Breck
“Springtime!” Breck waved his hands, and the flash pot filled the tiny living room with smoke. When it cleared, Harmony stood there—half in and half out of the newest snowman costume, her face red. They were practicing for their last show together. Every time he thought about this being their last anything, he cringed inside.
“I can’t get out of it fast enough.” She growled at herself and shook her leg to try and free it from the small hole.
Breck squatted down, taking her calf in one hand and the costume in the other. He pulled them apart, careful not to tear the inside of the costume. The fabric on the floor was the same as the fabric inside the snowman. The idea was to get Harmony out, have her flip the costume inside out, and then have her disappear and reappear at the back of the crowd, leaving behind a stunned audience.
The idea was easier to think up than it was to execute. “We’ll get the timing down. Don’t worry.” As long as Harmony was there, everything would work out perfectly.
“Sorry.” She pressed her palm to her forehead. “I’m so frazzled.”
He smiled and pecked a kiss to her nose. “You’re cute when you’re frazzled.”
“Yeah, that’s what you say now,” she mumbled.
He saw no reason to change his mind. There were other things he wanted to discuss, but he couldn’t figure out how to step into the conversation with finesse. “How do you fight?” he asked out of the blue. He remembered his mom telling a friend once—years ago, so it was funny the memory came up now—that the key to a happy life together was having the same fighting style. He’d asked his mom later what that meant. She said that people who yell and scream aren’t offended by yelling and screaming, and people who give the silent treatment understand the need for emotional space. But if you put a yeller with someone who gives the silent treatment, then you had major problems.
Harmony dropped her hand. “What?”
“How do you fight with someone? Are you aggressive, or do you retreat?”
She looked up at the ceiling, and a whole host of memories ran across her face. It was like watching the Ghost of Christmas Past haunt her. He was sorry he asked, because there was some pain in there too. He was about to tell her not to worry about it when she answered.
“I’m aggressive. I want to find the problem and fix it. You?”
He smiled. “I like to tackle the hard issues.” He hated having silence—so much so that even discussing uncomfortable issues was preferred. Her answer gave him the courage he needed to say what was in his heart. “it’s good that we agree, because there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”
Her hand flew to her cheek. “You’re firing me, aren’t you?”
Her look of horror was so sincere and unexpected that he laughed right out loud. “No.” He put his arm around her shoulder and guided her to the couch, sitting beside her. He picked up her hand and threaded their fingers together. “It’s quite the opposite.”
She tipped her head in curiosity and his heart grew another size.
“I know you plan to go home for Christmas.”
She nodded.
“But I’d like you to come back.”
“To be on your channel?”
“Yes. I mean, no.” His thoughts were running faster than he could process—like watching a movie in fast forward and only getting glimpses of what was happening. “If you want to be on the channel again, that’s great. But I’d like you to come back—” Swallow. “—for me—us. For us.”
Wow, he really sold that one.
She jumped up. “Breck.” His name was a warning. “I told you I have to go.”
“Right. But you don’t have to leave.”
“I’m recently divorced. I—I have nothing to give.”
He gathered her hands in his and pulled them to his chest. “You’re wrong.”
She jerked her head back and tried to pull her hands away.
“You have so much to offer. You have a warm and loving heart, a kindness that draws others to you, and an excitement for life that’s contagious. My viewers can see that in just a few minutes. Why can’t you?”
“I-I’m broken.” She yanked again, and he let her go. Her eyes were big, like a deer’s. “I don’t think I can help you anymore.”
