AUTHOR'S NOTE: From now on this story will pretty much be AU. I've lost
interest in The West Wing since the departure of Aaron Sorkin, and I don't
watch new episodes anymore. However, I will finish this story because the
last story in this series will probably give me the closure I need to move
on. (Don't ask, I'm pretty much neurotic.)
Yeah, and I realize the Christmas story came over a month too late. Let's just forget the fact that I was late to the party and embrace the fact that I showed up at all.
MY CHRISTMAS VACATION, BY JOSHUA LYMAN
My mother is insane.
So, apparently, are CJ, Donna, Will, and Toby.
Donna happened to mention to me that her family is taking a cruise this Christmas, and with these impossible work schedules, she just can't up and go with them, since the cruise takes off the seventeenth and we don't get off until the twenty-third. So she would have to spend Christmas all alone.
And, during the weekly phone conversations I have with my mother, I just happened to mention this to her. So she suggested Donna should come with me to Florida to visit her.
It would have been fine, but Donna told CJ that I had invited her, who told Toby, who told Will. And then CJ spent the rest of the day making fun of me because I apparently looked embarrassed.
Because, you see, I think I may have a thing for Donnatella Moss.
So this is why Donna's going to spend this Christmas season with me. And why my mother is freaking out because we're a Jewish family, and Donna is not, and she wants everything to be perfect for Donna.
Oh, sure, like she'd do that for me.
I tried to convince her she shouldn't go out of her way to buy a Christmas tree or anything, but she ignored me, and apparently there's this minature Christmas tree on her coffee table. With fake snow.
Yes, my mother has gone nuts.
Donna and I are currently driving down to the airport, where we'll take a flight to Florida.
"I'm so excited, Josh," she says, smiling her ecstatic smile and changing the radio station to a station that plays Christmas music from Thanksgiving to Christmas.
"Yeah," I mutter.
"Your mother's so sweet, Joshua, letting me in for the holidays and then buying a Christmas tree for me. What did you say she did?"
"She was a botany professor at an all women's college. Now she reads a lot and helps with Meals On Wheels."
"That's wonderful, Josh!"
"Yeah."
"You know, some night you're gonna be visited by three ghosts, and you're gonna lament all the wonderful things you missed while being an insufferable grouch."
"And I'll blame you for it."
"I know you will."
We don't talk for a long time while we engage in the Battle of the Radio. Donna wants it on, I want it off. Finally we compromise on NPR. I love NPR. It's sometimes more interesting than reading newspapers, and they don't have commercials, so they can usually broadcast what they want and not worry about big corporations monitoring the airwaves.
",,.no news about the whereabouts of Saudia Arabian Samir Hulman, who apparently disappeared after the bombing that came two weeks ago. Kelly Likeman reports."
"It's hard to believe no one can find Samir Hulman," Donna says. "You think he's dead?"
"More than possible," I say as I pull into the airport parking lot. "Still, almost all the victims' bodies have been identified, and his hasn't been yet. Which is odd, because he's the ambasssador, and you'd think it wouldn't be that hard to do."
"Maybe he was hurt pretty bad. Maybe"-- and she says this with difficulty-- "maybe his body was blown up too badly."
"Possible." I can't describe it, but after the shooting, talking about people dying has been harder for me to do than it used to.
Especially if they die violently.
Donna changes the subject. "Are you guys going to push the tax bill further?"
"Yeah. After the Christmas recess, I'm gonna hit Congress with it."
"Good. We've got to play hardball with them now."
We finally find a parking spot--God, I hate airports, and around Christmastime, especially-- and we grab our bags and head into the airport.
**** We get to Florida in the early evening and drive another thirty minutes to my mother's house.
I use my key to get in, and Mom gets up from her chair and hugs me tightly. "Joshua Noah Lyman! I'm so happy to see you again! And this must be Donna." She turns to her and hugs her, too. "I've heard so much about you, dear. You're every bit as beautiful as Joshua said you were."
Donna turns bright red, and I think I might have turned a color to match. Mom sees our stunned expressions and laughs. "Christmas cookies, anyone? I've got gingerbread men and snowmen, and I've got a batch of reindeers in the oven."
"Mom, we're not going to eat all of this in the next three days," I protest.
"Nonesense," she says happily.
My mother has always loved having company. Moreso since Dad died, of course, but even before he died she's always loved decorating, baking, and chatting with our neighbors.
Donna takes two snowmen and I eagerly dive into some gingerbread cookies.
"You're a great cook, Mrs. Lyman," Donna says as we sit down at the kitchen table.
