gifts.
They awakened the next morning in each others arms, deciding to lounge about in bed and sharing memories of Christmases past. Her happiest had been when her father was alive (he'd died in a construction accident when she was nine), and his happiest was that very morning (though he told her instead that it was the christmas when he got his favourite dog, oscar, a half-blind old terrier who needed a home).
There was no talk of gifts between them, yet he longed to dig into his bag and retrieve the slender box with the bright coloured paper. She had no Christmas decorations in her flat, no presents that he could see. She had shown him around the tidy place the evening before, with its light grey and tan walls accented with vibrant coloured pillows and throws and artwork. It suited her well, and he smiled as he watched her move easily around the comfortable kitchen preparing a small breakfast for the two of them.
Finally, he could take it no longer, and after they'd cleaned up the remnants of breakfast together, he retrieved her gift. He pulled it from behind his back and held it out to her when she turned back around, her eyes going wide in shock.
"You didn't have to get me anything…" she started to say.
He silenced her with a shush and a shake of his head. "I wanted to," he replied. "Please. Open it."
Anna hesitated for a moment, then smiled in appreciation. A massacre of paper happened over the kitchen table, until Anna gasped and brought her free hand to her lips. "John, this is too much. I can't take this," she whispered, tears shining in her eyes.
"Yes, you can," he insisted. He walked around behind her and pulled the hair back from one side of her neck, kissing the skin he found, then pulled the silver and diamond necklace from its box (the one he'd stood in front of the shop window admiring for several minutes before he decided to go inside and have a better look. the one that he had to call the credit card company to raise his limit and authorize the transaction in order to purchase. the one that he had decided was worth the paper trail if vera ever got ahold of his financial information). He slid it around her neck, tracing her skin with his fingertips as he secured the delicate clasp. He placed one open mouthed kiss over the top bump of her spine before turning her around gently.
Anna's eyes shone with tears (was she happy? sad? frightened? was it indeed too much?). Her hand came up to finger the strand of gemstones as it lay over the worn cotton of her t-shirt.
"You can wear it to the symphony New Year's Eve," John told her, brushing the hair back from her temple as she avoided his gaze. "We have box seats and I kept the hotel reservation for that night and the night after."
"It's too much," she protested again in a small voice.
"You're worth it," he insisted quietly. "This and so much more. I ask for and expect nothing in return."
She finally met his eyes as twin tears coursed down her cheeks. She was smiling, at least, nervously and genuinely. "I have something for you as well," she said, patting him on the chest. She bounded into the living room before he could protest, returning a few moments later with a flat box wrapped in purple paper with gold snowflakes and green stars (the paper was endearingly hideous).
John smiled and opened the paper carefully (just as had been drilled into his head as a child by his spendthrift father who insisted on using the same paper and boxes every year), finally revealing a slightly battered and faded copy of Ernest Hemingway's A Farewell to Arms.
"I love Hemingway," he whispered, tracing the faded blue dust jacket covered spine with one reverent finger.
"I know."
"This is my favourite."
"I know," she repeated, clearly proud of herself.
He eagerly (and carefully, oh so carefully) opened the book and turned a few pages in to confirm his suspicions. First edition, 1929. He turned back a page to see an inscription from the author himself.
To John,
with best wishes for your travels,
Ernest Hemingway
He frowned at the obvious problem he had with the inscription (the old man was long dead, and unless anna had a time machine in her closet…).
"My maternal grandfather's name was John Hayes," Anna explained. "It was his favourite book as well. He just happened to have it in his bag when he and my grandmother met Hemingway at a cafe during their honeymoon in Paris."
It was his turn to protest. "Anna, this should stay in your family. I can't accept it." (it was too much)
"You can and you will," she said firmly, wrapping her arms around his waist and looking up at him pointedly. "I want you to have it."
He set the book down on the table behind her and cradled her face in his hands, dwarfing her delicate features. (he would tell her. this was the perfect moment, standing in her kitchen, a flood of emotions washing all around and threatening to pull them under. he loved her and he was sure that she loved him. now was the time.)
His cell phone rang.
Both of them jumped and laughed nervously as he dug the offending device out of his pocket and looked at the screen. "It's my mother," he said with a frown.
Anna patted him on the chest and took a step back, the diamonds catching the light and sparkling brilliantly. He sighed regretfully at the lost moment before tapping the screen of his phone.
"Hello, Mum," he crooned.
"Johnny?" his mother answered. "Is that you?"
"Yes, ma'am," John chuckled. "Happy Christmas."
