22. Then
Then: December 19th
T here are a few times a year that our house is exceptionally loud. When Mom is in her cooking element, you can bet she is in the kitchen not only wearing her favorite apron but also swaying her hips and singing off-key to all of our favorite 90s bands. And yes, I mean our.
I mean, I am a 90s kid, and I was raised in the 90s and early 2000s, so I grew up listening and jamming out to music Mom was always playing from that era. I wouldn’t say Dad particularly cares for it, but he tolerates it when it’s our turn to pick the music. He never fights for his music. At best, he will kindly ask us to turn the volume down a couple of notches. I think if he had his choice of music he would pick something Classical, instrumental, or silence. Anytime we are in the car together the radio is always turned off. Always.
Today is one of the loud days. I wake up to not only the smell of bacon grease, fried eggs, and homemade apple crumble muffins, but the music is on at a high volume at nine in the morning. Mom and I only wake up early when we have to, like on school mornings, and we heavily rely on digital alarms to pull us out of our deep sleep. Today is not only Saturday, but it’s only six days until Christmas, and Mom and I have some shopping to do.
She’s wearing her famous apron of course, but she’s also a full-on Christmas elf this morning. She’s wearing a bright green sweater wrapped in itchy tinsel everywhere and something on her body makes a jingling bell sound any time she moves.
Dad is sitting quietly at the table with a mug of coffee and his newspaper while Mom and I quickly scarf down our breakfast so we can hit the stores this morning. Dad mumbles something about going to meet a coworker for lunch later. When I hear that I make eye contact with him and glare. My expression says you better not be having lunch with your therapist. You better not be seeing her at all. His steel gray eyes hold onto mine, and his gaze softens, as if trying to reassure me that it has all been put into the past and he’s moved on. I wish that I could do the same if that is true. For his sake and Mom’s, I hope it is. He returns to his cold coffee and paper and I toss Mom her keys as we head out.
This time of year is seriously my favorite. There is snow piled up everywhere. The streets can get a little scary at times, but I’ve gotten more and more confident with my driving lately, and today I’m being extra cautious. It’s the busiest time of year, and literally, everyone is out today for last-minute Christmas shopping. Only, we’ve never considered this to be last minute. It’s how we’ve always done things. Dad buys a few small gifts early, he plans ahead that way and that’s fine. But not Mom and I. She makes one of her lists before we head out, and then she checks them off one by one as we find them.
The list is never long though, I think it just helps her feel a sense of accomplishment to mark every item off the list. After we’ve hit six or seven stores and blisters are starting to form on our feet, we get hot chocolate from the vendor in the mall and rest our feet for a bit.
She always picks out three gifts for me to open on Christmas Day. One first thing in the morning, the second right after a late lunch, and the third I can open right before bed. She’s done it that way for as long as I can remember.
To avoid spoiling the surprises while shopping, she will hand me a separate list of items. It’ll list a few things she would like and a few suggestions of what to buy for Dad. She will then wander off into a different part of the store and have all her purchases gift-wrapped at the counter so no peeking is allowed. I’ve started doing the same for similar reasons. It’s a fun little game we play. Over the past couple of years, it’s even morphed into a bit of a competition to see who can, not only cross off items the fastest, but have them bought and wrapped first. She won last year, but I plan to win this one.
“Ready, set, go!” she yells and takes off to the right side of the store, and I dart towards the left. There are six total items on my list. Three each for Mom and Dad. I’ve never personally seen her lists, but she says hers has the same number of items as mine. I know she has to buy for Dad and me so I take her word for it. Let the games begin!
I don’t even know how she manages to pick out the perfect gifts every single year, but she’s an amazing gift giver. Always has been. Last year she got me a special edition box set of the entire Harry Potter series, a typewriter, and one of those old fashioned pen and ink sets. Dad bought me a new sweater and some perfume. Which were still great gifts, but they didn’t exactly scream me .
I find the items on my list for Mom rather quickly. That leaves me with the three items left for Dad. I saved those for last. I still love him of course, but sometimes it’s hard to show it. Bitterness creeps up like a spider, and sometimes I forget to shoo it away.
For Dad she wrote a leather wallet, a fountain pen, and a tie for work. In theory, those all should be easy to find. I’m trying hard not to run inside the store, but I have no idea how close Mom is to completing her list so I know I need to hurry. I’m in the men’s department now, but I have no clue where they keep their wallets or ties… Think, think, think.
