Snowflakes were laying thick on a deserted street, dancing in the rays of streetlamp, making swift and slow laps. Christmas garlands everywhere, and a deer in front of the opposite house has a shining red nose that blinks from freezing or, probably, from power outages. Her father told her in the morning the razor worked badly and it seemed like there were some problems with water too… of course, no one would handle it on Christmas Eve. No, everyone's drinking, celebrating with their families – it's a family holiday, that's right. Even her students went home – apart from Laurel, but she's hardly to blame for it. Nancy and Frank Sinatra take their singing turns in the room, the air is full of cinnamon and ginger – a classic American Christmas, water under the bridge, and you would never think it could happen somehow else.
"A couple of years ago, at the same time, I was lying in an empty hotel room all alone, I was drinking, thinking about Eve and how sorry I was that I would never get anything more beautiful, kind and intelligent as she was in my life. And now… now is not the time to think about her". And you can't want it, especially when you squeeze something soft and warm in your fist as a sign of favor from another person. It's his gift. He said he didn't know what to gift her; she couldn't guess what she wanted herself until he gave her a small green box, crossed with a green ribbon, and said humbly: "That's for you. Merry Christmas". Inside there were gloves – grey, with a warm fleece underlayer, and it amazingly matched her coat. Annalise rejoiced, but had a strange feeling like she wanted to get something else – more expensive, but smaller, neither for all the fingers, but for one – but she couldn't have admitted that even to herself.
pDad takes some kind of pit out of kitchen and opens his mouth widely, like when they were kids, as if he wants them to clap their hands and shout something incredibly moving, something that the parents remember until the first grey in their hair. But the kids are all grown-up now. Annalise was watching her father over her shoulder. "I'm not here, I'm on a street where it's cold, silent and calm". These burning Christmas candles aren't around her, as aren't Christmas carols playing on repeat for the tenth time; her Mom isn't smiling and her sister isn't laughing, and all of this… it doesn't happen to her, but to someone else. She squeezes someone else's gloves – they may belong to one of her clients. Yes, totally, she's somewhere in another life for a long time, and everything that's surrounding her is just a dream she would want to be true. She'd want a happy family, someone's presents, tender words… but she's going to wake up now. The world where everything goes wrong time after time is going to invite her over once again and enfold her completely.
Tranquility can never last long as well as happiness. Bonnie, Connor, Frank or Laurel are to call her up right now, and the world will be over one more time. She could have get used to it by now or turn her cellphone off, but it wouldn't change a damn thing and was too hard anyway; so hard that even a peaceful world, burning candles and a home fireplace warmth seemed alien, much less did the Christmas fun. You can't rejoice when…
- There you are! – Mom exclaims. – How do you like him, Anna Mae? He became a little bit more decent than he was. You can't celebrate Christmas in a jacket!
Oh yes, - Dad played up, - although my size is too big for you.
Her sister groaned, looking at him, straight out from the second floor and even more embarrassed than before. Annalise shook her head and said:
- Mom, the sweater is too ugly.
The sweater could have really been better. This one, old, with lots of pills, looked a lot like sweaters worn by counted by head characters from women's movies – something like "Bridget Jones" – with a little help from the same restless moms. Everything she's got left was to call her friends and start discussing family lives. "They're all in their 30s", Annalise reminded herself, "I'm 50, and…" And the ugly sweater is worn by Isaac and no one else. He seems to truly understand that this sweater – red, with a large grinning snowman, black buttons and yellow ribbons instead of a carrot nose – is disgusting, and it doesn't fit him at all. It's good to know Mom likes him. Both Isaac and the sweater, of course.
- You okay? – he asks timidly so no one knows, when Annalise turns back to the window, and the plates on the table are being filled. "I'm not here, not with him, it's all too well to…" She turns away from the window, meeting his kind, caring eyes. His pupils are all fine, not widened, he isn't high, he's just worried – naturally, her standing by the window and seemingly thinking about… about what? "We know each other for so long, and I still can't get used to this tender therapeutical tone. He knows ways to talk, he knows how to call bluff but… looking at him in this sweater is ridiculous, he doesn't make an impression of a serious human being".
- Better than you are, - Annalise can't hold herself and smirks. It's really laughable – and Isaac knows that. Suddenly she became a little bit calmer, and her eyes softened. It's nothing, he can take that lame sweater off later, when nobody can see them… nobody can see them. Yes, they will be left alone again. Already a couple of months together, and he can't still take the thought of him being alone with her whenever he wants and however long he wants.
The sweater was a kind of a cherry on top: something that finally made Isaac a part of her family. When you see a person in such shameful clothing, he can easily tell you he's got nothing to hide… there was something she knew about him, something that not every close person knows, but the sweater made the picture. A touching detail that made her bite her tongue not to say "I've seen better times". He always wants her to be honest, and has a right to do so; after all, he knows her better than anyone. For million reasons. But it can't be better truly, and it's better not to spoil his – and hers – feasting mood.
- I'm perfectly fine, - she says, knowing for sure Isaac doesn't believe her. But he doesn't breathe a word, because he wants to think vice versa – that's all's good, she's calm, she doesn't want to drink. "He's ready to catch me when I start falling, but… after all, it might happen, and I won't be a burden on his shoulders like it was before. One day this desire passes, leaving nothing behind. Not now, not today. And I will believe in it until it's all true".
Nothing holds her from leaning to a snowman's frown and for one second – a tiny second! – closing her eyes and thinking: that's what they call good times. Now it is good. It doesn't matter what happens afterwards, as Isaac squeezes her, and melting-mocking voices start talking at the table. The seconds turn into eternity. It's better than ever. It's all fine.