Fairytale of New York – The O.C. Statue of Liberty
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I know, I know; my chapter titles get worse! I was trying to be clever and it just didn't happen. Enjoy the last chapter and thank you sooo much for all the reviews.
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Two weeks later it was Christmas Eve, Sandy was out collecting take-away whilst Kirsten readied the living room for the next day's festivities; the 'one day of many presents'. The boys would laugh at her but she insisted that the room could be spruced up; pine needles picked up from under the tree (something Rosa refused flat out to do; 'I'm sorry Mrs Cohen but if you will have a real tree there's nothing I can do; I don't have the time to get down on my hands and knees and pick up the mess those trees leave. Dios sabe those artificial ones are much more agreeable') presents to organise beneath it, branches and ornaments to fiddle with, cushions to plump, rugs to straighten, decorations to adjust, cards to prop up more securely on the mantelshelf, stockings to tug into shape. And anyway, it was a tradition.
The house was quiet, expectant, like her. This was turning out to be a very different Christmukkah. A fortnight ago her doctor had confirmed her suspicions and she and Sandy were planning telling the boys after Christmukkah was over. She didn't know how they'd feel and she didn't want to upstage Seth's, and perhaps secretly Ryan's, favourite holiday. This would be the last Christmukkah with the boys in the house, the last one with the four of them. Next year there would be five.
It would be a lie to say she wasn't scared; worried about how the boys would react, afraid she was too old to do this again, frightened she wasn't a good enough mother. But all the same she was excited; she'd loved being pregnant the first time, once the morning sickness was over, and she loved babies. The idea of having all those precious childhood moments repeated made her smile with anticipation. She only wished she could have shared Ryan's, given him different memories. But they were making up for it as much as they could now and Christmukkah was the perfect excuse.
Kirsten headed to the kitchen, brushing past the dresser as she went and knocking a card to the floor; she bent down to pick it up and glanced at the name in it.
Carter
Carter. Sandy had simply thought she was distracted by the idea of the baby but she knew that Carter was occupying her thoughts too. The note was still secreted in the pottery on the windowsill in the kitchen although she'd removed it to read many times since it had arrived. She couldn't quite decide what to do with it. Keep it? Where? Risk Sandy finding it? Should she throw it? Tear it up and let him go? He was letting her go; this was it, but for some reason she couldn't quite go through with it. This was her last link to Carter, she reasoned, thinking of the necklace she'd left it that bar. As she'd told him, it had been that or her wedding rings; the weddings rings that had had to be cut from her fingers later that night.
But it had been the right decisions. She had new rings, a new lease of life on her marriage with Sandy, they'd found new love, she was working on a new relationship with her boys and now she had a new baby. She'd been right to leave that necklace behind and now she had to choose again. Let it go or let this whole thing carry on secretly destabilising her marriage. She wouldn't forget Carter just as he wouldn't forget her but he was right; they didn't have any sort of socially definable relationship; just chemistry and there was no point pretending.
Plus, she didn't need the letter; she knew it off by heart now, the edges of the paper crumpled where she'd read it over and then hurriedly crammed it into its hiding place when anyone entered the house. Their relationship had been emotional rather than physical so perhaps it was best to destroy the physical reminder of it, be left with only memories and thoughts which she could bury deep within her subconscious rather than in a brightly patterned china container.
One eye on the Poolhouse where he sons were, Kirsten extracted the note, smoothed it out on the counter like she had the first time, and read it again. She could imagine him next to her, feel his breath on her skin, the kisses he'd pressed to her lips and forehead and hear his words; 'So long Kirsten.'
So long Kirsten. So long Kirsten. So long Kirsten.
They echoed around her head. She was stood in the same place she had been then, but this time there was an empty space before her. A sob rose in her throat and she vainly fought it, her fingers closing round the paper and crushing it into her palm. She took a deep breath, and another, tears pricking her eyes for a few long seconds before her shoulders twitched involuntary and she had to bite her lip to stop herself crying.
God she wanted vodka right now.