"Call me Isabella," she says, and Donna nods absently.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," she says.
"Wait, you guys have talked before?" I ask, feeling confused.
"Joshua, remember how I take all your messages?" Donna says sweetly. "Well, your mom has called before. We've spoken on the phone."
The women laugh, and I pretend to be especially interested in the gingerbread man I'm eating. Donna has a point there. I remember back that one night when I was pouting on the bench and Mom called. It was a horrible night, to be sure.
"So, tell me all about yourself," Mom says, suddenly more interested in Donna than me. That's fine. I'll just sit here and eat, and, you know, sulk.
"Well, what do you want to know?"
"Your family, your college life. Joshua tells me you dropped out of college to join the Bartlet campaign. That must have taken a lot of courage. Tell me everything."
"Well," she says, "my father is a pastor at one of those conservative churches. My mother is the supportive pastor's wife. My parents were disappointed to find out I wanted to work for a Democrat, but they were supportive of me."
She goes into detail about the University of Wisconsin, tells Mom about Dr. Freeride while Mom tuts and shakes her head, tells her about going to work for the Bartlet campaign, and then Mom asks what it's like working for me.
"He's fine most of the time, but he can be demanding, and, you know, loud."
"And he's stubborn," Mom adds.
"And he's disorganized."
"And he won't eat his vegetables."
"You know I'm sitting right here, right?" I interject, annoyed.
"But I love you," Mom says, patting my hand. "Now, both of you, put away those cookies. You'll spoil your appetites."
****
After a rather large dinner (Mom kept insisting we eat more and more) we retire into the living room, where there's the Christmas tree. Packages are spread across the coffee table, and Donna adds a few presents to the display as well.
The fake snow is actually a white cloth in bunches around the tree. She's done it quite well, considering the fact we've never celebrated Christmas in our household before. Mom has also scattered some gold sparkles around the cloth, and in the center is the tree. She used white lights to decorate the tree, because she hates multi-colored lights. I remember Mom and Dad driving Joanie and me around the neighborhood, and Mom always used to complain about the "tacky" multi-colored ones.
And right smack dab in the middle of the mantlepiece is a menorah with five candles lit. Her living room is a current shrine to two of the major December holidays.
"It's beautiful," Donna breathes as she sits down on the couch. I sit on an armchair, and Mom sits in her normal spot by the window.
"Oh, stop," Mom says, waving her hand.
"It really is, Mom," I add.
"Joshua, you sure know how to please your crazy old mother."
"You're not old, Mom."
"Joshua--"
I think I see Donna roll her eyes at me. But that moment quickly passes as she notices a picture of a man on the mantlepiece behind her. "Pardon me if I ask, but is that your husband?"
Mom nods. "That's Noah. Looks so much like Joshua, doesn't he? I believe that's where he got his dimples."
I blush and stare very hard at a spot on the carpet.
"Noah's father was in Birkenau, you know. He survived it, making him one of very few people who survived the horrors. We're both from Poland," she says proudly. She's very proud of her heritage.
Our heritage.
"I notice you still have a little accent," Donna says.
"Yes, my parents and I moved to America when I was eight years old. My father thought Poland was in danger of being taken over, and sure enough, that year it was taken over by Nazi forces. But my mother made sure I never forgot my Polish, even when I was learning English."
"Wow," Donna says, her eyes wide.
She laughs softly. "And twelve years later I had Joanie. Went back to school after she was a bit older and then I had Joshua. Then I became a botany professor at Harvard University."
Donna looks entranced. "And your husband?"
"Lawyer, of course. He and his mother came to America, while his father stayed behind. He was captured by Nazi soldiers, of course, but that was toward the end of the war. Then his father got out, raised money, and came to America to be with Noah and his mother." She smiles and says, "Who's up for hot chocolate?"
"You're trying to fatten us up, aren't you? Like Hansel and Grettel," I respond.
"You both need it," she says.
"You should be talking."
"Joshua, flattery will get you nowhere. Trust me."
****
Donna retires early, and Mom and I head to the kitchen table to talk for awhile. "How's everything going? I was watching the news when Bartlet passed out."
"He's all right. He's grudgingly using a cane. The nurses aren't sure if he'll ever get all of his strength in his left leg back."
"What a shame," she says, shaking her head. "He's a really good leader."
"Yeah, something you didn't believe your own son about at first," I say. "First you supported Hoynes, and then you voted for the other guy. A Republican, I might add."
