“Sure, eventually. But I’m going to need to order some parts.”
“But we have to get to Fairfield,” I say. “Tonight.”
“I might be able to help with that,” Keith says.
We pile into the back seat of Keith’s tow truck, and are surprised to be greeted by a woman dressed as Mrs. Claus in the front seat. Keith introduces her as Elaine, his new wife. He tells us how he traded in his parade tradition for something new this year, but still kept the costumes as a nod to his late wife. At least one Christmas love story went right.
* * *
? ? ?
?An hour later, we’re in a beat-up old pickup truck Keith loaned us. Finn’s driving, and I’m sandwiched between him and Theo on the truck’s bench. The clock on the dashboard reads 12:34. “I guess I’m not going to be able to salvage this Christmas after all,” I sigh.
“What do you mean?” Finn says. “We’ll be there in an hour according to Keith’s directions.” All of our phones are dead so we’re navigating nineties style, pre-GPS. Keith assured us Fairfield was a straight shot once we got back on I-95, and there are maps galore in the glove compartment if we need them. I’m pretty sure I remember the way to David’s parents’ house from the highway.
“Yeah, but it’s not Christmas anymore.”
“Oh, stop being so literal. It’s Christmas until we go to bed.”
He flips on the radio and “Last Christmas” wafts into the truck’s cab. Last Christmas, I gave you my heart. The very next day you gave it away. How fitting, given that this is probably our last Christmas together and David’s about to break up with me on December 26. I feel a deep kinship with George Michael in this moment.
An hour and a few wrong turns later, we pull up to David’s parents’ house. “Is this a bad idea?” I ask as we stare at the darkened house, everyone inside has likely been asleep for hours.
“I think that depends how it turns out,” Finn says, “and we don’t know how it’ll turn out until you ring the doorbell.”
I nudge Theo so he can let me out of the car. “Here goes nothing. Wish me luck,” I tell them.
“Luck!” Finn says at the same time Theo says, “You don’t need it. Love is stronger than luck.”
twenty-four
Finn
This year, December 26
Hannah swishes up the snow-covered front walk, a flash of crimson against a backdrop of pristine white. I can’t decide if the symbolism is grim (the first drop of blood marring a snow-covered battlefield in a World War II epic) or hopeful (a single flower pushing its way through the ground after a long, cold winter). In my head, a cinematic soundtrack accompanies the tableau, the music swelling with every step she takes toward the front door.
“I can’t look,” Theo says even though his eyes are glued to her through the passenger-side window. He reaches across the seat for my hand like the suspense is too much.
For a minute she stands in front of the door and does nothing. My mental soundtrack glitches like a scratched record.
Is she going to chicken out? If she does, I’m prepared to shift the car into drive, and leave her on his parents’ lawn. I’d come back eventually, but I’m not above forcing her hand. I will not let her ruin this moment. It’d be for her own good. She has something real with David, she’s just scared. And, selfishly, I like knowing that she’ll have someone there for her after I move.
Finally, she lifts a finger to the doorbell. “YESSS!” I pump my fist like she’s my favorite sports team and she just scored the winning goal. Theo jumps in his seat, surprised by the volume of my reaction.
A light flicks on in the upstairs window, and a minute later an older woman in a fluffy white bathrobe answers the door. Her chin length hair stands up straight on one side and is matted down on the other in an unintentional Flock of Seagulls look.
“Crack the window,” I tell Theo. “I want to see if we can hear them.”
He pushes the button to lower the window, but nothing happens. “I think it’s frozen shut.”
We watch Hannah and David’s mother have a quick exchange, but less than two minutes later they hug, and Hannah turns on her heel and walks back towards the car.
“Do you think he didn’t want to see her?” Theo asks. “That’s cold.”
“Shhh, pretend we weren’t watching.” I whip my head forward and look straight ahead through the windshield. “Fake laugh at something I said so it looks like we were having a conversation this whole time.” Theo is a less-than-generous scene partner and stares at me blankly.
When Hannah opens the passenger door, she announces over Theo’s lap, “He’s not there. He went back to the city.”
Theo and I groan. Keith was kind enough to loan us his truck, but he didn’t have a charging adapter for the cigarette lighter and the truck is too old for a USB port. At the time, our mission seemed too critical to pause and plug in our phones, but it might have saved us a lot of time and headache.
“So, we go back to the city?” I ask. Hannah nods, her face set in a look of grim determination.
The ride back is quiet. The combination of the holiday, the late hour, and the snow means we have the highway to ourselves. I leave the radio on low, playing oldies Christmas songs. Around New Rochelle, Hannah says, “His parents probably think our relationship is on its last legs. First, I don’t show up for Christmas, and now I don’t even know where David is.”
“Who cares what they think,” I say.
“Come to find out, I think I do,” she says. It feels kinder not to point out that Hannah’s always cared more than she lets on. There’s a stretch of silence where we mull on that while “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” changes over to “Let it Snow.”
“What do I do if it’s too late?” she asks.
“We could do the Golden Girls thing and the four of us could move to a house in Miami and eat a lot of cheesecake and talk shit about our exes,” I suggest.
“Doesn’t sound like the worst plan,” Theo says. He’d been dozing against the passenger window. I didn’t realize he was listening.
It’s almost two thirty in the morning when we pull up to Hannah and David’s building. All but two windows in the mid-rise building are dark. “We’ll stay close,” I say. “And I’ll find a phone charger. Call or text to let us know everything is alright. We can come back and get you if you need us.” I press a kiss to her temple. “I’m proud of you,” I whisper into her hair.
We park in an overpriced garage—$60 for up to two hours plus a $15 oversized vehicle fee—and leave the most ostentatious parts of our costumes in the truck. I scrubbed the last of my eye makeup off in the hospital bathroom with hand soap and paper towels. We look wrinkled and rumpled, but almost normal if you don’t happen to notice Theo is wearing gold lamé breeches instead of pants. I feel like I’ve lived a whole week in the eighteen hours since I woke up yesterday morning.
The only thing open this time of night is a twenty-four-hour deli on Greenwich Street.
“What are you getting?” I ask Theo as we survey the giant menu board behind the counter.