Anna smiled and slinked off to part unknown as his mother chatted away. His mother informed him that she'd been mistaken at the time of the retirement home's annual Christmas dinner and that he should get down there as soon as possible to get a good seat for the seniors' pageant. At least she was lucid and seemingly in good spirits today. He only hoped that would hold.
When he finally hung up and went in search of Anna, he found her staring out the window onto the street below, her fingers playing with the largest center diamond. He slid his arms around her from behind and kissed the shell of her ear. "Do you like it?" he asked in a soft voice. "Are you having a happy Christmas?"
"You have no idea," Anna whispered, turning her head to capture his lips briefly. "You've made it a very happy Christmas, just by being here."
(he could think of ways it could be happier, if he was free of vera and instead wore anna's ring on his finger. in their home together, with their children all around them…)
John blinked back tears at the sudden evolution of his life's dream. If they could only last the time until he was free. He could have everything then. Anna, his company, a future where he didn't have to sacrifice one for the other...
"When do you need to leave?" she asked after a few moments.
John exhaled softly. "Very soon. She's expecting me by two. I should be back around six or seven."
"I'll have dinner ready," Anna said cheekily.
John kissed her cheek and hugged her tightly. They swayed back and forth together, her back against his front and his head tucked into the crescent of her shoulder, until he absolutely had to leave her to catch the train.
(it could be like this every day, if he was only willing to let go. he thought back to the book, a tale of love and war and separation and reunion where, in the end, the hero lost the girl and therefore lost everything.)
losses.
He hadn't arrived home between six and seven as he'd said, and Anna was beginning to worry by eight. She glanced at her phone, silent and dark on the kitchen counter, for the hundredth time. She wouldn't call couldn't. (she needed to know he was okay)
Finally, around half eight, there was a tentative knocking on her door, and she rushed to open it, not even bothering to look through the peephole or use the safety chain. John stood outside, wool coat pulled up around his red ears and his hair blown in every direction. He looked like he was freezing.
"I was beginning to worry about you," she said carefully, sweeping her arm aside to welcome him in.
He hesitated for a moment before stepping into the flat, closing the door behind him. "I'm sorry," he said in a hoarse voice. "I've been walking around for a while. I needed some time alone."
Anna blinked and swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. (maybe this was too soon for him, staying with her. he needed space. their relationship wasn't what she thought it was.)
"It's not you," he said quickly. His eyes were red-rimmed and puffy. "It's not us. It's my mother."
Anna nodded, her fears assuaged for the moment. She offered to take his coat and hung it up on a peg behind the door. "Would you like a cuppa?" she asked, taking one of his icy hands in hers and leading him into the living room.
"Thank you," John said wearily as he sat down on the sofa.
When she returned a few minutes later, two cups in hand, she noticed he was hugging one of the sofa's throw pillows to his body, staring at middle space and not blinking.
"John?" Anna called softly as she offered him his cup.
He did give her a small smile as he accepted the tea (she'd already put a spoonful of honey and two drops of lemon in it), draining it in a few strong gulps while her own sat untouched. She waited for him to begin talking.
"I'd hoped she would be...lucid today," he said as he placed the cup and saucer down on the table beside him. "When she called, she remembered who I was. By the time I got there…"
"I'm sorry," Anna said, sliding closer to him on the sofa. "It must be difficult."
He nodded and hugged the pillow tighter to him. "It's been fast. She'd been a little forgetful for a few months, which is why I encouraged her to look into the place she lives now. Last time I was here, I took her on the tour and got her all squared away. She was excited to make new friends. They have shows and activities there. They make sure she eats well and takes her medicines. They take good care of her, I make sure of that. But since I saw her last, she's gotten worse."
He took a steadying breath, his eyes glossing with tears. "She's barely there anymore. First she called me Edward, who was my father, then she started yelling at me to leave. He wasn't always a good man to her, you see, and I look a great deal like him. So I waited in the common room for a while, and checked in on her again. She asked who I was. Except for those very rare moments, she doesn't remember me. I was hoping she would, before I had to go. She didn't. She doesn't know me."
Tears coursed down Anna's cheeks for him as he raised one shaky hand to cover his eyes. "I have no one left anymore, except for you," he said in a reedy whisper. "And I can't even have you."
Anna slid her arm around his shoulder and pulled him into her lap, cradling him and running her hand through his hair soothingly (he was a giant sized little boy in her arms). "You have me right now," she whispered, her throat tight and her heart aching for him.
(you'll have me forever, if you want)
Dinner was long forgotten, as was any notion of a passionate evening between them. Whatever he needed, she would give him freely. Tonight, all he needed was the safety of her presence and the reminder that he wasn't alone, no matter the distance between them.