"I'm an Independent," she says. "I liked what he said about family values. I also thought he seemed genuine. However, Bartlet was elected, I saw what he was capable of, and I voted him for re-election. I might add, all this was done after the MS scandal."
"I still can't believe you voted Republican."
"I can't either. All the grief you gave me about choosing the wrong man..." Mom smiles and draws imaginary designs on the table with her finger. "I hear you've been working on the tax negotiations."
"They're not going so well. We'll pick it up after the Christmas recess."
"Joshua, don't overexert yourself."
"I'm not overexerting myself. This is actually my job."
"I still worry about you." And then she adds some words in Polish. She does this when she's worried, excited, or trying to see if I'm paying attention.
"Yeah. Right now we're more worried about trying to find Samir Hulman."
"Bizarre, isn't it?" she says, stretching. "Last time I checked the news he was nowhere to be found. I wonder what happened."
My mother is a news junkie. I think she's actually the one who got me interested in current events; Dad was just along for the ride.
"It's late. Tomorrow's Christmas. It's a big day for both of you," she says.
"Mom, Donna and I are actually adults. You used to say that when Joanie and I were little kids."
"Well, you're still a little kid to me," she says, pecking me on the forehead.
"Mom," I say after a long pause in which I try to decide whether I really want to go to bed right now or not, "I think I might have a thing for Donna Moss."
My mother, being the sympathetic mother I know her to be, laughs. No, she giggles. Guffaws. Down right goes into hysterics.
"What's wrong with you?"
She says this sentence in between giggles: "That's... pretty much... how... your father proposed to me," she says, and laughs some more. " 'Isabella Doverstein, I think I might have a thing for you.'" And then she tries (unsuccessfully, I might add) to put on a serious face long enough to give me some motherly advice.
"Mom, what should I do?"
"Tell her how you feel."
"I've already done that. She doesn't pick up on the hints."
"What hints have you dropped?"
"Well, I danced with her once right after we were elected at the Inaugural Ball."
She smirks. "And how many other young men danced with her that night?"
"I think that's entirely beyond the point."
"I think that's exactly the point, but go on."
"And I treat her like an equal. In the office."
"Okay." She looks unconvinced. "Continue."
"And I took her in when she wanted to join the campaign. I hired her. I--"
"Joshua Lyman, not all things are about work."
"Mom, you didn't let me finish. I wrote a rather nice note inside a book about skiing I got for her for Christmas. I bought her flowers to celebrate the anniversary of the day she dumped her old boyfriend to come work for me."
"The note was a start. You sent her flowers as a non-anniversary gift?" my mom says, shaking her head.
"You're so incredibly like her," I inform my mother, and then I continue. "She went home because she was embarrassed about a quote she had been blamed for, and my friends and I threw snowballs at her window so that she'd come back to our recent inauguration party." I purposely leave out the point about telling Donna to call me 'Wild Thing'.
"How unbelievably romantic. Joshua, have I taught you nothing?"
"I wouldn't go that far."
"Good boy. When you love a woman, tell her so. Those are not hints women pick up on."
"If you think I'm going to go to her house and stand there with chocolates and flowers..."
"You know, chocolate and flowers is not a bad thing. You'll understand why when you get her some," she says mischieviously.
"Mom!" I yell.
She hushes me. "Do you want to wake up Donna and let her hear us talking about this?"
"Mom, please don't make me do the flower thing. It's not my style."
"Then find something that is your style, and do it. And don't be too subtle. Women can pick up on hints, but not the ones you've been giving her."
"Okay," I grumble.
"Oh, and Joshua?" I hear as I turn away from my mother. "Not hanging out with other women helps."
Oh, I could die.
****
My conversation with my mother has given me an idea. And I'm eager to put this idea into action.
By Donna's not-so-thrilled face when I run into her room a few hours later, I can tell she's not so eager.
"Joshua, it's 3:15 in the morning." She sits up and blinks at me. "The birds aren't even chirping yet."
"I've been talking to my mother. And I've decided something. I, you know, have a thing for you. A really good sort of thing for you. I mean, I like you a lot. I've liked you for a long time. I want to get you to know in many more ways. Not those kind of ways, not yet, but you can be sure they're along the way, and..."
Donna turns on her lamp and smiles. "C'mere."
I sit down at the edge of her bed.
"You're so cute when you're flustered."
"I am a professional. I don't get flustered."
"Okay," she says, but she looks like she's holding back a grin. "You like me, huh?"
"Yes."
"Platonic, or..."
"I don't know."
"You're confused."
"No, not Platonic."
