Part XX Diane
It's Christmas Day. Christmas Morning, actually. It's not time to get up yet but it is time to fantasize about the coffee I know Phillip will give me. He always gives me a special brew/blend of coffee at Christmas. Always one is a hazelnut vanilla concoction that makes my mouth water. There are other, experimental ones, but hazelnut coffee means Christmas to me.
Max and Tess and Michael and Isabel came over last night. Max and Tess had traveled ten hours in a car they bought together. Now, I don't mean to sound judgmental, but that car is a piece of work. It's the first time I've seen it. Max's old Jeep, the one he loved so much, finally died and could not be revived. Tess found this one—it's a used car that they revitalized. It was at one time gleaming blue. The paint is a little chipped over the spot that's dented. But the blue paint catches the sunlight and—do not laugh at this. It's true. Every car has a personality. Sometimes you can tell what it is, just by looking at the headlights. The headlights and the curve of the bumper always make me think that a car is smiling or frowning at me. Their car was grinning.
It's an old Pontiac of indeterminate model year, not a 66 Corvette. If that thing ever has an accident it would be like a fiberglass coffin. But Max showed off the car to Phillip and Michael the way Phillip displayed his midlife crisis Harley Davidson. He said the car was a lot like his relationship with Tess. Fifty-fifty, in it together. A few dents may mar the surface, but the engine never gives them trouble. It's a temperamental thing, but with good care, it'll last 300,000 miles.
I didn't care about the car, just that all my babies are home. Isabel and Michael live in town, but I begged them to stay the night here. One last time. We haven't had a family Christmas morning in a while. And I know I should let go, that Izzy is married and grown and someday, probably soon she will have her own babies waking her on Christmas morning…
And if the plan goes as I hope it will Max and Tess will soon have their own cozy little house. Well, they live together now. But I want a wedding. I want to listen to Amy rave about dress shopping with a perfectionist. I want to listen to Max moan about Tess' obsession with gardenias vs. a spray of hydrangeas. I want to see Jim sweat as he walks his baby girl down the aisle. I want to watch the dynamic shift between Kyle and Max, as it shifted between Max and Michael. I want Max and Michael to bond again, over married life, as they did as children, as teenagers, as bachelors. I want to know if it's more stressful to be the mother of the bride (Done that) or the mother of the groom.
I want to be a grandmother. Isabel is obviously my better chance for that. I haven't tried actually talking to her, though I've been dropping hints. They started out as subtle, but well, they're not any more. Want me to tell you about the latest?
Well, it was after Thanksgiving. It was just a random Monday. Izzy had stayed home from work. I was 'just driving through.' I went up and knocked on the door. She was in lounge clothes—for Isabel old jeans and a big t-shirt of Michael's. She invited me in. We drank tea and talked about her day. She caught me up on all those old soap operas we used to watch. Apparently Belle is pursuing Shawn, Bo is in love with Hope, Theresa is chasing Ethan, and Michelle and Danny are muddling through. (Three points for the person who can identify the soaps in question)
After an appropriate chatting time, I said I had to go. I purposely left my shopping bag behind as I drove off. I'm not sure what happened when Isabel opened the bag, but I do know she probably rolled her eyes and wanted to scream. In the bag was the most darling little baby baptism gown. All white and fluffy, made entirely of organza and smocking and lace… It even included these little shoes, with these little bows that are simply TC. (Too Cute) And a bonnet—oh my goodness, how can I tell you about how adorable this bonnet is? I don't think Isabel appreciated this, but I had to express my feelings on the subject.
A few hours later
We're all camped out in the living room. I have that fortifying nectar of the gods, coffee, in one hand. Max's hands are wrapped around his mug as though it is his lifeline. He's sprawled on the couch. Tess is seated on the floor, bouncing. Tess tugs on his flannel pants. "C'mon, sit down here with me." She laughs.
He groans. "Tess, I'm tired…"
"Please?" She says. She has a trick of looking at him that has the same effect as Isabel's icy stare on Michael. It's softer, a pleading thing. Isabel likes to give mock orders. Michael pretends to be afraid of her…but he isn't, not anymore than she's ordering him around.
