CHAPTER 28

Fristmas

They got a small Christmas tree because they didn’t have enough ornaments to fill up a regular-sized one. Beyond that, it only seemed right, given that it was just the two of them in their little apartment. Leda had visions of getting a bigger and bigger tree each year so that by the time they’d have children they’d have a full-sized one and enough ornaments to fill it.

Apart from decorating the tree, it hadn’t felt like Christmastime, really. It was sunny and in the mid-sixties most days. On Saturday they went downtown and there was skating in Union Square below palm trees. A band played Christmas carols on Caribbean steel drums.

“Who’d ever think you could miss feeling cold,” she said to John over a tinny “Little Drummer Boy.”

They decided to have their own little Christmas the week before they would be going home to visit their families. How oddly comforting it was to have this private little couple’s Christmas. It put so much misery into perspective, as if tinsel and stockings were enough to compensate for all the lonely afternoons spent in the house.

She cleaned the entire apartment that Friday before “Fristmas” (“fake” + “Christmas”), as they called it. It was an ambitious endeavor; she even washed the cabinets. At first it felt cathartic in the way that cleaning often could, but as the day rolled on, and her back started hurting, and she pulled a piece of floss off the floor from behind the toilet, she started to think about how this was the life that so many women in history had lived, that all they did was clean like this all day, every day, and from them she could not really extract her own form. She saw herself as pale and tired, falling asleep at night from an exhaustion that was cruel and unrelenting and waking up the next day to nothing but the same. And here I am cleaning things John would never think to clean because he’s a man, and he’s never thought about cabinets being dirty. No, he wouldn’t find this floss behind the toilet. No, his back will never ache like this.

Later on in the day she took a break and looked through a Victoria’s Secret catalog. There was this one picture of a model in cotton underwear holding up a pillow shaped like lips over her breasts. The picture stood out because the model didn’t look that skinny. She was, of course, as skinny as any of the other models, but the way she posed made her look kind of like she had a bit of a belly. Leda couldn’t stop staring at it. It was as if they’d missed this one bad picture. That it had somehow snuck its way into the catalog among all the other glossy, perfectly formed shapes. She had an impulse to cut the page out and save it. As she got up to get the scissors she thought better of it and put the catalog in the recycle bin instead.

The next morning they woke up and exchanged gifts under the tree. She bought John a guitar that she’d been saving for. He bought her a locket from Tiffany’s. It was an enormous surprise. Nearly six months before, they had gone in to take a look at the jewelry just for fun. She had seen the silver locket and really liked it.

“It’s done in the style of the 1920s. It’s from the Great Gatsby collection we’ve done after the film,” the saleslady said. She leaned in over the counter. “Tiffany’s did the jewelry for the movie, in case you didn’t know.” Neither of them had known.

Leda really loved the little flower pattern on the front and even though it was big and so intricate, it looked subtle and beautiful on her. John offered to buy it for her right then, but she refused because it was so expensive.

“It’s stupid to buy Tiffany’s,” she said as they walked out of the store. “You just pay for the label.”

Opening it on Fristmas morning, she had not anticipated that it could make her so happy. John had put a little picture of the two of them inside, which was really quite thoughtful.

“A locket, about a book, for a writer,” he said as he fastened it around her neck. When she texted Anne about it she couldn’t help herself and said, “John bought me a locket from Tiffany’s!!”

And Anne wrote back, “Wow! I’ve always wanted something from Tiffany’s!”

They baked Christmas cookies and watched Home Alone. At around three in the afternoon they had really good sex. It is our first Christmas living together, and it isn’t real in any way because Christmas is really next week, she thought as she lay in bed beside him. The room felt stuffy and thick. She could faintly smell asphalt that had been freshly laid on the street.

That night they went out to dinner. She wore a dark blue dress and her only decent pair of heels. They laughed and talked, and it felt like dating from when they had first gone out. Before dessert came she went to the bathroom, and as she was washing her hands, looking down at them sudded and wet, she had a fleeting feeling of panic, like the feeling of anticipation when a doorbell rings or the moment you hear your name being called in a crowd. My whole life is going by, she thought. As quickly as the feeling came it was gone, and she dried her hands on a towel.

On the drive home they talked about the trip back to Boston and seeing their families and all the things they’d do when they were home. It was such a relief to think that she wouldn’t be alone in the apartment for a whole week. Tinsel and I’ll be home for a week, she thought.

“It really doesn’t feel like Christmas out here, does it?” she said, and she rolled down the window and the air felt warm and there were palm trees and somewhere on the street someone laughed and said, “Hell yes.”

Some minutes later they drove up the big hill that led to their apartment. Leda looked back at the view that revealed itself with the climb. The city lights were bright and speckled and tossed over the landscape like stars. “It looks like a spread-out Christmas tree,” she said.