She blushes and grins from ear to ear. "Would your mother care if we looked stayed up and hung out in the living room?"
"No," I say, stretching out my hand. She takes it and we creep into the living room. Mom must have put up our stockings after we went to bed. As a matter of fact, who knew Mom had stockings?
She is, after all, insane.
"Would she care if we peeked in our stockings?" Donna pokes into a stocking with careful cursive letters marked 'Donna' on the front.
"She'll have to live with it," I say as I poke into my stocking, marked 'Joshua'.
She pulls out a box of chocolates, some perfume, and an elegant glass ornament. It has a swan on it, and it sparkles when she holds it up to the light.
"What did you get, Josh?" She leans over toward me and watches as I pull out my stocking stuffers. Mom gave me a box of chocolates, cologne (which I hate-- when will she learn I hate to wear cologne?) and a tie with a Yellow Submarine theme. I probably won't ever wear it, but it's Mom's tradition to give me funny ties.
"What did you get me for Christmas?" Donna asks. Ever since the tree lighting ceremony, she's been trying to surprise me into telling her what I got for her.
"Donna, we have at least five hours. You'll have to live with the suspense."
"I hate suspense. I always used to read ahead in mystery novels. You know, when I had time to read mystery novels."
"Got those at the gas station, did you?"
"See, now you're making fun of my taste. Let's say for a moment we do get together. If this happens, would you stop making fun of everything I do?"
"Will you stop stealing my fries when we go to restauraunts?"
"No."
"Well, see? Now I can't promise not make fun of your bad taste."
"It's not bad taste, Joshua. It's acquired."
"You call it potato--"
"Josh--"
"So. Shall we get together?"
See, I had this special dream of getting together with Donna. I would be suave, romantic, and I would (metaphorically, of course) sweep her off her feet.
Instead, it's everything I hoped it wouldn't be. Awkward. Not romantic. I'm positive that if I were to stand right now, I'd trip over my own feet.
Donna sits back in her chair. "I don't know."
"Yeah."
There's a long time, during which Donna and I both get up several times to get something to drink, or to go to the bathroom.
"Oh, hell," Donna says, "let's do it."
It's been silent for such a long time, her voice startles me.
"So."
"So."
I've never been so inarticulate in my life.
To save me from my embarrassment, my beeper goes off. I grunt in frustration and read the message. It's Leo's number.
I call him from my mother's kitchen phone. "Josh, listen, I know it's early in the morning on Christmas Eve, but we found Samir Hulman."
"Alive?"
"Yes, he escaped before the bomb went off, but, Josh, he was participating in criminal behavior. Since the President and Samir were pretty good friends, I think we're going to get hit in the polls pretty bad."
"What was he doing?"
"Turned out to be stealing federal money in Saudia Arabia, Josh. I don't know how no one caught it until now, but he's in prison in his home country. As soon as this holiday is over, I'll need all hands on deck."
"Okay."
I hang up and go into the next room, where Donna is busily examining the contents of her stocking.
When I relay the information to her, she asks me if we need to go back early.
"I'm leaving tonight. You don't have to go to work if you don't want to."
"I might as well, you know."
****
You know that wonderful feeling you get when you're sitting with a person you can just talk with? That's how I'm feeling right now, as the sun rises and my mother comes in from her room.
"I see we have some early risers," she says, smiling. "And that you've already gotten into your stockings."
Donna gives her a sheepish look and rises to make some tea while I explain the situation to my mother.
"Oh, Joshua, do you have to leave so soon?" she sighs. "You're never home, and the few times that you are, you always have to leave before I want you to."
"It's my job, Mom. And we're about to face a PR problem the likes of which we haven't seen since the President first declared he had MS."
She looks at me doubtfully but then squeezes my hand. "I love you. Good luck."
**** After a warm and comfortable Christmas Eve lunch, I make arrangements for Donna and me to fly off later that evening.
We say our good-byes, and I notice both Mom and Donna have tears in their eyes. The women have gotten along well together, and I almost smile, except Mom would ask me why and I'm not ready to explain it yet.
In contrast to the beautiful calmness in Florida, Washington D.C. is full of traffic and confused pedestrians. Christmas Eve is a hectic time anywhere you go, but Washington D.C., as you might imagine, is a little bit above average in that department.
Inside the White House is no different. CJ is mentally beating herself up about the pending PR disaster, Toby is moping, Will is scrambling for any piece of information he can dig up, Angela is taking over for me temporarily. Donna slides into her desk chair without any complaint. Leo is working on some paperwork while Margaret obsesses over him.
