Page 81 of One-Star Romance

“Well, if you want to come downstairs, we have something for you.”

Gabby narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “What?”

“You’ll see! Come on.”

Natalie led Gabby down the steps and into the living room, where Angus was sitting on the couch waiting for them. Gabby’s gaze turned to the corner where a Christmas tree now stood. Angus had run out to buy it that morning, and they’d done a speed round of decorating once Gabby had gone upstairs, Natalie waving Angus and Rob into the living room like she was directing a military raid, the two of them running in, each clutching one end of the fir. They’d haphazardly thrown on as many ornaments as they could in the time they had. It wasn’t quite aesthetically pleasing, but it was something.

“Oh, you all got a tree,” Gabby said, distracted but trying to be appreciative. “That’s very sweet.”

“The tree is only part of it,” Natalie said. “Sit on the couch, please, and make yourself comfortable for the show.”

“Um, okay,” Gabby said, and sat next to Angus, who tucked a blanket over them both.

Natalie cleared her throat. “Presenting a one-night-only, not-at-all-official production of…The Nutcracker.” She hit play on Tchaikovsky’s gorgeous, merry soundtrack.

“Oh my God, you did not,” Gabby said, her hands flying up to her mouth. “What?”

“Ahem, we ask the audience to be quiet and respectful,” Natalie said in a lofty tone, and Gabby made a zipping shut motion with her mouth, the skin around her eyes starting to crinkle.

Last night, when Rob had knocked on her door, he’d explained all about Gabby’s to-do list. “It sounds like she’s done most of the stuff on it,” he said, shy, his hands fiddling with the empty air at his sides. “Taught Christina how to make soup. Wrote letters to her loved ones.”

“Oh,” Natalie had said, “that explains the matching envelopes I saw on Christina’s and Angus’s dressers.”

Rob’s eyes flitted to the top of Natalie’s dresser—empty—and then he quickly went on, “But she can’t bring Christina to The Nutcracker. So I wondered if there was any way we could bring The Nutcracker to her.”

“I haven’t seen it in forever,” Natalie said. “I’m not sure if I even remember what it’s about.” She turned away from him and walked deeper into her room.

“Right,” he said, nodding. “Probably a silly idea. I’ll let you get some rest—”

“Come on,” she said. Having Rob in her room was messy and confusing, but they were doing this for Gabby.

“What?”

“Let’s see if…” She sat on her futon bed and typed a search term into YouTube. “Okay, I found at least part of an old recording.”

Tentatively, he sat down a few inches away from her. His body seemed to radiate heat, or maybe there was some other reason she felt warm.

“Ready?” she asked, trying not to look directly at him, and he nodded, so she pressed play.

An hour and a half later, they’d made it all the way through, charmed by this blurry bootleg, smiles on both of their faces. Natalie put on her creative writing hat, ready to problem-solve. “Okay, obviously we’re not ballet dancers. Unless you have a secret talent?”

“Certainly not ballet.”

“But we could still tell the story. It’ll be corny, but Gabby likes corn. And they have a shitload of Christmas decorations in the closet. I mean, you remember that housewarming party.”

He looked at her then, his gaze steady and intense. “I do, very well.”

They’d somehow scooted closer during the video, their bare knees nearly touching, the space between them buzzing. Almost as close as they’d been in his car a year ago before they’d both blown everything up.

Natalie sprang to her feet. “All right then. So we’re doing this. The big question is do we have one of us play Clara? You want to pretend to be an excited little girl?”

“I think we’ve got the perfect casting right under our noses,” Rob said.

They discussed their plan, hashing out a rough script, Natalie typing it up on her computer. She would have expected that collaborating with Rob would mostly involve fighting against his rigid opinions, his eviscerations of her ideas. But there was none of that. He listened and built on her suggestions. In another world where he hadn’t gone into academia, he could have made a good editor. By the time Natalie typed, “The end,” it was one a.m., and they were both fighting yawns. For a moment, she thought Rob might fall asleep right there on her futon bed, and she pictured letting herself curl up next to him. Though she hadn’t gotten a good night of sleep since learning of Gabby’s diagnosis, maybe tonight could be different. But Rob roused himself and power walked to her door. “Well. Thank you,” he said, before disappearing into the hall. She lay awake for the next two hours, tossing and turning.

Now, with Gabby and Angus waiting on the couch, Natalie cleared her throat. “Our story begins with a little girl named Clara, the night before Christmas.”

The door to the coat closet swung open, and Rob ushered out Christina, dressed up in a pink, poofy dress. (There had been many Nutcracker-esque costume options in Christina’s closet—Gabby’s style for her daughter was plenty girly.) Christina wore an expression of delighted mischief, thrilled to be the center of attention.

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