A/N: This story was born out of a mistake. :P I was trying to respond to a "mistletoe" challenge on livejournal, but didn't read the fine print. As a result, I'd written about two pages when I realized it was only supposed to be 150 words long. Oops. So you guys get the story instead! :) Enjoy! Oh - and please let me know if you'd be interested in seeing what I ended up actually using for the challenge. It isn't connected to this story at all, but since they kind of inspired each other, I would add it as another chapter. Reviews are love!
Last class, my students painted birdhouses. This time they drew pictures of Nerf guns and Barbies and the Wii games they wanted for Christmas. Their happy chatter filled my ears. I closed my eyes for a minute and listened, smiling. It's almost impossible to be lonely in a room full of children.
"Ms. Blanchard?"
"Yes, Greta, is something wrong?"
The tiny blonde pouted. "Anna knows I need the blue for my candy house, but she won't give it to me! And I told her I needed it way before she started drawing her puppy. It's my turn now." Her eyebrows wrinkled together adorably.
"Well, dear, there's a whole box of crayons at every table; I'm sure we can find you another blue one. Then you and Anna can both—wait a minute, Anna wants a blue puppy for Christmas? And why are you drawing a candy house?" I tried not to laugh at the thought. No one likes to be laughed at.
Greta shrugged. "It's her favorite color," she said matter-of-factly, "and puppies are her favorite too." Then she grinned impishly. "And I just figure if Santa gives me a whole house made of candy, I'll never run out."
I did laugh a little then, and handed her a blue crayon from one of the boxes. Her whole face lit up. "Thanks, Ms. Blanchard!" She grinned, scurrying back to her table.
That's another reason I love to teach. It's so easy to make them smile. And their smiles make me smile too.
Only one of my children wasn't smiling. He was also the only one not talking a mile a minute about his Christmas list. I sighed. Henry sat curled up on the rug next to the bookcase, paging through his book of fairytales. For the millionth time, I found myself wishing I'd never given it to him.
"Henry, honey, are you okay?"
He looked up at me and closed the book. "I'm fine."
"Did you already finish?"
He was wearing that mysterious little half-smile he'd had ever since I'd given him the book. "I can't really draw what I want for Christmas," he said slowly.
My heart sank. I had a pretty good idea I knew what he meant, but I tried anyway. "Sure you can, Henry. You can't be that bad." I looked both ways and then whispered, "you should see me draw. I'm awful."
His mouth twisted a little as he considered me. "It's not that."
"Then what is it?" I asked.
He didn't answer. He was suddenly staring over my shoulder with the same expression Greta'd had when she got the blue crayon. The next thing I knew, he'd darted around me and was standing at the door. "Mr. Doe!" he cried, skidding to a halt. "You're here to see Ms. Blanchard, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am. How'd you know?"
Henry answered, but I don't have any idea what he said.
That voice…. My legs suddenly didn't feel very sturdy. I swallowed hard and started twisting my ring. There was no way he could be here. Not in the middle of a school day. I can't do this, I thought. I quit volunteering for a reason.
"D'you think I could steal Ms. Blanchard away for a minute, Henry?" David asked.
I turned around and hurried to the door just as Henry said—predictably—"Sure!"
"Henry, John Doe isn't really his name, remember? This is Mr. Nolan." I took a deep breath, keeping my eyes safely on Henry's face. "Why don't you go draw your Christmas wish? I'm sure you can do it." I tried to smile encouragingly. I don't think it worked very well. Henry grinned at me like he could see every thought in my head and scampered off.
"He seems like a nice kid." David said. I still hadn't looked at him, but I knew he was smiling at me because my ring finger was tingling, my throat was going dry, and I seemed to be rapidly losing the ability to think. Those things always happened when he smiled at me. The first was probably because I twisted my ring so much when he was around. (Nervous habit.)
"Um, I-I'm sorry. I'm working right now. I can't, um…. leave the kids unsupervised. And-and…. um—what are you doing here?"
