We are quiet for a long time until I finally say, “I can’t believe you’re single.”
“Yeah,” Ben says. “But I’m thinking of asking someone out.” “Oh, really?” I say, smiling. “Who might that be?” “My ex-wife,” Ben says. “Do you think she’ll say yes?” “I think she might,” I say. “I think she might do anything for you.”
* * *
thirty-two
It is Christmas Eve and nearly dark, possibly my favorite hour of the year.
Ben and I are in the car, crossing the Triborough Bridge on our way to Daphne and Tony’s house. We are about to meet their son, Lucas, who arrived three days ago, right on schedule, the most divine Christmas present imaginable.
The radio is on low and Nat King Cole is singing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas.” Ben’s hands are gripping the steering wheel, at ten and two o’clock, perfect driver’s ed form. He is usually a more laidback driver, even in heavy traffic, and it occurs to me that he could be nervous about seeing my family again. I ask him the question, admitting that I am a bit anxious about our visit with his family tomorrow afternoon.
As if busted, Ben shifts to the single hand at six o’clock position and says, “Maybe a little nervous but I’m mostly just excited to see everyone.”
I smile and say, “Even my crazy mother?”
“Even crazy ol’ Vera,” he says, shaking his head. “I love everything that is part of you.”
I lean over and kiss his cheek. We have only been back together for a month, and the little things still thrill me. Things such as the feel of his rough whiskers a mere few hours after he shaved. Being in a car with him. Listening to Christmas music. Everything with Ben feels new and sacred and exalted. I suspect that it will for a very long time. Maybe forever.
A half hour later, we are exiting the Long Island Expressway and approaching Huntington. It is now completely dark. Ben points out the sliver of a moon, and the multitude of stars not visible in Manhattan. The stars are the best part about the suburbs, I muse aloud. Ben says he agrees, but then adds, “Not reason enough to move out of the city, though.”
He is full of such subtle, conciliatory comments since our reunion lunch. We both are, although we are still dancing around the real crux of our divorce. We don’t speak of such serious matters at all, other than when we tell our friends and family the story of that fateful day at Pete’s Tavern. We will likely be asked to tell it again tonight. I’m sure we will roll our eyes and say, ” Again ?” while secretly relishing every part of the story our story. The sickening hours leading up to our meeting, our slow-dawning realization, our euphoric cab ride back to my old apartment after lunch. I am sure tonight we will add a new detail, as we do every time. Perhaps I will imbue it with the literary significance that was never lost on me: There we were in O. Henry’s booth, playing out our own version of the “Gift of the Magi,” Each of us willing to give up something for the other, for love . It seems a fitting twist for Christmastime.
Zoe is waiting for us at the door when we arrive. She flings it open and yells, “Uncle Ben!” as she runs out into the driveway without her coat or shoes.
Ben swings her up in his arms and says, “Zo-bot! It’s good to see you again, girl!”
“I missed you soo much, Uncle Ben!” she says, looking at him adoringly.
“I missed you too, sweetie,” he says.
“I knew you’d come back!” Zoe says, and it strikes me that she will one day learn that not all endings are happy. With luck, her parents won’t be such an example. So far they seem to be forging ahead with a very fragile peace.
“Well, you’re a wise little girl,” Ben says, putting her down on the front porch. “Now let’s get inside. You’re going to freeze to death.”
Zoe beams and takes his hand, “Yeah! C’mon inside and see Baby Lucas!”
“Hey, Zoe, what am I? Chopped liver?” I say, pretending that I actually mind playing second fiddle to Ben.
Zoe smiles over her shoulder. “Hi, Aunt Claudia! You can come with us, too!”
By now, everyone in my family, except Daphne and Lucas, are gathered in the foyer, wearing huge, silly grins.
“Hi, everyone,” Ben says with a sheepish smile.
My dad emerges as the patriarch and official family spokesperson. “Welcome back, buddy!” he says, extending his right hand.
“It’s good to be back, Larry,” Ben says, and the two shake hands as my mom snaps a picture. She snaps another as my father says to himself, “Aw, what the heck,” and then gives Ben the sort of embrace you would expect when a man has just returned from a long tour of duty in a faraway war.
The others line up for their turn. First Maura, Scott, and the boys. Then Dwight. Then Tony.
“Congratulations,” Ben says to him.
“You too, man,” Tony says.