Page 3 of What Happens This Christmas
There were three chairs on either side of the table, a decent distance separating us, but this was comfortable. It was what we’d become accustomed to, both of us at opposite ends of the table. I would have crossed the room and made an effort to greet him with a chaste kiss on the cheek, or even lips, but whenever we were in the same room together, there was a frigid breeze that tore through. It could be bone-chilling, and neither of us addressed it, decidedly ignoring the polar bear in the room.
Sometimes, when I really thought about it, I had to blink back hot tears that could have annihilated the snow outside. Then I reminded myself that what I had now glimmered like a sparkling evening gown. I was one of the lucky ones, to put it mildly.
I was married to a brooding, oftentimes sarcastic, successful man, who had chosen to spend the rest of his days on earth with me. In a penthouse so big that it was easy to get lost if you weren’t paying close enough attention to where you were going. Able to spend my days shopping at any store I wanted, whenever I wanted.
We had built a home worthy of being featured in one of those home and garden publications, and a life worthy of being featured on a television show.
There wasn’t a single thing to look back on or cry over. Sure, we weren’t lovey-dovey, but we were also married and had grown. It didn’t matter that our growth might have been apartand not together. Affection wasn’t the most important thing. Security was, and we had that in each other.
I liked knowing that we lived on the Upper East Side, that our friends hosted parties as extravagant as ones we’d thrown, and that it was a guarantee we’d be invited. It was a beautiful life, and it was ours.
I cleared my throat and straightened my back. “Sorry I’m late. I got tied up. I actually got you something.” Nick knew of my little shopping habit. I’d made it no secret that I had a tendency to buy things for no reason.
He nodded, his eyes downcast to his steak. “He just brought out the entrée.”
I placed my linen napkin on my lap and reached for my wine. “How was your day?”
“I’m divorcing you.”
Chapter 2
A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE
Nick
Just because I was a local didn’t mean I indulged in all the regular shit tourists did in New York City this time of year. Ice skating rinks, historic churches with elaborate nativity scenes, shopping endless window displays…it was all nice in theory. I liked knowing it was there, but it wasn’t how I’d ever spend my time. In that way, reality was a lot different.
Just like my marriage.
I had been with Candy for so long I hardly remembered a time when we weren’t together. Not that I would’ve had it any other way. Candy was so deeply rooted in my heart that it felt impossible to undo the vines that she’d wrapped firmly around it, choking it in the tightest embrace. For a while, our marriage had been good. Never great, but good. More recently, though, it’d taken a turn to downright intolerable. It felt like someone was pressing their foot down on my trachea, and it pained me to think this, but I wasn’t happy. More importantly, I was pretty sure Candy had lost all touch with the entire concept. If I would have asked her if she was happy, I knew she would crinkle her nose and have to think hard. Unless she was shopping or talking about shopping, then she’d no doubt come up empty.
Neither of us were getting what we needed from the other anymore. Not that we’d ever go elsewhere for it. Cheating, whether physically or emotionally, would have been torture to the other person, worse than poking them with needles straightto the heart. Which was exactly why it wasn’t something we’d ever do, let alone consider doing.
The three wordsI’m divorcing youhung in the air like mistletoe from a doorframe.
Candy had blinked occasionally, her face growing a sickeningly pale color that made me want to eat my words, but it wouldn’t have done either of us any good. Honestly, I couldn’t think of anything worse than being stuck in shackles, which was what it was starting to feel like with this union.
I could’ve minced words, but that wasn’t exactly my style, and even though Candy was my wife, I didn’t give a fuck enough to sugarcoat shit. Not that she needed that kind of coddling. I loved Candy, but that didn’t mean I was blind to her flaws, of which she had many. Candy was an ice queen through and through. She could be judgmental, aloof, and hard-nosed. She hadn’t always been that way, but life,thislife specifically, had hardened her, I knew. It wasn’t for the faint of heart, and Candy was no pushover or patsy. Never had been. She also had steely determination that was unmatched.
But, for as flawed as she was, she also had thick skin and could give as good as she got, especially with me. When she really felt like it, we could go at it like cats and dogs. She could also be soft, so soft and warm and loving. Those moments were rare, though, especially lately when all she could do was be concerned with everything else going on around her. No, actually she didn’t necessarily care about anything outside of her own world. What I meant was that she was far too concerned with what others thought about her.
Basically, I was done lying to myself about what there was left between us. Things weren’t the same as they once had been, not that I shouldn’t have suspected they’d evolve. Most things did with time. Especially the things we hoped wouldn’t.
“Taxi, taxi, taxi!” With each repeat of the word, the woman’s voice grew louder and more…desperate. Her arm slacked, falling slightly as the taxi ignored her and drove right by.
That was New York City for you. Filled with self-serving bastards, only concerned about themselves. More often than not, New Yorkers were in a rush, and it was survival of the fittest, so to speak.
With my eyes on my town car, I shook my head. I wasn’t sure what her deal was, but she was a stranger, and I didn’t owe her anything. I had my own pressing matters to tend to. I had a video conference with some guys overseas in a few hours and wanted to get home just like everyone else.
I pulled a cigar out and tucked it into my mouth, heading to the town car where the driver was standing on the curb now, holding a door open for me.
“Hello!” the woman yelled, a grunt escaping her as yet another taxi sped by her.
Poor luck.
Just another step and I would’ve been in the car, enjoying a smoke and a glass of whiskey from the bottle I kept in the back for days like today. Who was I kidding? I worked on Wall Street. All the days were the same—downright dreadful.
“Need a ride?” I asked loudly enough that she whipped her head toward me, her eyes roaming over me.
