Page 16 of Christmas Crisis
When Miranda emerged five minutes later dressed in jeans and a snowflake sweater, she appeared unperturbed. She sat at the high bar attached to my kitchen counter. I handed her a plate and a cup of coffee, pointing at the creamer in case she wanted to doctor it. Instead of seating myself on the other barstool, I stood across from her and leaned over my plate on the counter.
I piled my eggs onto my toast, sandwich-style, before glancing over to see Miranda had done the same thing.
“There's a tomato on its last legs,” I said. “Want me to slice it up for these?”
“Yes, please.”
We ate our egg-and-tomato sandwiches in easy silence while the news played on the muted TV. This piece of a relationship—this quiet, not-laced-with-expectations companionship—was the piece I sometimes thought I could do. The piece I sort of wanted.
“You’re working today?” she asked.
“Today and tomorrow, although only half tomorrow since it’s Saturday. I’m off Sunday for New Year’s Eve.” Miranda’s return flight was on New Year’s Day. I wished I didn’t have to work so much for these few days she’d be with me. “Do you have plans?”
“I have friends from Coleman Creek who live in Seattle now, so I’m going to see them. But I’ll be back by tonight.”
“Wanna grab dinner? Order in?” Hopefully, I didn’t sound too eager. But I wanted to spend time with her and have more of these moments before she flew away.
“Sure. I assume my friends will want to grab lunch, so let’s order in. Two restaurants in a day is a bit much.”
“Thai okay? I have a go-to place.”
“Love it.”
That night, we shared pad Thai, massaman curry, and fresh spring rolls, and watchedIt’s a Wonderful Life. I hadn’t bothered with a Christmas tree in my apartment, but Miranda produced a cinnamon-scented candle from her bag that Marley had gifted her. We lit it so at least my living room smelled somewhat festive.
Miranda moved closer to me on the couch as the night wore on, bending her knees to nestle her leggings and wool socks against my thigh. I slung my arm around her shoulders. She looked up when I did that, studying my face. After a few seconds, she turned back to the movie.
The night was…cozy. Peaceful.
I didn’t take it for granted.
We drank hot chocolate and played Scrabble before heading to bed around eleven.
“Good night, Leo,” she called from the guest room as I put our mugs in the dishwasher. “Thank you for today. And for letting me crash here.” Happiness warmed my chest as she added, “You know, when my sister fell in love with James, I wasn’t expecting…this. But it’s been a pleasant surprise. Hanging out this week.”
The fullness in my heart intensified. “You’re welcome here anytime. I mean that.”
She nodded and slipped behind the door.
Sleep proved elusive. My mind churned, knowing that Miranda was in my home. I didn’t hate the feeling. Although I didn’t consider myself a lonely person, I did spend most of my non-working hours alone.
For most of my adulthood, I’d avoided certain situations and attachments because I worried about disappointing people. And up until Miranda nicknamed me ‘Bear’ and sang along to Nick Drake in my truck, holding myself apart hadn’t felt like a sacrifice.
Now I wasn’t so sure.
I closed my eyes. Behind my eyelids, pictures flashed. Miranda’s grief-tinged smile as she spoke about her mother. Miranda wrinkling her nose at being “Outdoor Barbie.” Miranda cheating at Scrabble, insisting GOODZY counted. (“It is a word! Like, this hot chocolate is super goodzy.” Of course I’d given it to her.)
More images rolled through my mind. The heartiness of her laughter. The kindness of her words. The perfect slope of her neck.
For the first time in forever, I recognized something foreign in myself.
Curiosity.
It was a pinch, a flicker, a blink-and-you’d-miss-it specter, but it was there.
With a start, my eyes flew open.
A dart of excitement went through me.