The fact that the west wing is operating normally is almost enough to calm me, but a lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours.
I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what will come.
Yeah, and I realize the Christmas story came over a month too late. Let's just forget the fact that I was late to the party and embrace the fact that I showed up at all.
MY CHRISTMAS VACATION, BY JOSHUA LYMAN
My mother is insane.
So, apparently, are CJ, Donna, Will, and Toby.
Donna happened to mention to me that her family is taking a cruise this Christmas, and with these impossible work schedules, she just can't up and go with them, since the cruise takes off the seventeenth and we don't get off until the twenty-third. So she would have to spend Christmas all alone.
And, during the weekly phone conversations I have with my mother, I just happened to mention this to her. So she suggested Donna should come with me to Florida to visit her.
It would have been fine, but Donna told CJ that I had invited her, who told Toby, who told Will. And then CJ spent the rest of the day making fun of me because I apparently looked embarrassed.
Because, you see, I think I may have a thing for Donnatella Moss.
So this is why Donna's going to spend this Christmas season with me. And why my mother is freaking out because we're a Jewish family, and Donna is not, and she wants everything to be perfect for Donna.
Oh, sure, like she'd do that for me.
I tried to convince her she shouldn't go out of her way to buy a Christmas tree or anything, but she ignored me, and apparently there's this minature Christmas tree on her coffee table. With fake snow.
Yes, my mother has gone nuts.
Donna and I are currently driving down to the airport, where we'll take a flight to Florida.
"I'm so excited, Josh," she says, smiling her ecstatic smile and changing the radio station to a station that plays Christmas music from Thanksgiving to Christmas.
"Yeah," I mutter.
"Your mother's so sweet, Joshua, letting me in for the holidays and then buying a Christmas tree for me. What did you say she did?"
"She was a botany professor at an all women's college. Now she reads a lot and helps with Meals On Wheels."
"That's wonderful, Josh!"
"Yeah."
"You know, some night you're gonna be visited by three ghosts, and you're gonna lament all the wonderful things you missed while being an insufferable grouch."
"And I'll blame you for it."
"I know you will."
We don't talk for a long time while we engage in the Battle of the Radio. Donna wants it on, I want it off. Finally we compromise on NPR. I love NPR. It's sometimes more interesting than reading newspapers, and they don't have commercials, so they can usually broadcast what they want and not worry about big corporations monitoring the airwaves.
",,.no news about the whereabouts of Saudia Arabian Samir Hulman, who apparently disappeared after the bombing that came two weeks ago. Kelly Likeman reports."
"It's hard to believe no one can find Samir Hulman," Donna says. "You think he's dead?"
"More than possible," I say as I pull into the airport parking lot. "Still, almost all the victims' bodies have been identified, and his hasn't been yet. Which is odd, because he's the ambasssador, and you'd think it wouldn't be that hard to do."
"Maybe he was hurt pretty bad. Maybe"-- and she says this with difficulty-- "maybe his body was blown up too badly."
"Possible." I can't describe it, but after the shooting, talking about people dying has been harder for me to do than it used to.
Especially if they die violently.
Donna changes the subject. "Are you guys going to push the tax bill further?"
"Yeah. After the Christmas recess, I'm gonna hit Congress with it."
"Good. We've got to play hardball with them now."
We finally find a parking spot--God, I hate airports, and around Christmastime, especially-- and we grab our bags and head into the airport.
**** We get to Florida in the early evening and drive another thirty minutes to my mother's house.
I use my key to get in, and Mom gets up from her chair and hugs me tightly. "Joshua Noah Lyman! I'm so happy to see you again! And this must be Donna." She turns to her and hugs her, too. "I've heard so much about you, dear. You're every bit as beautiful as Joshua said you were."
Donna turns bright red, and I think I might have turned a color to match. Mom sees our stunned expressions and laughs. "Christmas cookies, anyone? I've got gingerbread men and snowmen, and I've got a batch of reindeers in the oven."
"Mom, we're not going to eat all of this in the next three days," I protest.
"Nonesense," she says happily.
My mother has always loved having company. Moreso since Dad died, of course, but even before he died she's always loved decorating, baking, and chatting with our neighbors.
Donna takes two snowmen and I eagerly dive into some gingerbread cookies.
"You're a great cook, Mrs. Lyman," Donna says as we sit down at the kitchen table.
"Call me Isabella," she says, and Donna nods absently.
"I don't think I'll ever get used to that," she says.
"Wait, you guys have talked before?" I ask, feeling confused.