Even her orders are phrased as, "Michael, you want to go to the store to get me toothpaste, don't you?" But Max shifts a little, and slides to the floor. He looks almost liquid, as if there are no bones in his body. "Happy?" He murmurs.
"Very." She rewards him with a kiss.
He delicately puts his mug on the floor. "If that spills I'll blame you." He yawns.
She smirks. "How does this work? Do we all just rip in, or does someone play Santa and pass out all the presents one at a time?"
Isabel wiggles, delighted. Michael pretends to shudder. "You had to get her started? You had to ask, didn't you?"
Philip grins. He gets as involved as the kids do. "We start with kids presents. All of you can open up your presents, but be prepared, we take pictures."
"Lots of pictures." Max says. "Then they have to get developed today. Do you know what it's like finding a one-hour-photo in Roswell that's open on Christmas Day that doesn't hear the name Evans and cower underneath the desk?"
Michael snorts. "After we find one, and they develop the million pictures, there's a frenzy of sorting through the pictures, to find the good ones."
"Then we get duplicates of these so called 'good ones'." I tell Tess. "And we make copies. One for everybody."
"And put them in albums?" She asks eagerly.
Isabel looks chastened. "Well, I put some into an album."
"What happens to the rest?" Our innocent asks.
Michael, who has spent as many Christmases here as Max, points behind her to the closet. "There are about eight boxes in there stuffed with pictures."
Tess smiles. "And someday…"
"Someday I will get them in albums." I vow, as my children and husband snicker.
"Right before doomsday." Phillip teases.
The kids freeze for a second, and then smile. They start opening presents, and Phillip's camera starts clicking. I try to just appreciate these few moments, these wonderful family moments. All the kids' presents from Phillip and I are gone, as they begin with presents to Phillip and I.
Isabel picks one up. She holds it in her hands for a moment, appearing almost reluctant to part with the package. Then she hands it to me. "Mom, I know you have wanted this for a while."
"What is it?" I ask, examining it. From the way she held it, I expected this whatever to be heavier. More loaded with physical importance.
"Michael and I talked about this together." She says. "We've known all along that we wanted this…"
Michael nods gravely. "At first I wasn't sure. I didn't have great role models, and I would never have done to anyone else what was done to me."
"And I helped him realize he would never do to anyone else what Hank did to him." Isabel says.
"I realized that Hank may've been a bad role model, but between you two, and the Valentis I have a stock of great parents."
At this Tess lets out an excited squeak. My hands fly as I tear the paper aside. Inside, framed, is an ultrasound picture of my grandchild. "Oh." I breathe.
"See, the reason I was home that day, when you came to visit was morning sickness." Isabel chatters, almost nervously. But Isabel, my ice princess, is never nervous. "And when you left the bag, I thought you were saying you knew, but I wanted to wait until I was really sure and Max offered to do this for me…"
"I'm happy for you baby. This is wonderful." I say.
Phillip looks like the rug has just been pulled out from underneath him. He hugs her helplessly, glaring at Michael all the while. I hug everybody, even Tess, just so she knows that she's part of the family too. Once Isabel and I are through an emotional teary moment, I get up to make more tea. I drag Phillip with me. Michael and Isabel take our spots, "to keep them warm." I think Isabel is uncomfortable on the floor, and anything for her comfort…
I can just see Max and Tess over the kitchen island, through the little window. Max is holding out his stocking. I listen closely, barely breathing, though I had intended to speak rationally to and at length with Phillip. He's saying, "Tess, seriously, there's something stuck in here. Why don't you see if you can pull it out for me?"
She gives him a "Yeah right" look.
"Please?" He asks.
She's still looking at him like he has lost his marbles.
"I'm sitting here on the ground for you."
She rolls her eyes. "Don't do that. I'll get it out for you."
She reaches her hand in to draw something out. She stares at it. "Max." She gasps.
"You look like a fish."
I frown. She may be staring a little, but she doesn't look like a fish. It's hardly a loving, romantic, Christmassy thing to say.
