Page 33 of Christmas Sunrise
“Can you... Can you leave that red thing on? Under your clothes?” Marty asks.
I look down at my body and then at him. I smile and nod.
It takes no time for me to throw on underwear, a pair of jeans and a thick woollen jumper, and after I comb my hair and brush my teeth, Marty stands behind me and holds up my coat, like he always does, for me to slide my arms inside. Still, with no words being exchanged between us, we leave the bedroom and start walking down the stairs.
"Rocky! AJ!" Marty calls out. "Walkies!"
The rumble of our dogs emerging from the spare room is interrupted only by protests from Jake.
"Rude! You're taking away my hot water bottle!" he calls out.
"We'll bring him straight back!" Marty shouts out as we continue to descend the stairs. "Neither of you touch the oven, please. The bird is in and roasting nicely. Crumpets are in the fridge if you're hungry, but I'll be making salmon blinis when I get home."
"Ugh, we have to wait in a nice warm bed for you to cook us a delicious breakfast! Such terrible hospitality!" Jake shouts back.
"You love me really, Sweet Cheeks! Bye, Maeve!"
"Hurry the fuck up! I'm fecking starving!" she calls out and I smile.
Once downstairs I can smell the turkey that Marty is referring to, and I get a whiff of many other things too. Sage, rosemary, lemon, garlic, and also a little spice. My tummy rumbles and I don't know if he hears or not, but before we get to the front door, Marty dashes into the kitchen and re-emerges a few seconds later with a banana for me, a gesture that makes my heart swell.
We slip on our boots, take much longer than is necessary to attach the dog leads to AJ and Rocky because they are both jumping up and down and over each other at our feet, and then we open the door to the cold, dark world outside.
The rush of icy cold air is a shock and I arrange my scarf so that it comes up higher around my face. I also dig my hand into the pocket of my coat to find my gloves and pull on my hat, which Rocky hates because it slows down his charge as he rushes to keep up with AJ, who is leading Marty quickly down our short pathway and onto the street.
"You’re a strong mutt when you want to be," Marty mutters to AJ as Rocky barks and I shush him. Although I know it's not early, the fact the sun hasn't come up still makes it feel like we should be quiet.
And yet, I don't want to be quiet. Not when I catch up with Marty and fall into step beside him.
"I'm so sorry, Marty, I—" I say at the same time he opens his mouth and speaks.
"Jenna, I need to apologise—"
"Well, that should make this conversation easy," I say with a half-hearted laugh.
Much to my surprise and my dismay, Marty doesn't chuckle with me. He doesn't even agree with me.
"I don't think this is going to be an easy conversation," he says. "But I reckon we can handle it. What do you think?"
I think I'm tired. I spent most of the night crying, over-thinking and replaying our fight. And honestly, even before last night, I'd been feeling a slow but steady onset of fatigue. I want so desperately to start a family with Marty, but the waiting, the not knowing, and the worrying that a small but busy part of my brain has been doing, it's starting to take its toll. I just didn't want to admit it. It feels wrong to feel that stress when everything is otherwise so good. When Marty is so good to me.
"I know we can handle it," I say, sounding more confident than I feel. But I know faking resolve to repair our connection after last night is a better thing to fake than pretending I'm okay. Because I'm not, and I owe it to Marty to tell him so. But again, before I can open my mouth, he is speaking.
"So, I'm sorry I had such a big overreaction to the gift. I wasn't really thinking straight. Maybe seeing Rob threw me a bit. Maybe I was just tired from a long day. Maybe I just got it wrong." He sounds almost as drained as I feel.
"Or maybe I did," I offer. "I should have thought it through a bit more. We did agree not to get each other presents and, while I thought I was doing a good thing getting you one, I can see how that also looked like I wasn't really listening or that I was going against what we agreed."
Marty's arm nearest me moves and for a few heady and hopeful seconds I think he's going to reach for my hand or swing his arm around me like he usually does when we walk the dogs together but it doesn't make contact. As he tucks his hand in his coat pocket, I long to loop my arm through his, or maybe slide my fingers in his pocket so they can keep warm with his, but I daren't. Not yet. I want him to know I want repair to come first from my words and from my listening. Instead, I busy my empty hands by opening and starting to eat my banana.
"Are you just saying that? Because, although I know I over-reacted, I do feel hurt that we didn't stick to the plan we made," he says and it stings, my God, it stings.
The excitement and delight I felt buying those knives for him is now tainted and sour, but I know I have to let it be. If my reaction is to simply throw my hurt back at Marty, we'll get nowhere.
"I'm not just saying it. I am sorry I went against what we agreed."
"And I'm sorry for getting so angry. I could have managed that better."
As we turn the corner onto a different road, I glance up at Marty, and I can see his expression has softened already. I bounce the side of my body into his and he looks back at me, a hesitant smile on his face, but it doesn't tease out his dimples. I make a promise to myself to see those dimples before our walk is done.
