Chapter 23
It wasn’t quite what she was expecting, Amy thought, as she flipped the pancakes on the griddle the next morning.
Jones had braved the four inches of snow that had fallen to drive to the clinic to check on the dog he’d operated on the night before.
The snow had stopped, and it was beautiful outside. What a wonderful sight to wake up to on her first day of being married. Except she really didn’t feel married, and she wasn’t sure how Jones felt about her, and that bothered her more than what she thought it was going to.
She stuck the spatula underneath the pancake and flipped it, putting it on a plate, and carefully pouring more batter on the griddle.
She had decided that she would just let Jones take the lead, but she had been hoping that he would... Do something. Kiss her, or something.
But maybe he just didn’t feel like that with her. Maybe all they ever would be was friends. Maybe she’d developed this huge crush on him, tingling when he touched her, barely able to keep from jerking her fingers back when they accidentally brushed while they were doing dishes. Doing dishes of all things.
It was crazy. She had to get a hold of herself, since Jones seemed to be perfectly okay.
He hadn’t said much while they’d been feeding the dogs that morning, and before he left he just said that he was still planning on getting a Christmas tree if it was okay with her .
She nodded and said she’d cook breakfast.
Just mundane things, that would make her feel more married than ever, except...
He came back not long afterwards, reporting that the dog was doing as well as could have been expected, and they ate without talking too much.
The Christmas tree farm wasn’t open when they got there, but by the time they picked out a tree and cut it down Amy knew that they would be open, so they parked, and strolled down through the field.
“I’ve always liked blue spruce.” Jones shoved his hands in his pockets and walked beside her, the way he always had.
She nodded. “I know that’s your favorite kind. In the past I haven’t gotten them because they seem to dry out faster than other kinds, but since it’s so close to Christmas it probably isn’t going to matter unless we're going to keep our tree up through Valentine’s Day or something.”
“I was just kind of wondering how we’re going to have room to live until Christmas. I can’t imagine having it up through Valentine’s Day, but if that’s what you want.”
She laughed. Knowing that he really wouldn’t care. Even if they had to step over the top of each other for two months just so she could keep a Christmas tree up.
“That’s one of the things I really like about you.” She almost said “love.” That’s one of the things she loved about him. She stopped herself just in time.
“What’s that?” he asked, not noticing her stumble.
“That you’re just so easy-going. You don’t get excited about stuff, and you don’t have nasty little comments to say underneath your breath every time I want to do something. And not just with me. With anyone.”
“There are people who do that, aren’t there?”
“Men and women. It’s not just men. ”
“I didn’t think you were picking on my gender.”
“No. It’s just... Some people just don’t seem to be able to be nice no matter how hard they try.”
“Usually those are the people who don’t seem to be trying very hard.”
“True,” she said, “Why is that? Why do some people just always seem to blame everyone else for everything?”
“I don’t know. I mean, beyond the biblical commands that we’re supposed to focus on the positive, it just doesn’t feel very good to constantly be looking at other people and seeing things you don’t like. Especially if you’re married to them.”
“Yeah. Now you need to be doubly sure to look at me and see only the good.”
“Isn’t that what we need to do? Especially with ourselves, but with anyone. You look at them through a lens of acceptance and love.” He paused. “Not saying that we have to accept sin. But we get so confused about mixing up the fact that a person is still a person whether they're sinning or not.”
“But if they’re deliberately sinning, even God says they need to stop.”
“He would, yeah. But even just common everyday interactions. How often do we roll our eyes, even if we're doing it privately, in exasperation at what someone else is doing? And we never seem to have the same exasperation over ourselves.”
“We give ourselves all the grace we need, but we have a very limited supply when it comes to someone else.”
“Yeah.”
They were quiet for a little as the snow crunched under their feet. It was still cloudy overhead, but Amy knew from experience that the snow most likely would not last long. Because of their high elevation, Mistletoe Meadows got more snow than surrounding parts of Virginia, but maybe it was the angle of the sun, or maybe just their position further south, but it usually didn’t last .
“Remember when it would snow when we were kids?” she asked, smiling at the good times they’d had.
“And we’d run outside and make a snowman as fast as we could before it melted? I remember. And your mom was always really awesome at making hot chocolate. Even if it got into the forties or fifties, and it really wasn’t that cold. Because who can play in the snow and not drink hot chocolate afterwards, right?”
“Yeah. Exactly.”
“Have you decided what tree you want?”
“I thought we were getting a blue spruce.”
“I thought you said you didn’t like them because they didn’t last very long.”
“And then we decided that we’re going to get one because we're not keeping it up until Valentine’s Day.”
“All right. I didn’t realize that that conversation had a conclusion, so, glad you were there to interpret for me.”
“Oh my goodness. That’s ridiculous. You heard everything I heard.”
“I didn’t come to that conclusion at all. I thought we’re in the middle of talking about it when... We got distracted or something.”
“What about that one?” she asked, pointing to a scraggly blue spruce that looked like it had been stunted for some reason.
“So we’re getting a Charlie Brown tree?” he asked, tilting his head as though trying to figure out what in the world to say about it.
“It’s cute.”
“It’s ugly.”
“In a cute kind of way.”
“It’s ugly, and there’s no way you can spin it to try to make it be cute too.”
“Don’t you feel bad for it?”
