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Exactly two days before Christmas, I ask Erik if he is going to get me a present.
He looks up from his papers and frowns. "I gave you a house!" he answers, and there is a sulky note in his voice. "Is that not enough?"
I giggle, think for a moment, and say, "I suppose that's quite enough."
But I know that it is not enough for Erik. If he does get me something—and I am fairly sure he will—then I will surely feel bad if I do not have something to give him as well. He may not like it, or he will tell me something about how I am enough for him, but I would dearly love if I could give him his first present in his life.
Nothing in the shops will do, of course. Erik would not need any of that. And I couldn't make anything of value, and I certainly didn't want to embarrass myself. I spend several hours thinking about something, until I went down into town to think and get ideas.
When I found it, I wasn't sure. It was dreadfully simple, and not very personal at all. So I took it to an engraver, which helped. But then I couldn't pick it up until tomorrow, and that was Christmas Eve. I walked back home, a little worried that it wouldn't be ready in time. I went in our cottage, wringing my hands and still lost in thought.
Erik must see my nervousness, because he is watching me like a hawk. "Something bothering you?"
"No." I say.
Erik laughs. "What a little liar you are! Come sit next to me."
I step lightly over and sit beside him. Unfortunately, he knows that when I am hiding something, I do not like to be touched. His arm slithers out and fixes firmly around my waist. Pulling me closer, he puts his lips to my ear. It's a pleasant feeling, despite the fact that I am terrified he will make me blurt out what I am getting him.
"Now, sweetheart," he purrs. "Erik knows you are not hiding something from me, right?"
I squirm. It's really not fair when he uses that tone with me. It's hard to lie to him when he does that. "Of course I am, Erik." I murmur back. "But if I told you, wouldn't that spoil the surprise?"
He pulls back, confused. "Surprise?" His eyes suddenly narrow, and he looks quite intimidating for a moment. "I do not like surprises."
I give my trademark pout. "Not even from me?"
"Hmmm."
I touch the side of his face. "It's a surprise from me. You'll like it." I internally cringe, What if he doesn't like it? What if he interprets it the wrong way? I think for a moment, trying to find any ridiculous 'hidden meaning' he could find in it. Besides, he had kept the surprise of a whole house for however many days; I could surely keep the very small surprise of a-- well, I mustn't even think about it. Erik might read my mind when he is so close.
Erik touches the corner of my eyes. "You are so adorable when you think." he muses. "You were out in town for a very long time. It was dark out. Erik almost came after you."
I move my head. He probably did. "Well, I'm glad you didn't."
His eyes blaze a little again. "Why not?"
I give an irritated huff at the naiveté of the man before me. "I said it was a surprise, Erik! That means you can't know what it is yet!"
"But why do I get a surprise?"
I glare at him. "Christmas is a time to give things to the ones you love. It is a very simple rule. You are not exempt from it."
He opens his mouth, appears to think for a moment, and then fixes me with a very dark stare indeed.
"Fine." he says. "But perhaps I won't like it."
"Perhaps you will." I suggest.
"Erik has never received a present before."
I beam at him. If it will be his first present, shouldn't he be overjoyed? "Then this present shall be extra special, and you must be good about it and accept it."
He really looks very sulky, and I'm not sure why. Does the idea of getting presents offend him that much? Or does he simply not know how to cope with the thought of actually getting a present? I do not like the little looks he is giving me. I try to mimic him, hunching my shoulders, turning down my mouth, and crinkling my eyes. When I mock him, it either produces a very negative response, or an appreciative chuckle. I hope for the latter.
"Christine!" he says in a sighing manner. "Did you know you are so very beautiful?"
I blink a few times. I didn't realize that frowning and looking moody qualified as beautiful in his books. "What were we talking about?"
"Surprises," he answers absentmindedly, stroking my hair. "You were talking about surprises."
I let him be quiet for a moment. I can tell he is thinking when his eyes get all distant, and it seems that he is not focusing on anything. The top of his forehead crinkles, and now I can tell he is really thinking.
But then he seems to shift, and his gaze turns to me and he smiles.
"We were talking about how you are beautiful, my dear."
Erik's hands are cold.
I do not lie when I say this. His hands are like ice. I do not always understand how it is possible, even when his hands have been in gloves for hours. It is one of the many peculiarities of my husband that I accept and embrace. It is not exactly a desired trait… Sometimes, if his hand falls on me at night, I shiver. Erik notices. Always. And then he'll turn away.
But it is not his fault. So I cannot fault him for it. Instead, it just one more thing to make him mine. If I came home one day, and his hands were suddenly warm, I would feel cheated. He wouldn't be my Erik anymore.
His hands are cold under my chin, and I don't mind anymore.
His lips are warmer—still cold, mind you—but warmer. His neck is warmest, and when I lean my head against it, I can hear his heartbeat, as if it's trying to prove that it can heat its owner's body as well as it can.
His heartbeat has always been so fast; it used to worry me. But why worry when I have no control over it?
Other things I have control over…
I pull his face closer to mine so I do not have to lean up so much, and it is easier to wrap my arms around his neck.
"Christmas," I say, and I can tell Erik does not like our lips being parted. "Is a time for you to show people how much you love them."
"And presents." he breathes, and I laugh.
"Presents don't come until two more days, although at the Opera, the ballet girls and I would open one on the eve before."
I frown upon this thought. I do not have another gift for Erik.
But he hardly notices my sudden demeanor. His face is against my cheek, and he is hopefully pulling on the sleeves of my dress.
The room is chilly, and the fire Erik had previously lit in the fireplace has cooled down to mere embers. The candle on the front table still burns brightly, but I know that it, too, will soon burn out.
We could go upstairs… but it is nice down here, by the dying fire and the scent of its smoke. I am in this room often, I enjoy spending time in here with Erik, as he is so often in his little study. I miss him. I don't think this ever occurs to him, while he is working, that there might be someone out there who is missing him. He has mentioned before how he misses me every second he is away from me.
Ironically, it is hardly ever me who goes away, It is him.
So I appreciate time with him, here.
In our little home. I love our little home. It is perfect, just as Erik knew it would be.
I see the shelves in the dying shadow of the candle in the hallway, and I can see the outline of the decorative flowers I put up for the holidays. I must water… I must remember to water them tomorrow.
But now, Erik is being a little distracting.
I give a chaste kiss of defeat as I lean back, pulling him with me.
"Alright." I say, taking his hands and wrapping them around me. "You may have one gift tonight."
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