Page 55 of All's Fair in Love and Christmas
I cut her off with a shake of my head. I know what she’s going to say. The fact that she’d choose to sit with me in a hospital is enough. “On top of worrying about my mom, I’d be worrying about making you leave your date. Please stay and have a good time. Don’t let me ruin this night for you.”
She bites her lip, and I turn away so she can’t argue with me any longer. Jeremy takes my hand and guides me off the ice. He keeps me steady as I make my way to the bench my shoes are tucked under. My fingers shake as I try to untie the laces. The moisture in my eyes making my vision swim isn’t helping any.
I’ve lost count of how many times Jeremy has taken my hands tonight, but he does so again, gently moving them to the side. He unties my laces and, with a warm palm to my calf, guides my foot out of the skates. Without a word, he collects the rented footwear and returns them to the rink’s window. When I stand, he’s in front of me, holding out my purse.
“Which hospital?” he asks when we’re in his SUV.
“Mercy Memorial.” I’m trying not to let my imagination think of horrible reasons Mom could be in the hospital, but it’s hard to quiet my internal narrator.
Jeremy plugs the address into his phone. The computerized voice tells him to make a right on Church Street. “Tell me about your mom.”
“What?” I’m having a hard time focusing.
“Your mom,” he says again. “Tell me one of the Christmas traditions she made special when you were a kid.”
I gather all the thoughts in my head and make them line up single file like a teacher with elementary students. I remember back to Christmases past. I didn’t think it would be possible to smile in this moment, but the sides of my mouth curveupward. “My mom loves Christmas. It’s always been her favorite holiday.”
“What about the season is so special to her?”
So many things, but what she loved the most ... “She says people are nicer at Christmas. More kind and generous.”
“Your mom must not be the cynical sort.” He merges onto the highway. “I have a grumpy uncle who’d argue with her that people are more selfish and greedier at Christmas. Commercialism and all that.”
“There are people like that,” I concede. “But my mom always maintained the belief that people thought of others more around the holidays.”
“So was that your tradition growing up? Being generous to strangers?”
“Yes and no. I mean, she always emptied the spare change out of her purse every time we saw a Salvation Army bell ringer. But my mom used Christmas to broaden my worldview and respect for people from other countries and cultures, and she often invited people to come celebrate those cultural traditions with us.”
Jeremy glances at me. The GPS tells him to get off at exit fifty-four in two miles. “How did she do that?”
“Every year she’d pick a country, and we’d learn about and celebrate that country’s holiday traditions. She’s always believed that the more we know and understand people from their perspectives and backgrounds, the more common ground and respect we can have for one another.”
He makes a left turn. “I really like that. What are some things other countries do to celebrate Christmas?”
I think back to some of the things Mom and I did when I was growing up. “In Finland, families make a porridge out of rice and milk sprinkled with cinnamon. They place a single almond inside one of the dishes, and whoever finds the almond is the winner. Later, they warm up in a sauna together.”
Jeremy chuckles. “I can get behind the idea of a sauna on a blizzardy winter day.”
“One year, we made our ownparóls, which are paper lanterns shaped like the star of Bethlehem. If you think people in the US start celebrating Christmas too early by not waiting until after Thanksgiving, in the Philippines, the Christmas countdown begins on September first. That year, we ate our Christmas dinner at midnight,Noche Buena.”
“I have a friend whose family is from Mexico. They eat a late dinner as well. Usually around ten, I think. Then open presents around midnight.”
I nod. “A lot of Latin American countries do that.”
“Tell me one of the strangest things you did in these celebrations,” he says. “Or strange for someone from the United States, at least.”
I don’t really have to consider this one. “We kept a live fish in the bathtub one year.”
His head rears back. “Seriously?”
I nod. “In a lot of central European countries like Poland and Slovakia, they keep a live carp in their bathtub for a couple of days before Christmas. Then it becomes the main course in a twelve-course feast, one course for each of the twelve apostles.”
The sign for the hospital is bright against the moonless sky. As Jeremy turns into the entrance, I realize what he’s done. He’s distracted me and kept me talking during the whole drive so I wouldn’t get worked up again and make myself sick with worry.
How did he know what I needed when I didn’t even know myself?
Now that I see the hospital, though, everything comes rushing back. I pray things aren’t dire. That I’m not too late. That my mom will be okay.