I’m concentrating so hard, zigzagging through each aisle while also trying not to miss anything, that I don’t see the person right in front of me. OOF! I slam into a man’s chest, and I nearly fall backward from the sudden impact.
I don’t have time to run into strangers, I haven’t even made it to the checkout line yet. I glance up and notice the man standing no less than two feet in front of me. Wow that’s close. He smells so nice… fresh like pine needles. It reminds me of Christmas trees and the list! Shoot! I can’t keep standing here.
“So sorry! Excuse me, I gotta go,” I say quickly and try to awkwardly dodge the guy. Up close he doesn’t look too much older than me. He looks like he’s in his early 20s. Not that I care though, I don’t have time to stand and chat.
“Hey, uh… do I know you from somewhere?
You sort of look familiar.”
At his words, I take a moment to see him, really see him. His hair is light brown and messy, like he forgot to brush it this morning or he simply doesn’t care. He’s wearing one of those ugly argyle sweaters that old men wear and what looks to be expensive jeans of some kind. His eyes are a deep sea green, almost teal, and for a moment I find myself lingering in their depths. Earth to P, earth to P! I snap out of my fantasies about the guy in front of me.
I seriously do not have time for this!
What does he mean I look familiar? He’s nice to look at, and there might be a very vague sense of having seen him before, but I know we don’t know each other. There’s no way I would’ve forgotten him if we would’ve met previously. If I wasn’t in a rush maybe I would have said something nice in return, but what comes out of my mouth is anything but friendly.
“Nope, never met. Must be some other chick,” I say, and I turn to leave again. My heels are now aching because we have been in and out of stores for the past three hours, buying random knick knacks, saving our Christmas gifts list for last.
Before I can get too far, I feel someone standing close behind me. I don’t have to turn around to see who it is. I can smell the sweet pine scent. Why won’t he just leave me alone and let me finish what I came here to do? I can’t let Mom win again this year. This was supposed to be my year.
“What are you looking for? Maybe I can help,” he offers.
I do think he means well, poor guy. I sigh dramatically and spin back around to face him. I take him in again. He’s standing there with his hands in his pockets, looking boyishly handsome and a little shy.
“Why?” I ask, honestly curious about why the guy wants to help someone who ran into him and is being rude.
“I can tell you’re in a hurry and that you don’t know the store that well. I can help you find what you need if you don’t mind.”
There’s no sense in fighting whatever is happening right now. I have to find these items before the game can officially be over, and let’s face it, I don’t know where to look. I’m obviously not getting anywhere on my own. So sure, he can try and help me. I give him a nod and a small smile.
I don’t ask him his name and he doesn’t ask me mine. He finds me a wallet and tie in no time, and I quickly thank him, give him a small wave, and take off for the front of the store, determined to win. I almost forget to look for a fountain pen, but luckily find one in the checkout aisle. It’s not until much later, after we’ve been home for several hours, unloaded all our gifts, and placed them underneath our real Christmas tree, that I allow the butterflies to dance in my stomach.
All the lights are turned off, Christmas music is playing, and I’m reading by the lights of the Christmas tree. My nose is still filled with the smell of pine and the earthy scent of the mountains. My thoughts wander back to the stranger in the men’s department and the butterflies take flight.
He’d asked me if he knew me. Although he looked a little familiar, I was certain I didn’t know him. How could I forget eyes that were that teal and deep like the ocean? Maybe, just maybe, our paths had crossed somewhere around town. Afterall, it is a small town, and most people have mutual friends or some type of connection.
Everyone except for my family. We don’t really know anyone outside of our private, little bubble, including the few families we know from church. If I’m being honest, I’m not sure I know how to make room for somebody else. But if fate really does exist, maybe our paths will align again. Who knows.
Mom takes up the biggest portion of my bubble. Most days I’m okay with that. If only I knew then how quickly I’d forget the kindness of a stranger. It’s funny how some memories decide to fade away and others decide to stay. Little did I know that when I’d look back upon this day, all I’ll remember was racing through store after store laughing and running until my feet were sore with my favorite person in the whole wide world. Because, at the time, I didn’t have room for anyone else.