Page 6 of Waiting for Gilbert

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CORDELIA

TCHAIKOVSKY—DANCE OF THE SUGAR PLUM FAIRY

“I’m fine.” I ignore his outstretched hand and scoot until my back rests against the cabinet. The white speckled floor-tile is littered with chip crumbs and dark splotches near the coffee bar. Ignoring the smell of baby puke that hovers around me, I unwind the white scrunchie from my mess of curls and tenderly run my fingers along the back of my head.

“You good?” He’s still crouched in front of me, but I avoid his gaze.

“I said I was fine.” I don’t want to acknowledge his presence. I don’t want to be here. I certainly don’t want to think about how a few of my favorite kids got the best of me. I’m extremely close to tears.Can everyone please go away so I can cry?!

“Is it a crime to be concerned for your wellbeing?” His voice is soft, not unkind. The sweetness of his statement does not help the impending waterworks situation.

“I get it, but I don’t need your help.” What I need is for him to get lost so he doesn’t see me completely fall apart. “Thank you.”Please, please go away.“I could have handled it.”

I shouldn’t be rude to him. He hasn’t done anything. But being assaulted by a pack of kids is bad enough without having a witness. I feel small. My highest desire is to crawl into a tunnel until everyone forgets about me and then emerge as a brilliant, bold, beautiful woman and start all over again. Who do I call to make this happen? Where’s the magnet with that hotline? I rest my forehead on my knees and my thick hair curtains on either side. It’s almost as nice as a cave in here. I think I’ll stay. Bye. See you in the spring.

He releases a sigh that reflects my posture. “Come on. Let’s get you off the floor.” He rests a hand on my arm that I’ve wrapped around my knees. “I’d hate for another parade to come through for cookies and trample you in their wake.”

I swat his hands away, and he stands.Don’t poke the bear. She’s hibernating!Lauren and the kids have disappeared. The man raises an eyebrow and leans a hip against the counter, arms crossed. He dips his hand into a bowl of red and green M&M’s. After tossing one into his mouth, he takes a shot at me and it bounces off the top of my head. When I don’t react he does it again. “Why don’t you open your mouth? You’re wasting good chocolate.”

I narrow my eyes and flinch when a red covered bite of chocolate hits me square on the chin. “Why don’t yougrow up?” That’ll teach him. My cheek twitches into an almost smile. It takes everything in me not to fish the candy from the floor and throw it back at him. But I’ve just been overcome by a few children, and I refuse to act like one myself. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

My less-than-holiday-spirit vibes are strong. I climb to my feet and help myself to a bowl of potato chips at my elbow. Chips are better than caves. I yank my scrunchie from my wrist and wrestle my mane into a twisted bun high on my head. His gaze tracks the movements of my hands, and he doesn’t answer me. “Well?”

He bites into a brownie. “You could wear it down. It’s cute.”

Sure, that’s exactly what I want right now. To becute.No! So much for my Christmas vow. I lift my chin and wrap a loose curl around the bun and tuck it in.

The rest of the brownie disappears into his mouth, and he dances both hands over his head with fingers splayed.

“Is that supposed to be me? Rude.” I own that my hair is a mess. When I haven’t been in the car all day, I add a ton of mousse and set it free. It hangs halfway down my back and twists and turns every which way. It’s wild and fun and I love it. He has no right to make fun of my hair. “Okay, I think we’re done here.” I turn to find Diana and tell her I’m leaving.

“Wait.” He halts me with a touch to my shoulder. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

My bottom lip quivers, and I smash down the offending twitch with my fingers. I SHALL NOT CRY.

“Oh, gosh.” His eyes grow wide. “Please, don’t… I’m sorry. It’s beautiful. Really. So red and shiny. Here.” He steps closer. I don’t move, and he doesn’t ask before reaching behind my head to remove the scrunchie. The whole mess tumbles around my shoulders. My face is level with his chest as he fluffs the sides and adjusts curls. He smells like tropical coconut and something earthy. “There.”

My voice braves the thick atmosphere, but in my attempt to hold in my embarrassing emotions it comes out sharp and cruel. “Why did you do that?”

“Don’t move.” He fiddles with his cell phone and holds it up to me. “See?” On the screen is a snapshot of my face. My hair isn’t cute. It’s… dramatic. It’s lush beach vibes. Corkscrews and waves that say to the world, “Idare youto keep me locked away.” I look almost haunted. Freckles stark against pale skin. Icy green eyes that shine with unshed tears. They are wide and intense. They are either planning to murder you or would swear on pain of death to keep your darkest secret. I’ve never seen such a serious picture of myself.

His nose crinkles and his gaze strays to my chest and lower. At first I think he’s inappropriately checking me out, but then he points at my collar. “Jack?”

“Oh.” I’d momentarily forgotten that I was a walking vessel of baby puke.

“I’ll find Aunt Jewels.” He pockets the phone. “You need to eat this.” An oatmeal butterscotch cookie hangs in front of my face. I bring in a shaky breath.

“Open,” he says.

I narrow my eyes and snatch the cookie. “I can feed myself.”

A beautiful smirk lights his face. “There we go. Be right back.”

Before I finish the cookie, an elderly woman in a gold silk blouse and green felt skirt that brushes the floor pops up by my elbow as if summoned from a lamp. She offers a hand. “Jewel Conner. Aunt Jewels to everyone except my doctor. Welcome to my home. I’m so glad you made it in time.” She’s wearing a pair of red vintage cat glasses, full-sized red ornaments as big as tennis balls hang from her ears, and a necklace of wooden figures representing the entire nativity rattle together as she moves. She follows my gaze.

“You like my necklace? My nephew carved these for me. I’m sure he intended for me to hang them on the tree, but I’m a rebel. Have you eaten yet, dear?” She wraps my hand in both of hers. “You’re freezing. Did you forget your coat? Don’t tell me you’re one of those tough kids who never wears them. There’s no such thing as bad weather, only bad clothing.” I’m guided to the counter of food and she begins filling a holiday themed paper plate. “On a day like today, you’re in bad clothing if you don’t want to freeze your patootie off when you walk back to the car. I’ll lend you my shawl when it’s time.” Bacon wrapped peppers, a handful of crackers, a slice from a cheese ball. “At the very least we’ll have my nephew heat your car for you first.” She winks, hand paused over Diana’s ham sandwiches. “He’ll start your car. That’s all I meant, darling. Now, hon. No need to look so confused. He’s a very nice man. I saw you watching him when you came in. Glued you to the floor.” A sprinkle of M&M’s like an artist’s final brush stroke is added to the plate. “Was it his smile or the music?”

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