She'd used it when he left and now it was like he was leaving again, like she was losing him again. Kirsten hurried into the living room and knelt in front of the fire, poking the crumpled paper between the logs on the fire. Sandy always lit the fire on Christmas Eve although in California it was really unnecessary. But it was tradition and made the house so cosy and festive. Of course it would be Sandy setting light to it, not her. She supposed really, if she was fully letting go it should be her but it was better this way. Sandy was the one she loved; she was with him, not Carter. He was here. Carter left. Standing back up she dusted off the knees of her trousers and rubbed the tearstains off her face. 'So long Carter.'
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Kirsten was stood back at the sink when Sandy returned, watching her sons who were engrossed in their annual Christmukkah Christmas Eve play-station championship in the Poolhouse. He left the bags on the kitchen island and slid his arms round his wife, drawing her towards him so that she fit against him, her head leaning back against his shoulder. Neither of them spoke, content to just stand together. Sandy ran his hands over her still-flat stomach and Kirsten smiled, interweaving her fingers between his. Predictably it was Sandy who broke the silence, 'After we tell them, how long do you think it will take for Seth to figure out it was you who ate all the chocolates from his advent calendar?' he asked teasingly.
Kirsten batted her husband, 'You're not to tell him; he still thinks it was a mechanical fault in the factory. Anyway it's not my fault this baby has a sweet tooth.'
'Chocoholic; obviously a girl' Sandy coughed and his wife playfully slapped him again. 'Ow woman! Those pregnancy hormones are making you violent.'
'Don't make assertions against our daughter then.'
'Hypocrite, you're asserting that she's a girl.'
'As are you.'
Sandy obviously couldn't think of a way out of that one because he retaliated by kissing Kirsten.
'Cheat,' she said, biting his lip and kissing him back.
They were interrupted a few moments later with a loud cry, 'Mom, dad, please don't ruin Christmukkah.' It was Seth.
'Oh I don't think a little kissing can ruin Christmukkah; we all know it has twice the resistance of a normal holiday.'
'Why do my words always come back to bite me in the ass?'
'Don't say ass Seth,' Kirsten interjected as she and Ryan began to put the take-out cartons onto the table.
'You're not gonna win this one,' Ryan told his brother, 'think it might take one of your Christmukkah miracles to get your parents to stop making out.'
'Well I'm praying,' Seth replied, 'hopefully Jesus and Moses are listening.'
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Later that evening they were all sat in the living room; Seth and Ryan on the floor playing endless rounds of Dreidel, more to appease Sandy with a Jewish component of the celebration rather than because they were still having fun with the game. Their parents were half sitting, half lying on the couch, their legs and hands tangled together. Kirsten rested against Sandy and listened to her sons bicker light-heartedly. She felt her husband's chest move as he chuckled at them and twisted her head to look at him. Sandy's eyes caught hers and she smiled contentedly, mouthing 'Happy Christmukkah' rather than saying it in the hope of avoiding a lecture by Seth about 'not ruining Christmukkah with all that mushiness'.
'I love you,' he mouthed back.
'Ditto.'
Seth looked up and narrowed his eyes, flicking his head from one parent to the other but unable to find anything amiss. However they were both smiling at each other a little too smugly for his liking. 'Mum, dad, what's going on?' he asked suspiciously.
'Just thinking this might be the best Christmukkah ever,' Kirsten said, widening her smile to encompass them all.
Her husband, her two sons and the last material trace of what had been between her and Carter, now in embers on the fire.
It seemed a fitting end; their chemistry had been flammable, their love, if it had got that far would have quickly burnt itself out. There was too much heat, not enough fuel. The fuel of true love rather than desperate lust, the fuel of twenty years spent together, of being almost part of another person. She and Sandy had a flame; they certainly didn't lack any passion but they were a slow burn; in it for the long haul, their love impossible to extinguish.
Tomorrow night they'd let the boys know about their sibling
Perhaps it was the best Christmukkah ever.
She had her very own fairytale right here.
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What the hell happened to this story? It got morphed by the festiveness in the air I'm sure. My Carsten-ish fic with a Kandy end suddenly became all fluffy and Kandified. I apologise. And I will write proper Carsten soon. I promise! Thank you so much for all your reviews…now I gotta go to school sob so it's goodbye from me for a while…although you know I won't be gone too long! That's not my style. (And I also have that addiction problem!)