“Feel bad? Why would I feel bad?”
“I dunno. Because it doesn’t look as nice as the other trees around it. ”
“But it’s a tree. Trees don’t have feelings.”
“I know, but still, people are going to come, they’re going to pick the trees around it, they’re going to be very happy with those trees, and it’s just going to be left here, and it’s going to be sad.”
“If trees do feel anything, which I still maintain that they can’t, this tree would not feel sad, it would feel happy that it was still alive, not dead like all the other trees that look nicer. So actually, the fact that it’s ugly will save its life.”
“It will feel sad because all the other trees got to go home for Christmas and it didn’t. And it will be sad all year, and maybe next year it’ll hope that he can be pretty, but it just was never in the cards for it to look anything more than...”
“Ugly.”
“Scraggly and cute.”
They spoke at the same time, and turned twinkling eyes toward each other.
“If you want that tree, we can get it, but just don’t ask me to sit and admire it and pretend that it looks anything other than —”
“Ugly. I know.”
“So that’s the one?” he asked, holding up a saw that he dug out of the shed knowing that it would be too early for them to get one from the Christmas tree farm.
“No. We’re not going to get it if you don’t like it. I feel bad for it because no one else is going to choose it either, but we need to get a tree that both of us agree on. Isn’t that what marriage is supposed to be about? We compromise. I don’t get my way all the time and you don’t get yours.”
“But if we don’t get the tree, then I’m getting my way.”
He tilted his head and looked at her as though he knew he was putting her in a pickle.
“I guess that’s true. But there’s no way we can cut down half a tree. So, I guess you just get your way this time. Because, at least I’m not making you look at an ugly tree from now until Christmas. ”
“It’s not very long until Christmas, so it’s not like it’s two weeks before Thanksgiving and I’m going to have to look at it for the next six weeks.”
“That’s a good point.”
“So do you want the tree?” he asked, taking a step toward it, the crunching of the snow the only sound other than the wind whistling through the tops of the trees.
“No. It has to be one we both like. Not just me.”
He was right that he was kinda getting his way if they didn’t get that tree, but she really didn’t want to take a tree home that he didn’t like. She wouldn’t feel like she was getting her way at all. Not if her husband didn’t like the tree.”
Her husband. That was still so odd.
But it felt good, as they bantered with each other, the snow sparkling around them, the wind lifting her hair and blowing it across her face, and him reaching out to push it back. Maybe his finger lingered just a little on her cheek, maybe their eyes held for just a little longer, or maybe he felt the same oddly good twirling sensation in his stomach that she did.
Maybe not.
Maybe if he did he would do something about it, kiss her.
But he didn’t make any move to do that and started walking again without looking at her.
“What kind of tree is your favorite?” he asked as he moved along.
“I like White Pine. They’re pretty.”
“They’re not your favorite,” he said that as a statement, and took two steps before he said, “Douglas Fir. That’s your favorite.”
“You’re right. But, we don’t have to get Douglas Fir. We can do that next year if we get our tree a little earlier.”
“Maybe we’ll have a house that actually has room for a tree next year,” he said as he turned, heading toward the field with the Douglas fir in it.
“Jones. Let’s get a blue spruce. ”
“I want a Douglas fir.”
“And I want a blue spruce.”
They stopped, and she put her hands on her hips. She wasn’t going to allow him to not get a blue spruce just because she liked Douglas fir. It didn’t always have to be what she wanted.
“You’re the one who likes Christmas trees.”
“You’re the one who suggested we get one.”
“But you’re the one who wants the house to look like Christmas when we come home from the funeral.”
“That’s true I said that, but you’re the one who suggested the tree in the first place.”
“All right. We’ll compromise.” He nodded his head, and she narrowed her eyes, reading that look from a mile away. He had something tricky up his sleeve.
“All right,” she said cautiously.
“Let’s get a white pine.”
A laugh burst out of her mouth. “Of course.” She shook her head, still grinning. “That is so you.”
“That didn’t sound like a yes.”
“Yes.” His solution was perfect. She wanted to get the blue spruce for him, and he wanted to get the Douglas fir for her, and neither one of them wanted to get the one that they really wanted because they didn’t want to not get what the other wanted, so his solution was hilarious and appropriate.
Neither one of them got what they wanted.
“We're sad people, aren’t we?” he said as they turned and started walking toward the white pine.
“I’d say we’re sweet, but I’m not even sure about that. After all, we kind of both just shot each other in the foot.”
“We’re ourselves, depending on how you look at it.”
It didn’t take long for them to pick out a white pine. They had it cut down and Patricia was in the office when they got to the parking lot, and they paid for their tree .
They had enough time to get it up before Amy’s mom called, asking if they could come watch the kids so that she and Isadora could go somewhere and talk.
“I’m sorry my family has lumped you in with me as the go-to babysitter,” Amy said as they took one last look at the white pine in their living room in their tiny little house, before they turned out the lights and walked out the door.
“What did we say earlier? That anything I do is better if I do it with you?”
“That doesn’t mean you enjoy it.”
“Then you can just say that you make anything I do enjoyable.”
He stood looking at her and she glanced at him, and she wasn’t quite sure what passed between them, but it felt warm and good and she nodded in agreement.
“And anything I do is more enjoyable when you’re with me.”