Chapter 36
He brewed coffee and enjoyed his first cup by the lights of his Christmas tree (Yes, he’d gotten himself a little tree!), while starting a book he’d picked from a display of “Ho-Ho-Ho Holiday Reads” at the library: Dave Cooks the Turkey by Stuart McLean.
The guy used to have a radio show called The Vinyl Café where he’d read his own work, stories about a married couple named Dave and Morley.
He was so funny that one time, when Cal was listening to his story “Odd Jobs” on the way to work, he’d had to pull over he was laughing so hard.
He wasn’t disappointed. Just a couple of pages in, he almost sprayed coffee out his nose at something Dave did.
He had more coffee. Then he made himself eggs and bacon with toast and hash browns for breakfast. Finally, he figured it was probably late enough to video call Carrie and the kids and wish them a Merry Christmas.
He was right. They were up and about—barely.
He watched them unwrap the gifts he’d sent, feeling nervous, or worse, vulnerable or something.
He’d taken a risk. Usually, he sent gift cards or transferred them cash.
This year, inspired by Vic and the Second Chance Shop, he’d bought them things, which was definitely taking a chance with minimalist millennials.
“Uncle Cal!” Kelsey exclaimed breathlessly. “This is one of those handwoven blankets like Mom has—it’s too much.”
“Do you like it?”
“I don’t like it. I love it. Thank you!”
Her reaction made the fact that Cal was starting to feel that between him and Carrie they were almost singlehandedly supporting Sylvia’s cottage business worth it.
He’d gone directly to Sylvia for this one, though, because he’d wanted to see if she would do one in soft mauve, purple and teals—unicorn colors Kelsey had been obsessed with what seemed like a blink ago.
In a woven wool blanket, they were surprisingly soft and well-blended, not garish at all . . . still, Kelsey wasn’t a kid anymore.
“And the colors?” he asked. “Not too much?”
“Are you kidding me? They’re perfect—and you remembered!”
“Remembered what?”
“My passion for unicorns.”
Cal got a little misty. What a sweetheart of a kid.
Jordy was equally pleased with the starter toolbox Cal had put together for him.
“How did you know I needed this? And the inscribed top is so cool!”
“A little birdie you call Mom might’ve mentioned you were interested in doing some repairs to your place.”
“Now what could my gift card be?” Carrie asked as she opened the little envelope that Cal hadn’t even tried to disguise. There was never any fooling her anyway.
“The card for Complete Pet is a no-brainer. For when I get my dog.”
He smiled and nodded, then motioned to the small blue box she was still holding unopened.
She shook it lightly and looked through the camera at him, half suspiciously, half curiously. “You got me jewelry?”
He shrugged and held back a small laugh. Carrie so wasn’t a jewelry person.
Carrie flipped open the box and grinned like a kid at Christmas, instead of the middle-ager at Christmas that she actually was.
“Cal! You shouldn’t have.”
He knew his grin was as big as hers.
“You like it?”
“It’s amazing.”
“We can get it sized and inscribed when you get her—or him.”
“I might wear it myself until I find the right one, or she finds me.” Carrie slid the chunky silver-link collar with its blingy dog bone tag on her wrist as if to show she was serious.
Next, they watched him unwrap their gifts to him, one of which was a sweater from Carrie.
He read the tag aloud to the camera. “Because you can’t wear flannel every single day.”
“Yes, I bloody well can,” he said to the camera, waving a flannel-encased arm for emphasis.
Jordy and Kelsey laughed.
Then they watched in anticipation as he opened their joint gift, the latest Elif Shafak novel—oooh, he was excited. He opened it to a bookmark they’d slid into it, and discovered it was a gift card. “Oh, wow, you guys! How’d you know I’m into this store?”
Jordy grinned and tossed Cal’s own line back at him. “A little birdie you call Sister might’ve mentioned you were going all interior decorator.”
The visit wound down fairly quickly after that—good timing because his battery was about to pack it in. Cal gave another round of holiday wishes, and before he hit End, Carrie and the kids were already joking about who was going to cook what and who was only going to eat.
Even though it had been an online visit, the house felt emptier or colder or something after they disconnected.
Cal sat his phone on its charger in his bedroom.
In the living room, he used his stereo, so unheard of in this day and age, and put on a record that used to belong to his parents: John Denver’s Rocky Mountain Christmas.
As the first strains of “Aspenglow” came on, though, he had to turn it off.
So beautiful, but too memory laden. Melancholy.
He didn’t want to be sad today. He closed the turntable’s lid and stacked his CD changer with 80s rock instead, volume set low, so it would just be soft background noise.
Then he double-checked his fridge, making sure he’d taken the pre-stuffed, rolled turkey breast he’d bought for the big day out of the freezer and put it in the fridge to defrost. He had, of course.
Finally, he lit a couple of candles and settled back into his chair—imbibing eggnog this time, not coffee—and visited with Dave and his turkey again. It was nice. Just quiet.
An hour or so later, his book about Dave’s turkey was done—great to the very last page. His cheeks hurt from smiling so hard at the outlandish story.
Yawning and stretching contentedly, he looked at his watch. When the time registered in his brain, his peaceful enjoyment of the day drained away. 2:30 pm! What? If he’d ever lived a slower-passing day in his life, he wasn’t sure when.
He got up, put his Dave book in a section of the living room bookshelf dedicated to seasonal reads, then paced the room.
If he had a dog, he could walk it. That would give him something to do when quiet hours stretched too long. He could go for a walk without having a dog, of course, but what was the fun in that?
Vic and her new cat—if it indeed was going to be her cat—popped into his head then. He wondered how they were doing. It was the first time she’d visited his thoughts in at least a couple of hours—a record for him, but he’d never confess that out loud.
He was intentionally trying to avoid obsessing about their date tomorrow because he didn’t know if his heart could survive 48 hours of the extreme excitement that dwelling on it ignited.
Besides, he didn’t want to jinx it by creating massive expectations about what it might lead to, more dates, or a—
See! That’s why he didn’t let himself think about it. He got carried away in thirty seconds flat.
He wandered back to his bedroom to retrieve his phone, mostly charged now.
He wasn’t going to call Vic and disturb her Christmas Day plans, whatever they were, of course.
And he wouldn’t harass her by text either.
They’d very clearly set their plans for tomorrow.
Then again . . . they were having a date.
Maybe it would be weird if he didn’t at least text her a Merry Christmas.
His phone sprang to life, and a notification showed he had two messages.
Cal opened it, expecting Carrie, or one of the kids.
But it was Vic. Cal groaned in disbelief. Of all the times and days to ignore his phone! The time stamp showed she’d texted him hours earlier—and like a numpty, he’d totally ignored her. And on Christmas.