"Joshua, remember how I take all your messages?" Donna says sweetly. "Well, your mom has called before. We've spoken on the phone."
The women laugh, and I pretend to be especially interested in the gingerbread man I'm eating. Donna has a point there. I remember back that one night when I was pouting on the bench and Mom called. It was a horrible night, to be sure.
"So, tell me all about yourself," Mom says, suddenly more interested in Donna than me. That's fine. I'll just sit here and eat, and, you know, sulk.
"Well, what do you want to know?"
"Your family, your college life. Joshua tells me you dropped out of college to join the Bartlet campaign. That must have taken a lot of courage. Tell me everything."
"Well," she says, "my father is a pastor at one of those conservative churches. My mother is the supportive pastor's wife. My parents were disappointed to find out I wanted to work for a Democrat, but they were supportive of me."
She goes into detail about the University of Wisconsin, tells Mom about Dr. Freeride while Mom tuts and shakes her head, tells her about going to work for the Bartlet campaign, and then Mom asks what it's like working for me.
"He's fine most of the time, but he can be demanding, and, you know, loud."
"And he's stubborn," Mom adds.
"And he's disorganized."
"And he won't eat his vegetables."
"You know I'm sitting right here, right?" I interject, annoyed.
"But I love you," Mom says, patting my hand. "Now, both of you, put away those cookies. You'll spoil your appetites."
****
After a rather large dinner (Mom kept insisting we eat more and more) we retire into the living room, where there's the Christmas tree. Packages are spread across the coffee table, and Donna adds a few presents to the display as well.
The fake snow is actually a white cloth in bunches around the tree. She's done it quite well, considering the fact we've never celebrated Christmas in our household before. Mom has also scattered some gold sparkles around the cloth, and in the center is the tree. She used white lights to decorate the tree, because she hates multi-colored lights. I remember Mom and Dad driving Joanie and me around the neighborhood, and Mom always used to complain about the "tacky" multi-colored ones.
And right smack dab in the middle of the mantlepiece is a menorah with five candles lit. Her living room is a current shrine to two of the major December holidays.
"It's beautiful," Donna breathes as she sits down on the couch. I sit on an armchair, and Mom sits in her normal spot by the window.
"Oh, stop," Mom says, waving her hand.
"It really is, Mom," I add.
"Joshua, you sure know how to please your crazy old mother."
"You're not old, Mom."
"Joshua--"
I think I see Donna roll her eyes at me. But that moment quickly passes as she notices a picture of a man on the mantlepiece behind her. "Pardon me if I ask, but is that your husband?"
Mom nods. "That's Noah. Looks so much like Joshua, doesn't he? I believe that's where he got his dimples."
I blush and stare very hard at a spot on the carpet.
"Noah's father was in Birkenau, you know. He survived it, making him one of very few people who survived the horrors. We're both from Poland," she says proudly. She's very proud of her heritage.
Our heritage.
"I notice you still have a little accent," Donna says.
"Yes, my parents and I moved to America when I was eight years old. My father thought Poland was in danger of being taken over, and sure enough, that year it was taken over by Nazi forces. But my mother made sure I never forgot my Polish, even when I was learning English."
"Wow," Donna says, her eyes wide.
She laughs softly. "And twelve years later I had Joanie. Went back to school after she was a bit older and then I had Joshua. Then I became a botany professor at Harvard University."
Donna looks entranced. "And your husband?"
"Lawyer, of course. He and his mother came to America, while his father stayed behind. He was captured by Nazi soldiers, of course, but that was toward the end of the war. Then his father got out, raised money, and came to America to be with Noah and his mother." She smiles and says, "Who's up for hot chocolate?"
"You're trying to fatten us up, aren't you? Like Hansel and Grettel," I respond.
"You both need it," she says.
"You should be talking."
"Joshua, flattery will get you nowhere. Trust me."
****
Donna retires early, and Mom and I head to the kitchen table to talk for awhile. "How's everything going? I was watching the news when Bartlet passed out."
"He's all right. He's grudgingly using a cane. The nurses aren't sure if he'll ever get all of his strength in his left leg back."
"What a shame," she says, shaking her head. "He's a really good leader."
"Yeah, something you didn't believe your own son about at first," I say. "First you supported Hoynes, and then you voted for the other guy. A Republican, I might add."
"I'm an Independent," she says. "I liked what he said about family values. I also thought he seemed genuine. However, Bartlet was elected, I saw what he was capable of, and I voted him for re-election. I might add, all this was done after the MS scandal."