"I'll let you get back in a minute, but I was in the area and thought I'd wish you a Merry Christmas—"
He was talking to me. I had to look at him. It's rude not to look at someone when he's talking to you.
"Don't worry, I completely understand that you can't leave—"
Mmmm.
"—but, well, to be honest, I really just wanted to see you in action."
Oh, no. Looking at him was a bad idea.
It should be against the law for married men to have eyes that blue and a smile that charming. I shook my head to clear it, closing my eyes.
"I'm sorry, what?"
He chuckled. And, my oh my, that sound did nothing for my self-control.
"I was just saying that I wanted to see what you were like with all your kids. And I thought I'd wish you Merry Christmas and ask if there was any way you could meet me tonight? We could go for another walk?"
So many confusing emotions were running through me. He wanted to see me again! I was the luckiest person in the world. Catherine! I was the most horrible person in the world.
I stared helplessly up at him. "Uh, um, I—"
"Ms. Blanchard!" It was Anna, the girl who wouldn't share her blue crayon with Greta. When I turned around, she was grinning from ear to ear. "Ms. Blanchard, you gotta kiss that guy."
I froze, unwanted fantasies flashing through my mind. "Anna. I…. why would you say that?" My ring could almost spin around my finger on its own by now. David was silent behind me, but I could feel the tension between us like a living thing.
Anna's eyes sparkled. "Because you're standing under the mistletoe," she said sweetly, pointing. By this point, my entire class was staring. Whispers and giggles flew around the room.
I turned around and looked up. Sure enough, some mischievous staff member had hung a sprig of mistletoe in my doorway. The next thing I knew, I was staring into David's eyes. It was suddenly hard to breathe.
"Christmas traditions are important," he said seriously, "that's one thing I do know." He stepped closer.
I couldn't think straight. I couldn't think at all. "Yes," I whispered. My throat was dry.
He bent his head and kissed me.
On the cheek.
On. The. Cheek.
There was no way. "I… I don't think that's how the tradition goes," I stuttered.
"Right." He was breathing like he'd just run a race. "Well, then, since it is the Christmas se—"
And then we were really kissing. I think I might've started it, but that part's a little hazy. All I know is that he was kissing me, and I was kissing him, and it felt…. right. It felt like I was home for the first time in my life. He took my head in his hands and pulled me gently closer. My fingers found his face. Our mouths moved together as though they'd done this many times before.
"…. sittin' in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes marriage—" My kids' voices hit me like a bucket of cold water.
Marriage. Catherine. I broke the kiss and my hand dropped from his cheek as if it'd been burned. But his warm hands still cradled my head. "James," I pleaded, my head still spinning. "You have to let me go. Catherine—"
"—we're not together anymore," he interrupted, still staring at me as if I were the only real thing in his world.
I pulled away, blinking quickly. "And that's why you have to let me go," I whispered. "I don't want to ruin anyone's life." My voice broke. I licked my lips and turned my back on him, facing the class. "Well, there you go!" I said brightly, "Christmas, and all its traditions, are very important. And can anyone tell me which tradition is most widely practiced?"
Henry's hand shot into the air. "Presents," he said quickly, before I could call on him. He was practically glowing with triumph. I winced inwardly, but nodded and continued in my teacher voice.
"That's right. So why don't all of you show me what you drew?"
I saw Greta's candy house, Anna's puppy, and numerous other Christmas wishes. When Henry got to me, he was still beaming. "Sorry, Ms. Blanchard, I didn't draw anything," he said, but I could tell he really wanted to say something else entirely. He was bursting at the seams.
I, selfish person that I am, didn't want to hear it. "Okay, class, time for lunch!" Then I turned toward my desk, glancing at the door. David was gone.
That night, as I lay in bed, I suddenly remembered that I'd called him James. Why had I done that? I didn't even know anyone named James.
"It must be the curse," I mumbled sarcastically, balling up my pillow in an effort to get comfortable.
I didn't sleep much that night.