CHAPTER THIRTEEN
JAMES
Monday rolls around and I feel good after spending the weekend with Holly. Who am I kidding? I always feel better after being around her.
We went to a holiday craft show down in Rehoboth, which she said she plans to be a vendor at next year, and even though I told her she didn’t need to, she bought me a miniature Christmas tree.
Which even I had to admit brightened up my living room considerably.
After the show we both enjoyed walking the deserted boardwalk.
As we walked, all sorts of plans popped into my head, and that’s when it hit me that I wanted this.
A future with Holly. I could see the two of us having adventures together as well as long evenings at home.
Though I looked forward to new experiences with her.
That’s why when Stevens starts talking about taking his grandkids on a holiday train ride over the weekend I know immediately that while I’ve never been interested, it’s something that Holly would love and therefore I want to experience it with her.
It’s a loop through a stretch of decorated farmland about an hour north of here.
I book the tickets for Friday evening and mark on my schedule that I’ll be unavailable after office hours that day. That night, while we’re having dinner at my place, I surprise her with plans.
“A holiday train?” Her face lights up exactly the way I hoped it would. “James, it’s an actual train ride ?”
“It is. With hot chocolate and cookies, apparently,” I say, resisting the urge to shake my head. I never thought at forty-five I’d be taking a girlfriend on a holiday train ride. But life is full of twists.
“This is the single most romantic thing anyone has ever planned for me.” She exclaims, leaping out of her chair and dashing around the table to throw her arms around my neck in a tight hug as she plants a kiss on my willing lips.
The train itself is smaller than I expected, a string of enclosed cars strung with lights inside and out, pulled along at a pace slow enough to take in the long stretch of holiday lights display.
We settle into a cushioned bench seat, with Holly glued to the window, and ten minutes after boarding, the whole thing lurches forward with a small jolt that has Holly grabbing my arm and laughing.
The fields on either side are filled with lights.
Lights fashioned into everything imaginable.
Not just Santa, reindeer, and snowmen, but Ferris wheels filled with elves, race cars that look like candy canes, Santa in a hot air balloon, whales leaping into the air trailing lights.
In awe, I crowd Holly as we both peer out the window, all while Christmas tunes fill the train car.
“Look at that one,” she says, pointing excitedly at a display of a sleigh pulled by eight illuminated reindeer, each one taller than a person. “I want that in my front yard.”
“I doubt your neighbors would love that.”
She pushes my shoulder. “Whatever. My neighbors love me. I bring them cookies every December.”
An attendant comes through the car, handing out striped white and red cups of hot chocolate and a small plate of shortbread cookies.
We're three stops in, the train slowing near a small pond rimmed with light-up present boxes in alternating colors, when Holly goes quiet beside me, watching a family walk through our car heading toward the next. It’s a family with five children ranging from toddler to early teens, all bundled in colorful winter coats and wearing big smiles.
“Look at them,” Holly says softly, with a wistful note in her voice. “Five kids. Can you imagine?”
I shake my head. “Honestly, no.”
She laughs, her gaze never leaving the family as they troop on past us.
“I've always wanted a big family. Growing up it was just me and Frost, and I loved it, but I used to beg my parents for more siblings. I wanted a sister or two. And now I think about how awesome Christmas mornings with a houseful of kids would be. How chaotic and amazing.” She glances at me sideways.
“What about you? Did you ever want kids?”
The question catches me slightly off guard, though I suppose it shouldn't, given where we are and what we're watching.
“I thought about it,” I say carefully. “Once, early on, before things with my ex went the way they did.
She wasn't interested, and that was fine with me. I told myself I didn't need it.”
“And now?” Holly prompts.
I consider the question before answering.
“I'm not sure. I'm not against the idea, exactly.
But I'm also not a young man anymore. If I had a child now I'd be fifty by the time they started kindergarten.
Sixty-five at their college graduation, if I'm lucky enough to make it that far.
There's a practical element to it that I can't entirely ignore.”
Holly studies me for a long moment. “Well, what if you were with a woman who did want them?”
“Then I imagine I'd have a lot to think about.” I choose my words carefully, aware of the shaky ground we’re venturing into. “I'm not saying no. I'm saying I genuinely don't know how I'd feel, and I'd rather tell you that honestly than pretend fatherhood is something I’d want to jump right into.”
She's quiet for a beat, and I brace myself, unsure which direction this is about to go. Then a small, teasing smile inches up her pink lips. “You're not that old, you know. Besides, it's not like you'd be the one who's pregnant.”
“Thankfully.” The word comes out more emphatic than I intend, and it earns a laugh from her. “You women are marvels. I mean that completely. I've seen what the job actually involves, secondhand, and I have no illusions about how little credit women get for their part in it.”
“Damn right.”
I'm about to say something else when a ripple of attention moves through the car ahead of us. Heads turns and many loud gasps sound.
I follow Holly's gaze toward the front of our car, where a young man, maybe early twenties, has gotten down on one knee in the narrow aisle between benches, holding a small box up toward a woman who's pressed both hands over her mouth.
“Sophia,” he says, his nervous voice carrying over the soft clatter of the train. “I've loved you since the first week I knew you. I want every Christmas after this one to look exactly like tonight. Will you marry me?”
The woman is already nodding before he finishes the sentence, tears streaming down her face, and the entire car breaks into applause as he slides the ring onto her finger.
Someone near the front starts badly humming “Here Comes the Bride,” and the whole thing dissolves into cheers and wild clapping.
Beside me, Holly has gone very still, watching the couple with bright eyes, a tremendous smile and her cupped hands pressed under her chin. She looks positively giddy.
It hits me harder than I expect.
Not the proposal itself. I've sat through enough hospital fundraisers and seen enough grand gestures performed for cameras to be mostly immune to the spectacle of it.
What hits me is Holly's face. The unguarded, total sincerity of her joy watching two strangers promise each other forever on a slow-moving train surrounded by lights.
This is what she wants. Maybe not a showy proposal, but the moment itself, the certainty, the version of love that doesn't waver or take the time to consider what’s practical.
And she wants children, an entire house filled with them, to go along with the husband.
Children I’m not sure I can handle. And absolutely I want Holly, but am I good with getting married a second time?
I’ve never given it much thought because I didn’t think I would get to this place in my life again.
But watching her face right now, lit up with secondhand happiness for two people she's never met, I find myself wondering what if I can’t give her what she wants and needs?
Is it fair to ask her to wait when that waiting might never pay off?
Would she be content with things staying as they are? Just the two of us?
The applause dies down, and the happy couple snuggle together in their seat; their happiness almost painful to witness.
The train rolls forward again, past the glowing pond, into a stretch of dark field strung with simple white lights, and Holly turns to me, her eyes still a little wet, and smiles like nothing in the world is wrong.
“Wasn't that wonderful?” she says.
“It was,” I say, meaning it, even as something cold and unfamiliar settles low in my chest.
I spend the rest of the ride smiling at her joy, drinking the hot chocolate and eating the cookies.
But underneath it, quietly, persistently, a question has lodged itself somewhere I can't easily dislodge it from.
What if I’m the man blocking her path to happiness?