Chapter 24
[Lumi]
At night, Saint and I attend the annual Christmas carol event in the town square renowned for the largest group of people singing carols while wearing Santa hats.
The fountain in the middle of the square is covered by a large platform in the winter months, and the leader of the caroling will stand on the raised section.
“This is ridiculous,” Saint mutters under his breath as I hand him the commercially-made plush cap with a rim of fluffy white trim and a ball on the top of the triangular shape.
“Santa . . .,” he grouses, “does not wear a hat like this.”
“Oh yeah,” I tease. “And what does Santa wear?”
“A red knit cap, like any other person when it’s cold and you want to keep your head warm.”
I stare at him for a second, prepared to ask him how he’s an expert on the man in red. Then chuckle instead, deciding it’s silly to question, just like it was silly for him to offer an explanation.
I don’t know why I’m in a funk this evening, my mood having drastically shifted from this morning’s easygoing event and this afternoon’s delight to this evening.
Perhaps it’s the darkness. Or the omniscient glow of the tree.
Danny’s absence is hitting harder. Saint’s leaving feels suddenly inevitable.
Maybe it’s a result of exhaustion. Being fucked into oblivion can have that effect, but Saint and I took a quick winter nap after our earlier escapade, continuing to cling to one another even in our sleep.
Deep down, I know the shift has more to do with how we eventually had to part. Climbing out of bed to dress and eat, and carry on with the holiday activities, each one acting like a checklist, propelling the season pass faster.
With my arm tucked in his, I lead us toward Neve and Isolde, both bundled up against the harsh cold, and donning their own version of a fuzzy, red and white Santa cap.
When the caroling begins, we run through the typical gamut of songs from traditional and somber to classic and lighthearted. At one point, people are distracted by a couple kissing off near a corner of the activity.
I give Saint a hesitant look. How much longer will we kiss? How soon before we share our last one?
When we come to “In the Bleak Midwinter”, I focus on the lyrics while looking at Saint.
In the Christian faith, people believe the coming of a savior arrives in winter as a small child born in a barn. And kings and commoners alike recognize he was someone special, but they didn’t know what to gift him for his birthday.
While all of this was more religious than I am, I still stare at Saint, wondering, like the singers of the song, what do you give someone special in your life? When he owns an Aston Martin. When he has a private plane. What could I give him that would express my feelings for him?
He was clearly thrilled by simple woolen socks, but I want to give him something more meaningful.
As the song comes to an end, I realize the only thing I can give to Saint is my heart, like the lyrics suggest.
My heart is the most valuable thing I have to offer, and I’ll willingly hand it over to him as my Christmas present. My permanent gift.
If only he could stay. Or I could go with him.
When a tear escapes my eye, his brows severely pinch, and he stops singing to watch as the single drop travels down the edge of my nose. Using his teeth, he pulls his gloves from his hands and catches the drop before it hits my mouth. He brings the tip of his fingers to his lips and sips it free.
“Lumi?” Isolde says my name.
I twist my body but not my attention. “Yeah?”
“If you don’t sing, you break the record,” she teasingly warns. Like I’ll break the link of chain letters sent in hopes of a prize as the chain spreads and letters travel.
If I don’t sing, I’ll break the spell Saint has on me. Or maybe if I don’t sing, time will stand still a little longer.
Instead, Saint pulls me under his arm and sings the next song softly to my ear, where I don’t hear the words, only the beat of my heart, caroling for him to stay.