The little things, too, things that only Cortland might appreciate: that I'd completed the New York Times crossword in record time the day before, that I'd seen four ducks walking in front of his house last week on their way to a local pond, and they had stopped and looked at his house as if they knew they were welcome there.
The invitation did not ask for an RSVP, so I decided I would just drop by. He had probably invited all the neighbors, though many would already be out of town visiting relatives, and it would be rude not to wish him happy holidays in his first Christmas in his home.
More than ever, I felt Joel's presence in our home. As I removed the clutter, peace fell over me, the anxiety washed away. I missed him all the same, but as Deacon Friar had suggested, I felt Joel in my heart instead of pushing him out. Thinking of him had transitioned from hurt to comfort.
This would be my first Christmas After with la vita allegra. I'd baked Joel's favorite Christmas foods-banana nut bread and peanut butter cookies-and doled them out to the neighbors. I had taken the boys to the ATO house to deliver four dozen cookies to da Vinci to share with his guys, and another three dozen to the Panchal Center. I had saved one loaf back to take to Cortland's party.
Judith and Barbara took the boys to a Christmas party at Life so I could go to Cortland's party alone. I walked across the street at 7:05 p.m., not wanting to be the first one there, but no other cars were in the driveway. As I rang the doorbell, I heard Christmas music coming from the inside-the classics, Frank Sinatra. I wondered if the other neighbors had done as I had and simply walked over, though there were no other footprints on the snowy sidewalk.
Cortland answered the door, wearing a red sweater and pressed slacks, handsomely festive. He took the banana bread I offered him. “You came,” he said as if he couldn't believe it.
“Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas. Oh, come in. Let me show you around.”
“Wow.” The place was completely transformed. New tile, new paint, new granite and stainless steel kitchen, just as he'd described. I admired his vision for change. “It's all so different.”
“You like it?”
“Like it? I love it. Wait 'til all the other neighbors get here. They'll be jealous.”
He took my coat and hung it in the entry closet. I followed him to the kitchen and sat on the black bar stool and noticed two martini glasses on the counter. Two and not ten, twenty?
“Can I pour you a Christmastini?”
“A what-ey?”
“It's pomegranate juice. Nice holiday drink. Pretty tasty, too. And full of antioxidants.”
“And vodka, I presume.”
“Well, that, too.”
“One can't hurt.”
He shook the martini mixer and poured me a glass, the rich, red liquid filling it temptingly. “So congratulations on your new post at the university, Dr. Griffen.”
“How did you know? Wait a minute. Noble, Judith, my mom. You probably know everything that's been going on with me. And I had so much to tell you.” I caught myself, too revealing.
“I'd much rather hear it from the horse's mouth. Not that you're a horse, of course.”
I drank one, two, three Christmastinis and told him everything that had been bottled up inside of me, beginning with the mundane and getting more and more personal, about how I broke up with da Vinci the night before Thanksgiving and how I'd found his journals and how the boys had wanted to play matchmaker to make me happy again.
We moved from the kitchen to the living room on the plush leather couches and Dean Martin sang to us as we ate the appetizers that seemed like an awful lot of food for two people. I'd been enjoying the party so much I hadn't noticed the time, or that no one else had joined us.
“Where are the people?” I asked.
Cortland looked around. “What people?”
“The party people. Where is everyone you invited to your party?”
“They're all here.”
“They're all… wait a minute. You threw a party and invited one person?”
“That's right.”
“So it's not a party at all, but more like a date.”
Cortland shook his head, playing innocent. “Nope. This has all the ingredients for a party: music, food, drinks. I think even you can't refute that this is a party.”
“A party of two.”
“Does it really matter what we call it?”
“Of course it matters. Terminology matters very much.”
“Well, I, for one, think whatever it is we're doing here is going pretty well.” He leaned closer, then noticed the snow falling outside. “Thank you, Jesus.” Cortland bounced off the seat.
“Did you just thank the Lord for the snow?”
“Yep. It's the one party ingredient I couldn't pick up at the store. I needed it to snow so I could show you this.” He grabbed my hand and led me outside, down the path, the snowflakes tickling our faces as we walked hand in hand to the swing. He'd placed little red scarves on the duck statues in the garden.
“Nice touch,” I had to admit.
We held hands and swung back and forth, watching the flakes fall onto the trees, the oak, the evergreen, the tops of the ducks' heads. I rested my head on his shoulder. “You do know how to throw a good party,” I said finally.
“If you like this, just wait and see what I'm like on a date.”
“Dating is for the birds. I feel too old to date.”
“We could probably find a word you liked better. Mating?”
I turned up my nose. “Eww. No.”
“I've always liked the word ‘rendezvous.‘ It's fun to say: ron-daaaaaayvooooo.”
“I suppose we could rendezvous, though I'll need clarification on your definition.”
“Why don't we make it up as we go along?”
He leaned in again to kiss me, and I backed away. “I make it a habit not to kiss on my first party. And I better get back and finish wrapping some gifts for the boys.”
Cortland snapped his fingers. “I'm glad you reminded me. I have a gift for you. Nope. Scratch that. It's not a gift at all, but a party favor.”
Back inside, he grabbed my present from under the white vintage Christmas tree and handed it to me, wrapped in pages from the New York Times crossword. All puzzles he had completed, no less. I may have met my match in more ways than one.
Inside the box lay oversized Scrabble pieces, 8-inch squares, nine pieces total. I lay them out on the carpet: F, R, O, A, D, R, E, K, W. Within a few seconds, I had assembled them in order: WORD FREAK.
“For your new office,” he said.
“I love it. It's the nicest party favor I've ever received.” I kissed him on the cheek, tempted to kiss him through the night, but it felt good to show restraint, to take things slowly. “Thank you.”
“Thanks for coming. It wouldn't have been much of a party without you.”
“You can say that again.”
“It wouldn't have been much of a party without you.”
Some traditions remain the same After, and some die along with the deceased. While so many couples and young families struggle to please everyone at Christmas, Joel and I had set the stage early on that Christmas Eve was our private holiday. We would go where we wanted to go and do what we wanted to do. When the boys came along, our parents complained they wanted to see us Christmas Eve, but we insisted Christmas Eve be our day. We tried different things on Christmas Eve, ice skating at a local ice rink (too cold), visiting friends who didn't have relatives in town (too exhausting), until we finally settled into the tradition of attending Jesús and Gabriella's church for holiday mass, followed by Panchal's annual holiday dinner (celebrating multiple religions in one), kettle popcorn, and a game of holiday Scrabble.