"I still can't believe you voted Republican."
"I can't either. All the grief you gave me about choosing the wrong man..." Mom smiles and draws imaginary designs on the table with her finger. "I hear you've been working on the tax negotiations."
"They're not going so well. We'll pick it up after the Christmas recess."
"Joshua, don't overexert yourself."
"I'm not overexerting myself. This is actually my job."
"I still worry about you." And then she adds some words in Polish. She does this when she's worried, excited, or trying to see if I'm paying attention.
"Yeah. Right now we're more worried about trying to find Samir Hulman."
"Bizarre, isn't it?" she says, stretching. "Last time I checked the news he was nowhere to be found. I wonder what happened."
My mother is a news junkie. I think she's actually the one who got me interested in current events; Dad was just along for the ride.
"It's late. Tomorrow's Christmas. It's a big day for both of you," she says.
"Mom, Donna and I are actually adults. You used to say that when Joanie and I were little kids."
"Well, you're still a little kid to me," she says, pecking me on the forehead.
"Mom," I say after a long pause in which I try to decide whether I really want to go to bed right now or not, "I think I might have a thing for Donna Moss."
My mother, being the sympathetic mother I know her to be, laughs. No, she giggles. Guffaws. Down right goes into hysterics.
"What's wrong with you?"
She says this sentence in between giggles: "That's... pretty much... how... your father proposed to me," she says, and laughs some more. " 'Isabella Doverstein, I think I might have a thing for you.'" And then she tries (unsuccessfully, I might add) to put on a serious face long enough to give me some motherly advice.
"Mom, what should I do?"
"Tell her how you feel."
"I've already done that. She doesn't pick up on the hints."
"What hints have you dropped?"
"Well, I danced with her once right after we were elected at the Inaugural Ball."
She smirks. "And how many other young men danced with her that night?"
"I think that's entirely beyond the point."
"I think that's exactly the point, but go on."
"And I treat her like an equal. In the office."
"Okay." She looks unconvinced. "Continue."
"And I took her in when she wanted to join the campaign. I hired her. I--"
"Joshua Lyman, not all things are about work."
"Mom, you didn't let me finish. I wrote a rather nice note inside a book about skiing I got for her for Christmas. I bought her flowers to celebrate the anniversary of the day she dumped her old boyfriend to come work for me."
"The note was a start. You sent her flowers as a non-anniversary gift?" my mom says, shaking her head.
"You're so incredibly like her," I inform my mother, and then I continue. "She went home because she was embarrassed about a quote she had been blamed for, and my friends and I threw snowballs at her window so that she'd come back to our recent inauguration party." I purposely leave out the point about telling Donna to call me 'Wild Thing'.
"How unbelievably romantic. Joshua, have I taught you nothing?"
"I wouldn't go that far."
"Good boy. When you love a woman, tell her so. Those are not hints women pick up on."
"If you think I'm going to go to her house and stand there with chocolates and flowers..."
"You know, chocolate and flowers is not a bad thing. You'll understand why when you get her some," she says mischieviously.
"Mom!" I yell.
She hushes me. "Do you want to wake up Donna and let her hear us talking about this?"
"Mom, please don't make me do the flower thing. It's not my style."
"Then find something that is your style, and do it. And don't be too subtle. Women can pick up on hints, but not the ones you've been giving her."
"Okay," I grumble.
"Oh, and Joshua?" I hear as I turn away from my mother. "Not hanging out with other women helps."
Oh, I could die.
****
My conversation with my mother has given me an idea. And I'm eager to put this idea into action.
By Donna's not-so-thrilled face when I run into her room a few hours later, I can tell she's not so eager.
"Joshua, it's 3:15 in the morning." She sits up and blinks at me. "The birds aren't even chirping yet."
"I've been talking to my mother. And I've decided something. I, you know, have a thing for you. A really good sort of thing for you. I mean, I like you a lot. I've liked you for a long time. I want to get you to know in many more ways. Not those kind of ways, not yet, but you can be sure they're along the way, and..."
Donna turns on her lamp and smiles. "C'mere."
I sit down at the edge of her bed.
"You're so cute when you're flustered."
"I am a professional. I don't get flustered."
"Okay," she says, but she looks like she's holding back a grin. "You like me, huh?"
"Yes."
"Platonic, or..."
"I don't know."
"You're confused."
"No, not Platonic."
She blushes and grins from ear to ear. "Would your mother care if we looked stayed up and hung out in the living room?"
"No," I say, stretching out my hand. She takes it and we creep into the living room. Mom must have put up our stockings after we went to bed. As a matter of fact, who knew Mom had stockings?