She drops the little box and launches herself on top of him. He falls backward onto the carpeting and his coffee spill. I bite back a groan. What's less than one-year-old white carpeting to young love, anyway?
"Are you asking me a question?" She questions.
"If you'll let me up."
She lets him up. "Tess Valenti, in this life, in any life, I love you. I want to spend the rest of the time we have together. I can't give you guarantees, about how long it'll be, a day, a couple months, or 50 years. All I know is I want to spend whatever it is with you."
She looks at him, straight into his eyes. "I don't ever want to disappoint you. I don't ever want to fall short."
"You couldn't. Just by being you, you exceed every expectation."
"You put me on a pedestal. I love it but it scares me at the same time. Will you still love me when I am old and I have morning breath and we're still trying to keep afloat in a river of debt and we have a mortgage and schedules and practices and--?"
"I will." He says. "The question is will you still love me? I make mistakes, I can get arrogant and convinced I'm right. I take myself and my place in this world too seriously. I plan everything out ahead of time, just ask Isabel."
"I don't have to. We've had a few years living together."
"I know you said once—,"
"In the heat of anger."
"Yes. You said that what you felt for me was leftover from…before. That you didn't know if you really loved me, just who you thought I was, and I never even tried to get to know you."
"And you know I didn't mean it."
"I know what you did mean, and from that point of view, you're right. I feel blessed, because that reminded me I have the opportunity to get to know and love you all over again. I am a lucky man, Tess. Will you add one more piece of luck by marrying me?"
She considers him. "You're not just doing this because you feel like it's the next step or because you think you have to, right?"
"No. I'm doing this for us."
"Then, on those terms, I accept." She says. She opens the box, and inside a little diamond burns with its own kind of fire, as she holds her pale hand up in front of her cranberry sweater.
He puts the ring on her finger, and as I turn away, I swear I can hear two little boys voices in the corner of my kitchen, voices out of the past.
"I'll tell you how it will be." Max's voice is pitched soft, and I have stopped moving, so I can hang on his words. "We will all be older and wiser. Sadder, though we will know more. We will all know more than we want to know." He predicts. "Christmas will be the happiest time. She will be Izzy's best friend, and she'll be able to slow down the Christmas Nazi."
I try not to snort at the name Michael invented for Isabel during the holiday season. I love my daughter to death, but she does get a bit obsessive.
"It'll be Christmas morning. You will be here with Isabel. You will laugh at her as she opens her presents, because she has to shake them all and try to guess what's inside. But it's a nice laugh. It's a happy laugh. She will give you a present, the last of the kind that you would expect."
Michael's crayons move across the paper, obeying his wishes. I long for a second for such control with my hands.
"And She will be here." Special emphasis on she. A mystery woman. The same that they called the fourth?
Michael looks up.
Max continues. "She will wear a red sweater. I will put something special in her stocking, and she will pull it out and she will laugh and she will cry, because things will finally be the way they should be, the way it seemed that they would never be."
Michael draws on. Max sips some hot chocolate and goes on. "I will be there with her. I will sit on the floor with her, though I don't want do. I'll do it because she asks me too, and I would do anything for her."
Michael smirks, and he is concentrating so hard that the tip of his tongue sticks out of his lips.
"Mom and Dad will be on the couch. Izzy will hand them presents from all four of us, because by then the four of us will all be theirs. They will love us all even more than they do right now."
He talks on, describing a tree, and different decorations. I avert my eyes. The scene is too personal and I have been eavesdropping. I feel guilty, for more reasons than one. First, that Michael was so alone and still a part of my babies, and then that there was a part of all my children that was missing, a little girl with hair like the sun and eyes like the sea and a face like love. And that they have not let me in on this, on this missing parts of them…
I listen again a few seconds later and the boys are gone.
But as I look around, I wonder if my son saw the future all those years ago. This mystery girl from Michael's crayon drawing is here, in a red sweater, with an engagement ring from the stocking. Isabel gave Michael two families, this one where I am the mother and on where she will be the mother. And all four of them are my children.
Nothing's missing anymore. The lost children have come home, to a home cozy and secure with love and Christmas magic.
The End