A Forty Year Kiss

18

You’re really not going to call him? Melissa asked.

No, Vivian replied, stirring cream into her coffee. Or—I don’t know. Do you think I should? Even after the way he acted?

Mom, she said. I didn’t say marry him and, you know, take his last name. I didn’t say move right into his house and adopt a kid from Malawi. I didn’t say you should bake him a cheesecake. But he’s alone, isn’t he?

She knew he was, but she said, I think he still has some people here.

Mom, Melissa said again, call him. At least say Merry Christmas.

I don’t want to think about him right now, Vivian said. This is our holiday. Our nice day. And I’m looking forward to seeing Jessie today, and I don’t want to think about him.

Okay, Melissa said, but I think you’re kind of being a bitch. Sorry not sorry. And at some point, Mom, you’re going to have to tell him about her, aren’t you? It isn’t really fair to either of them, is it?

Melissa, Vivian said, honestly.

Christmas Day held a special rhythm for Vivian. Slow and sweet. Presents. Soft clothing. Little surprises. Her granddaughters and their hugs, their kisses. Her two daughters—Melissa and Jessie. Coffee and a dash of rum. Carols on the radio. Her slippers. A candle burning on the kitchen table. A ham in the oven. Hot chocolate mustaches over the girls’ lips. Melissa hugging her, saying, I love you, Mom. Jessica saying, Thank you, thank you, thank you, for all the inconsequential gifts mounded in her lap, beneath a smile wide as the Mississippi River. All of these blessings. She turned the thermostat up, two whole degrees.

I mean, Melissa said, do you like this guy?

Vivian knew, as she thought about it, that she not only liked this guy. She loved him.

Well, of course, she allowed. But…it’s okay to take a break. I just think we were moving too fast. I didn’t care for the way he was… She couldn’t quite express what she wanted to say. Actually, she realized, he had not done anything really wrong, except in the truck maybe—that reckless macho speeding. She didn’t care for that at all. But then, maybe she had antagonized him. Maybe he was afraid. She knew that a man who was afraid often did dumb things. Dangerous things, even.

I think he really likes you, Mom, Melissa said. Like, really likes you. Like love.

Okay, she said, I’ll call him. If you stop harassing me, she said lightly, I’ll do it. I’ll call him.

I don’t really care either way, Melissa said, nonchalantly. You do you.

Vivian took her cell phone into her room. Like a teenager, she thought to herself. All these years in this house, with her daughter and granddaughters, there had never been a single reason she needed to isolate herself, to conduct any sort of conversation behind closed doors. Nor did any part of her find this an affront. She thought instead, But maybe now I have a life of my own. Maybe now I have something outside of this little house, and that is okay. It suddenly felt very good, very welcome to dial Charlie’s phone number.

He answered almost immediately and began talking before she could say a thing. Merry Christmas, he blurted, and then he was off. How was your morning? Did the girls like their toys? I bought you all some presents. Hey, would you consider, would you maybe like to get together? How are you?

All like that. All just—so sweet. Like a beloved dog meeting you at the door. Like you were the grandest prize in the universe. She began laughing. It broke in her. That happiness she had known when they first reconnected.

I’m okay, she said. I’m good, actually. How are you? How was last night? Did you have any place to go?

Uh, no, I—no, he stammered, but that’s okay. I mean, I went to church last night. Which felt really good. A little church in the middle of nowhere.

You don’t even know where you were? What church you went to? Were you… Her voice trailed off sadly.

No, he said assuredly. No, not at all. It wasn’t like that. Not a drop in fact. It wasn’t like I was drinking. I just…wanted to drive, I guess. Wanted to get out of the house.

Now she realized that she had made a mistake. In not forgiving him. In not moving past a moment. She could not imagine herself in that house all alone, with no one to be with on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day. Could not imagine it at all. The cramped chaos of their little home was such a comfort in so many ways. The voices passing through the thin walls. The toilet flushing. Water spilling into the sink, splashing off hands. The inescapable drone of the TV. All of it meant she was not alone. And more than that, the people she loved, who shared this roof, they all turned to her for stability and knowledge. They turned to her almost every hour for help, for kindness, for love, for counsel. What if there was no one to do that, to lend her the reassurance of needing to reassure? What if she had love to give, and no one to accept it?

Why don’t you come over? she said. Not now; we have to clean up the house a bit. She thought of Jessie, wasn’t ready yet for their meeting, for the explanations she would need to offer. She continued, Have dinner with us. Nothing fancy. Just ham and some potatoes au gratin. A salad. The girls love that meal.

She could hear the thankfulness in his voice when he said, See you soon. Would five give you enough time? Is five o’clock okay?

Five is perfect, she said. Goodbye, Charlie. Merry Christmas.

***

Charlie must have done his own shopping and some time ago. He was well prepared. For the girls: a miniature motorized Jeep Cherokee, pretty in pink. Ran on a battery. A two-seater. They have to share, he said with a tremendous grin. Somehow, he managed to unload it from his truck and park it out on the street, wrapped up in a white bow. The girls did not even consider shrugging into their coats. They barely managed to slip their boots on. Ripped the bow off. Circled the Jeep and, for a moment, a scrum near the driver’s side door before Addison, the younger sister, conceded and jumped into the passenger’s side. They buckled themselves in. Then, joy. A toy that was mostly unthinkable in their neighborhood.

It was dusk, but they toured the sidewalks nonetheless. Stopped at a corner, looked both ways responsibly, and then cruised across the street at about a mile per hour. Maybe two. Neighbors stepped outside onto front stoops, eggnog in hand, to give the new drivers a big wave. When they were safely parked in the driveway, a full-size Jeep Wrangler drove by slowly and honked in tribal acknowledgment, positively thrilling the girls.

Oh my god, Melissa said. I’m worried they’ll pee themselves.

Vivian and Melissa stood beaming beside Charlie. And when Vivian went into the house to check on the ham, she kissed him chastely on the cheek and said, Merry Christmas.