She is, after all, insane.
"Would she care if we peeked in our stockings?" Donna pokes into a stocking with careful cursive letters marked 'Donna' on the front.
"She'll have to live with it," I say as I poke into my stocking, marked 'Joshua'.
She pulls out a box of chocolates, some perfume, and an elegant glass ornament. It has a swan on it, and it sparkles when she holds it up to the light.
"What did you get, Josh?" She leans over toward me and watches as I pull out my stocking stuffers. Mom gave me a box of chocolates, cologne (which I hate-- when will she learn I hate to wear cologne?) and a tie with a Yellow Submarine theme. I probably won't ever wear it, but it's Mom's tradition to give me funny ties.
"What did you get me for Christmas?" Donna asks. Ever since the tree lighting ceremony, she's been trying to surprise me into telling her what I got for her.
"Donna, we have at least five hours. You'll have to live with the suspense."
"I hate suspense. I always used to read ahead in mystery novels. You know, when I had time to read mystery novels."
"Got those at the gas station, did you?"
"See, now you're making fun of my taste. Let's say for a moment we do get together. If this happens, would you stop making fun of everything I do?"
"Will you stop stealing my fries when we go to restauraunts?"
"No."
"Well, see? Now I can't promise not make fun of your bad taste."
"It's not bad taste, Joshua. It's acquired."
"You call it potato--"
"Josh--"
"So. Shall we get together?"
See, I had this special dream of getting together with Donna. I would be suave, romantic, and I would (metaphorically, of course) sweep her off her feet.
Instead, it's everything I hoped it wouldn't be. Awkward. Not romantic. I'm positive that if I were to stand right now, I'd trip over my own feet.
Donna sits back in her chair. "I don't know."
"Yeah."
There's a long time, during which Donna and I both get up several times to get something to drink, or to go to the bathroom.
"Oh, hell," Donna says, "let's do it."
It's been silent for such a long time, her voice startles me.
"So."
"So."
I've never been so inarticulate in my life.
To save me from my embarrassment, my beeper goes off. I grunt in frustration and read the message. It's Leo's number.
I call him from my mother's kitchen phone. "Josh, listen, I know it's early in the morning on Christmas Eve, but we found Samir Hulman."
"Alive?"
"Yes, he escaped before the bomb went off, but, Josh, he was participating in criminal behavior. Since the President and Samir were pretty good friends, I think we're going to get hit in the polls pretty bad."
"What was he doing?"
"Turned out to be stealing federal money in Saudia Arabia, Josh. I don't know how no one caught it until now, but he's in prison in his home country. As soon as this holiday is over, I'll need all hands on deck."
"Okay."
I hang up and go into the next room, where Donna is busily examining the contents of her stocking.
When I relay the information to her, she asks me if we need to go back early.
"I'm leaving tonight. You don't have to go to work if you don't want to."
"I might as well, you know."
****
You know that wonderful feeling you get when you're sitting with a person you can just talk with? That's how I'm feeling right now, as the sun rises and my mother comes in from her room.
"I see we have some early risers," she says, smiling. "And that you've already gotten into your stockings."
Donna gives her a sheepish look and rises to make some tea while I explain the situation to my mother.
"Oh, Joshua, do you have to leave so soon?" she sighs. "You're never home, and the few times that you are, you always have to leave before I want you to."
"It's my job, Mom. And we're about to face a PR problem the likes of which we haven't seen since the President first declared he had MS."
She looks at me doubtfully but then squeezes my hand. "I love you. Good luck."
**** After a warm and comfortable Christmas Eve lunch, I make arrangements for Donna and me to fly off later that evening.
We say our good-byes, and I notice both Mom and Donna have tears in their eyes. The women have gotten along well together, and I almost smile, except Mom would ask me why and I'm not ready to explain it yet.
In contrast to the beautiful calmness in Florida, Washington D.C. is full of traffic and confused pedestrians. Christmas Eve is a hectic time anywhere you go, but Washington D.C., as you might imagine, is a little bit above average in that department.
Inside the White House is no different. CJ is mentally beating herself up about the pending PR disaster, Toby is moping, Will is scrambling for any piece of information he can dig up, Angela is taking over for me temporarily. Donna slides into her desk chair without any complaint. Leo is working on some paperwork while Margaret obsesses over him.
The fact that the west wing is operating normally is almost enough to calm me, but a lot has happened in the last twenty-four hours.
I take a deep breath and prepare myself for what will come.