Lucy:I’m probably going to get showered and head home soon.
Noah:What? Why?
Lucy:I don’t know, I feel strange being here without you.
Noah:Please stay. I like the idea of coming home to you. Take a bath or put on a movie, just relax and I’ll be back as soon as I can.
Noah:I promise I’ll make it up to you.
Lucy:Okay
Noah:Sorry, kitten, I need to get back to work now. Aidan just showed up and we have to go over a few things before I leave. If I’m late for my parents’ I’ll never hear the end of it.
???
Lucy and I spent the holidays together and it was honestly the best Christmas I’ve ever had. It all started with a tree. Growing up our Christmas trees had always been custom installed by my mother’s designer with elegant ever-changing themes in different rooms throughout the house. The boxes beneath were empty, placed there for show, and wrapped in pretty color-coordinated paper to match the trees.
Lucy had gasped when I told her I’d never decorated one myself before–and had promptly dragged me out to a farm to cut one for my place. Yes, cut one. She’d promised that it was all part of the experience. I could have done without the actual lying in the snow part (been there, done that–and recently), or the struggling with a hack saw part, but I do have to agree that it was a lot of fun. We’d wandered the rows sipping hot chocolate and debating the merits of each tree until we were both shivering. At that point, Lucy had chosen the very next tree we came across and declared it a Charlie Brown tree ‘cousin’ which apparently means that while itwaslacking in fullness, it was not acompletesad-sac of a tree. It was thinning in spots and slightly lopsided no matter how I adjusted the stand. I thought that it would drive me completely nuts, but she’d squealed with delight when we finally got it up, and from then on it was the best-looking tree I’d ever seen.
With my new tree set up she decided that we should spend the holidays at my place. Since we rarely spent any time there together normally it was a pleasant change of scenery. We brought over decorations from Lucy’s place and she’d gifted me with a set of ridiculous holiday pajamas, for which she had a matching pair, and insisted we put them on. She’d then hooked up her phone to my speaker and we spent a perfect Christmas Eve decorating the tree together to the backdrop of holiday music.
Lucy told me the stories behind some of her most memorable ornaments–ones she’d made as a child or that her abuela had given her. She’d sung adorably off-key to the carols as she’d danced around my living room and I couldn’t stop grinning. The baby kicked her incessantly and I’d found myself looking for any excuse to touch her; caressing her bump, kissing her neck, and holding her close.
That night, as we’d headed to bed, Lucy had paused in the doorway to my spare bedroom. I had briefly attempted to use it as an office when I’d first moved in but quickly realized I was more productive working from my desk at the station and it had sat empty ever since. Now it was full of boxes and bags, all the baby items I’d been accumulating over the last few months.
“Noah, you haven’t unpacked any of this stuff yet!” she’d exclaimed, surprised.
“Yeah, I know.”
“But … why?”
I’d just shrugged, unwilling to explain the true reason for having neglected to set anything up. “I guess I’ve just been busy. And it’s not like the baby’s going to be needing a crib here for some time anyway,” I’d replied.
“I know, butstill. That’s so unlike you.”
The truth was I was hoping I wouldn’t have to set up a separate nursery at my place at all. I was hoping that by the time our little one arrived, we’d be living together–and not just temporarily. I know that should have scared me, but it didn’t. Whatdidscare me was the fact that Lucy’s mind had clearly not been headed in that same direction. Maybe I’m getting ahead of myself, but after everything we’d shared, I really didn’t like hearing her talk about a future where we were still raising our child in two separate households.
I’d gotten up in the middle of the night, mind whirring and unable to sleep, and spent an hour scouring the already spotless kitchen. I’d obsessively analyzed and second-guessed each moment between us while I wiped and scrubbed, worried that I had understood it all wrong. Maybe weweren’ton the same page after all and I was a fool not to have spoken with her about it after those relationship lines had been crossed. We’d completely avoided the ‘where do you see this going’ talk. But how could she possibly have taken that step with me if she wasn’t ready and wanting the same thing? I don’t believe she would be so callous as to jump into something that she wasn’t serious about when it could affect our child and our ability to parent together amicably down the road.
No, Lucy wouldn’t take such a big risk.
And IknowI wasn’t mistaking the looks, the touches, the moments where we’d seemingly communicated without words. I couldn’t be wrong about this, I just couldn’t. Perhaps it’s just a matter of her not wanting to rush things. I’ll admit that I’ve been on an accelerated schedule in my mind because of the baby and maybe I just needed to take a beat.
When I eventually forced myself back to bed I’d resolved to finally sit down with her after the holidays and talk about it like we should have done weeks ago.
Despite my midnight cleaning session, I awoke a happy man, with a warm body curled into my side and her intoxicating scent surrounding me. We’d slept in and exchanged small gifts having previously agreed to a spending limit because of all the baby expenses. Lucy gave me my very own ornament for the tree–a star with my name and the year engraved on it.
“Just think, next year we’ll be putting ‘Baby’s First Christmas’ ornaments on our tree,” she’d said.Our tree.And my heart had skipped with renewed hope at the suggestion that we would indeed have a tree together next year.
I’d given her a small silver frame with a photo of the two of us, taken by Piper at Thanksgiving. It was a candid photo that we hadn’t realized was being taken and when Piper had shown it to me afterward, I’d known I had to have it. In the picture, we’re curled together on Nora’s couch and Lucy has her head resting on my shoulder. I’ve got my palm smoothed protectively over her belly and we’re smiling at each other as though completely oblivious to the others around us.And we were.I remember us being utterly lost in the moment, feeling thankful for each other and our babe. Lucy had teared up when she’d opened it and hugged me tightly, her small body shaking with emotion. We’d spent the afternoon watching Christmas movies–I’m sorry, but I just don’t get the hype about Elf–and then later that evening we’d made her abuela’s tamales recipe together.
I couldn’t have imagined a more perfect forty-eight hours and I wanted nothing more than to stay home with her for another day of it. With the holidays, though, things had come to a complete stand-still at the station and I felt an obligation not to let the momentum falter any longer than necessary on the case Aidan and I had been working.
A week before Christmas a young woman had been found lying in a ditch at the side of Highway 49–the main thoroughfare between Llyn Lakes and Coldpine Ridge. She’d been shot in the shoulder and was badly beaten with a severe head wound. Amazingly, she’d survived, but remains in a coma and we’ve had no luck identifying her as of yet.
Aidan plops down heavily at his desk across from me, drawing my attention from the file I’d been trying and failing to read before my mind had wandered back to Lucy. Always Lucy.
“How was your Christmas?” he asks.
