“Thanks, but like I said, it’s a six a.m. flight to Logan. I don’t think you want to get up at three thirty.”
“Bet you don’t, either.”
“Not really, but I wanted to have the whole day there to get stuff ready for James.”
“Sounds to me like you’d be better off staying awake all night.”
“That sounds boring.”
He smiles. “Want company?”
“You don’t want to do that!” I protest.
He props up pillows and pats the bed. “Sure I do. Come on. I’ll make you a French press coffee and we’ll watch a movie. I’ll even heat some milk for you in my frother.”
I cross my arms. “Extra froth and no porn?”
“‘Extra froth’ and ‘no porn’ do not belong in the same sentence.” He tosses a pillow at me. “But if that’s what you want. Weirdo. Grab a seat.”
Man, I’m going to miss him.
James is having one of his friends pick him up at the airport tonight, and I’m disappointed. I guess that I had some wistful vision of us reuniting at baggage claim, complete with tear-filled greetings and excessive hugging. The good thing is that I’ve had some time to adjust my expectations and am prepared to go with whatever homecoming attitude he brings. It’s unrealistic to expect that coming into this familiar house that holds so many old memories of our parents will be easy. This is not a situation that lends itself to a comfortable holiday.
I’ve spent a number of hours outside the house going food shopping and doing other holiday errands, but I refuse to be driven out of my house because of memories and because of my emotional reactions to even small things. Like, that the hum of the fridge is still exactly the same, and that creates the expectation that there will be accompanying sounds: my father’s shoes slapping across the tile floor, my mother groaning as she can’t get the kitchen radio to pick up the station that she wants.… Sounds of normalcy and happiness.
With one hand, I stir the pot of spaghetti sauce that is simmering on the stove, and with the other hand I hold an invitation, staring at the cursive lettering. It’s an invitation from my parents’ old friends Lani and Tim Sturgeon, who have asked me and James to their Christmas Eve party.
I’m going to accept.
This feels like a spectacularly bold move, and I know that’s completely silly. People RSVP to invitations all the time. I, however, do not. But I dial their number anyway with my free hand, using the other to keep stirring the sauce. My family spent many dinners and even a few weekend vacations with the Sturgeons, and they knew our family well.
Lani answers and is unable to disguise her surprise that it’s me. “Oh, Blythe McGuire! It’s so good to hear from you. Tim and I think about you often.”
“You do?” I blurt out. “That’s… that’s so nice. Um, I was just calling to say that James and I would love to come over on Christmas Eve if it’s not too late to reply.”
“We would bethrilledto see you,” she says. “I’m really excited that you two are coming.”
“Well, thank you so much. I guess we’ll see you—”
“Blythe?”
“Yes?”
There is an uncomfortable moment of silence, and I dread what she is going to say next.
“How are you?” she asks.
“Fine, fine.” I blather on about college courses for a few minutes.
“I’m glad to hear you’re doing all right. We never heard from you after… after your parents died. I know it was such a chaotic time then, and later your aunt assured us that you were both doing as well as could be expected, and that you were busy with school and moving on. And we didn’t know if you’d want to hear from us or not. I mean, we were your parents’ friends, after all, and you probably had your own friends to lean on. After the funeral service, Tim and I almost picked up the phone so many times, but we didn’t want to intrude or…” Lani fumbles for words. “We didn’t want to make things worse. If seeing us would have made it harder on you, we would have felt terrible. I hope you didn’t think that we didn’t care. Or that wedon’tcare. We loved your parents so much, Blythe. And we love you and James.” I hear her voice crack and am moved beyond words. Somebody did and does care about us. “But you’re happy now?”
I am nodding and smiling and furiously stirring the pot on the stove. It takes me a moment to be able to answer her. “I am. It’s been…” I am trying to think how to phrase it. I want to be honest. “It’s been a very, very hard time, and I’ve struggled a lot, but this year things are finally turning around. I have good friends now, and that makes my world bright again. I’ve missed you, also. It’s going to be just great to see you.”
“Wonderful. Tim will be delighted to hear you’re coming. Oh, and Nichole Rains will be here with her parents. You two were friends in high school, weren’t you?”
“We were. It will be good to see her.”
“Excellent. We had dinner at her parents’ house last week, and she was asking about you.”
