Page 75 of Kiss Me at Christmas
“Mine?” He rubbed the back of his neck.
“Yeah. Do you have any favorites?”
“Truth be told, I’ve always paid someone to come in and decorate my apartment for me. I tell them the esthetic I want, and they create it.”
“Seriously?”
He looked embarrassed.
“I guess I don’t have as much history wrapped up in my Christmases as you do. I mean, I’ve enjoyed the holidays as much as anyone, but I don’t havethosekinds of memories associated with them. I’ve attended a lot of Christmas parties, eaten at a lot of fine restaurants, I’ve had skiing Christmases and sunbathing Christmases…”
“That sounds pretty memorable, if you ask me. If you want me to feel sorry for you, you’re going to have to try harder.”
“And,” he said, cutting her off. “Though I appreciate that these are privileges not available to everyone, none of them are the kind of remembrances that I could summon up to keep me warm on a cold night. You havesentimental history; I have party anecdotes. It’s not the same. Up until recently I was more than content with my lot. And now I find myself in my late forties, wondering what I may have missed. My situation in life has been enviable, but perhaps the grass on my side is not as green as I once thought.”
She hadn’t thought about it like that. She had a vast stash of happy memories and though they smarted right now, she was glad she had them.
“If it’s any consolation, my ‘sentimental history’ is only highlighting how empty my nest is going to be and how lost I am with no one to fuss over.”
“But would you change it? Would you trade your family Christmases for ones that didn’t leave a mark?”
“No,” she said honestly. “I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Well, there you are. Your Christmas decorations are not your enemy. Maybe this is the year you lean into some new traditions, just for you.”
She had imagined it would be painful to revisit all those cherished moments without the prospect of making new ones this year. In fact, the opposite was true; it was cathartic, and she felt comforted having them swirling around her. With so many wonderful memories with her daughter in the bank, perhaps shecouldafford to invest in some just for herself.
“Maybe you’re right,” she said. “What about you? It’s not too late for you to make Christmases that you’d care to remember.”
His answering smile was so sad that her heart squeezed. She had that feeling again that he was holding something back. What could be so big or so bad that he couldn’t find his way to confiding in her, even after she had laid herself bare to him?
“Maybe,” he said quietly. “I hope so.”
James stayed until every surface glittered, and when at last he flicked the switch, the tree lit up with hundreds of golden fairy lights wound round and round it, making the baubles of her life twinkle on the laden branches.
“What’s the verdict?” he asked, coming to stand beside her.
“It’s beautiful.”
It was.
“No regrets?” he asked cautiously.
“None. Thank you for making me do it, I wouldn’t have done it myself.”
“I figured as much.”
“I feel like I owe you a dinner or something. You’ve brought me gifts.” She gestured to the nutcrackers. She’d positioned the musical snow globe on the hall table, so that she could wind it up each time she came in out of the cold. “And you’ve helped decorate my home and forced me out of my slump, and you have very graciously listened while I rambled on about my daughter for the last two hours.”
He chuckled, and she liked the low vibration of it.
“Microwave lasagna for two?” he suggested.
“Contrary to the contents of my fridge, I can actually cook.”
He smiled. “You don’t owe me anything. I’ve had a lovely evening.”
And just like that the mood changed. The air was suddenly charged with an end-of-date energy, only this hadn’t been a date and James was already standing in her sitting room. What were the rules here? Were they casual smoochers? Should she kiss him on his way out? Shake hands? What? She settled for complete avoidance by trying to delay his departure.
