Downstairs, morning dawns bright. Snow sparkles outside the tall windows and the room is pristine and clean again but for the kid-made decorations everywhere. There is a huge bouquet of holly, and white roses, that say “Merry Christmas from the Quattro.”
“You guys give each other flowers?” I ask, laughing.
“Our wives do ... I mean, theirs. They do this every year to celebrate their husband’s years of friendship.”
“That’s sweet,” I say, smiling.
We gather around the tree with Gran, sipping cocoa as gifts are exchanged.
I hand Marcel my gift first: a framed map of New York City, dated 1809, all ornate blocks and curling script. I bought it from an estate sale online and I thought since I love historical buildings and he loves planned communities it was a happy little piece of history for both of us. I nearly wiped out my entire expendable income to buy it, but I wanted to give him something thoughtful and unique.
His eyes soften as he traces the lines with his thumb. “Is this an original?” he asks, amazed.
“Yes, it’s a lucky find,” I say, proud that I was able to locate an original hand drawn map of the city that was reasonably priced.
“Lucky? It’s extraordinary. How did you find it?” He looks at me in total shock.
“It’s from a private collection and I have a few ins with my professors at school. They always tell me when they find something cool. I reached out last week to see if they had city planning blueprints or anything like it from the early nineteenth century. There was an estate sale that had this original hand-drawn map. It’s from a small company, but it’s a city planning map and has been authenticated.”
“It’s incredible. I’m amazed. At auction this would cost thousands, Juliet.” Marcel says still very surprised.
“Juliet has always been good at finding stuff no one thinks is valuable. She once got me a first edition of Stephen King’sThe Standfor a song. They have no idea what they had,” Gran laughs and sips her hot chocolate.
I have a cappuccino with almond milk and Marcel has a macchiato, all compliments of our chef who is Jewish and enjoys his Christmas bonus of ten thousand dollars very much.
“As if you haven’t already blown me away,” Marcel says with love in his eyes.
“Just think of me when you look at it. I hope it reminds you of our time together,” I say, being pragmatic.
“I hopeyouremind me of that,” is his quiet response.
Gran laughs. “You two misguided lovebirds, I tell ya,” she says and hands over her gifts: matching sweaters she knitted herself, green with little white snowflakes. “Couple goals,” she teases. “And this one.” We open it together and it is the same sweater knit in a baby size. “And for your plus one.”
I burst into tears as Marcel is putting his sweater on.
“Woah, what just happened here?” he asks as he pulls me into his chest. “These are gorgeous, Gran,” Marcel gushes to Gran as he holds me. “But let’s ease up on the baby stuff until the little gremlin is here. I don’t want to work up the wife.”
He kisses the top of my head and grins. “Come on, wife, let’s put this on.” He helps me into my sweater and I love it.
“Knitting,” Gran says. “Is something I can do. And she’s just gonna have to get used to baby things ... I have a whole list of stuff I’m knitting.”
“Well, these are amazing,” Marcel says sweetly. ” It’s soft too, I’m never taking it off.”
“Thank you, Gran,” I smile and hand Gran my present. It is a photo album of pictures of Gran and her husband from their teen years until recently. I worked hard every night finding pictures in the hall closet and sifting through them to find the best. When Gran was asleep I worked on the album whenever I wasn’t with Marcel.
Gran starts to cry and now we’re even.
Marcel lets go of me to comfort her. “You are so blessed to have had him,” he says and Gran nods. “My girls and the water works—is this the joy of Christmas? Tears? Is that what I’ve been missing all these years?” Marcel is sweet and playful.
“No,” Gran continues to cry. “I just miss him.” Marcel kisses Gran’s hand.
“We’ll make sure that you’re never alone.” Wow ... this man is blowing me away. “Is it alright if I give you my gift now?”
Gran nods, not totally ready for words as she holds the album close to her heart.
Marcel hands her a new smart phone, then opens an app. “This is for your own driver,” he explains, “to get you around town. And when the baby’s born, I want you to live with us. If that’s something you want, the driver will take you wherever you need to go so you have your independence. Just fire up this app,the one with the limo on it, and order your car. They usually come in about ten minutes or less.”
“Live with us?”
