmas, she’s going to have to let me kiss you.”
Juliet stands and offers me her hand, so sweet. “We better go, the show starts soon.” She and I leave the reading nook and, as earlier assumed, Gran is at the silent disco with a fella who looks like he’s about to fall over.
Juliet blows Gran a kiss which she grabs mid-air, she throws me a glare, and we walk out. I do feel a pang in my apparently too-small heart. There is nothing but love between them and if I were being truthful with myself, it’s the kind of love I’ve always wanted.
Juliet and I step back into the cold and wander toward the lake. A vendor is roasting chestnuts over an open flame and the smell is irresistible.
“Are all of the sweet Christmas characters in Eaton actors in a Hallmark Christmas movie?” I ask because everything seems too perfect.
“No, these are just people being people.” Her soft sweet grin has me wanting to kiss her again.
I buy a bag of chestnuts, and we share them as we walk, our gloves brushing. People are strolling with picnic baskets, blankets, and chairs and I realize this is yet another community event that will be disrupted by the mega luxury housing project. Billionaires with weekend getaway townhouses will not be schlepping down to the lake to see some fire. This lake is actually more of a pond, nothing to write home about, butthe community has made it a special place. There are vendors in European styled kiosks selling mulled wine, holiday themed trinkets, and handmade items, all surrounding the lake. It feels like another world.
On Fire Lake, the festival is alive. Boats glide across the water with dancers performingThe Nutcracker. More boats carrying the orchestra float past with music blasting over the event from several large speakers. It’s fascinating how beautifully choreographed the ballet on water is. When the show ends, a parade of boats follows: sleek speedboats and humble fishing vessels alike pass by, each draped in twinkling lights and tinsel. A woman hands us steaming mugs of cider, and I accept, letting the warmth seep through my hands.
Juliet’s eyes are wide, reflecting the lights on the lake. I don’t want the night to end, but my stomach growls. “This was lovely, Juliet. I can feel the warmth of Christmas even through the cold and as much as I love gingerbread and chestnuts,” I admit, “I’m starving for something substantial.”
