Chapter Five

Why were stores so big? Why did they have signs everywhere pointing to 'the one gift that would make her love you'? Why was it so damn hard to pick out a present for the one person you cared the most for in the whole world?

It was useless. Ryan was trapped inside of a department store, millions of purchasable items in front of him, but he couldn't pick just one to give to her. Perhaps because you know this gift actually matters, his mind taunted him. It seemed to do that more and more these days, never giving him a moment's peace. Maybe because you care what she thinks about it. And that was the problem. What were you supposed to get a woman that you cared about, desired yet couldn't do anything about the attraction, that you wanted to show just how important they were to you….when you were married, married to another woman you found yourself liking less and less as each day passed by.

So he wandered, aimlessly, up and down the aisles, in and out of the holiday inspired displays, the red, gold, and silver blinding him. It seemed as if the more things he passed, the more confused he got. Sure, if their relationship was simpler, he could have fun with this shopping excursion. When he had passed the lingerie section, barely ten minutes after he had gotten to the store, he literally had stopped dead in his footsteps. He didn't even have to see the individual pieces; after all, he was a man, a man quite capable of imagining his own forms of pleasant torture. Images, blissfully erotic images of Marissa dressed in only a piece of lingerie he had purchased for her had taken over his body to such an extent that he knew he had caused people to stare at the far-off, lost, dreamy expression on his face, the gloss of yearning that covered his shining, blue eyes, but he hadn't cared. It had literally taken him every ounce of mental strength he had not to purchase something from that oh-so-tempting department, to walk away, and to avoid it while he continued to meander around the store.

Two hours later, he still had no idea what he was going to get her. No, take that back, he did have one idea, but it was a joke, so it didn't count. He was still looking for the gift that mattered, the gift that would express what he felt for her but not confuse the lines they had formed in their relationship.

Breaking him out of his own, silent thoughts, a quiet, somewhat hesitant voice startled him. "Excuse me, sir," she began slowly as Ryan turned around to see who was addressing him. It was a small, petite, kind-eyed older woman, perhaps in her late fifties or early sixties. "I couldn't help but notice that you seemed to be Would you like some help?"

Smiling at her, Ryan responded, "thank you, but I really don't even know where to start. I couldn't even give you an idea of what I was looking for."

"Well, that's why I'm here, to help you," she dismissed his concerns. "I have a feeling you might be approaching this in the wrong way. Instead of just trying to instantly think of the perfect present, you need to slowly build to your answer." His puzzled expression made her merrily laugh before she continued, guiding him out of the crowded aisle into a less-trafficked part of the store. "How about I ask you a few, innocent, easy questions, and that will get us started. Does that sound alright to you?"

"I'm in no position, at this point, not to try it," Ryan replied, self-deprecatingly.

"Okay then," the cheerful saleswoman said, "answer me this: are you buying this puzzling gift for a woman or a man?"

"Woman."

"Well there, you see," she pointed out, "we've already narrowed down 50 of everything in the store." Ryan couldn't help but laugh at her logic. "Now, the second question, and this will tell me a lot, do you love this woman?"

He paused, unsure of what to say. I thought she said these questions would be simple, he complained silently to himself.

Nervously, his eyes shifted away from the older woman trying to help him, but she seemed to accept this. Patiently, she just waited, watching his conflicted eyes dart back and forth as he worked out the answer to her question. Unknown to Ryan, this was not her first time helping a confused man shop. She had been doing this, her job, since she was eighteen years old. She wasn't called the Holiday Angel for nothing; she didn't have regular customers who returned year after year for her help because she did not know what she doing. She was ingrained with an instinctual knowledge of men and women, relationships, and what gifts would say about each, individual, unique relationship she helped someone buy a present for. Finally, he answered her.

"Yeah….yes, I do love her."

"Just as I thought," she confessed, flashing him an all-knowing smile before walking away towards another department of the store. Without even having to ask or motion for him, he followed. "You never would have taken so long to answer if you didn't love this woman, but obviously, and you do not need to tell me anything, your relationship with her is complicated. So we'll find a gift that respects the delicate intricacies of your bond." Turning around, she saw the bewildered expression on Ryan's face and, once again, laughed softly to herself. "Why don't you tell me some things about her, either describing her personality or an amusing anecdote that we can find inspiration from."

"She'd kill me for you telling you this, but the day we met," Ryan began, his mind and heart already feeling lighter as his memories took him over, ceasing the constant worry and concern that seemed to always be with him whenever he wasn't with her, whenever he wasn't with Marissa.

"Ryan," a determined and stubborn Theresa marched into her husband's office two weeks before Christmas, "we need to talk."

Looking up from his desk, Ryan focused his eyes on her face, his cool, unfeeling, indifferent eyes. He had been working and was annoyed with her interruption but thankful that it hadn't come ten minutes earlier when he had been doing something else….wrapping Marissa's presents. That would have been interesting to explain when she opened something from a completely different sized box, he laughed to himself. Returning his mental attention back to his wife, he merely looked at her waiting for her to continue, but when she didn't say anything, he became impatient.

"The point of having a talk is for words to actually be spoken," he bit out sarcastically. It was impossible not to hear the slight edge of contempt in his voice. "If you want to say something, say it and say it quick, so you can stop wasting both of our times."

"Fine," she agreed with him, crossing her arms over her chest, "if you want to play this like that, I am quite capable of being rude to you as well." Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the topic she wanted to discuss. "I'm sick and tired of you just showing up when you want to. Whether or not you have forgotten this little fact, I am your wife, so that means what I want counts in this marriage, too. That said, I expect you to be here for every event during the holidays, that means you will attend Christmas Eve mass with me, you'll sleep here Christmas Eve and wake up here the next morning to have your breakfast, lunch, and dinner in this house, we'll open up our presents together, you will go shopping with me the next day and carry my bags for me like a good little husband should, you'll spend New Years Eve with me however I want to, and, finally, you'll also spend all of New Years Day with me, too." Narrowing her eyes, she pushed on. "There is no arguing with me on this, Ryan. You either do what I want or I'll be forced to demand that we go to marriage counseling. I can't live like this anymore."

"I've already asked for a local assignment those two weeks," he dismissed her concerns, turning back to his computer. "Between the various events and dinners you'll be dragging me to, I'll be conducting interviews and doing prep work for the bowl games. I will, however, be leaving for a week tomorrow. There was no reason to threaten counseling, Theresa; you were already getting what you wanted. Way to show your cards early though. Might want to work on your new strategy for the next, inevitable showdown we have."

"Oh," she whispered, utterly surprised and rendered speechless.

"This room has suddenly become rather stuffy," Ryan told her curtly, standing up and moving towards the door where he walked past her, careful that their bodies would not touch at all. "I think I need some fresh air. If you need to issue any other ultimatums, I'll be outside, hanging up those hideous Christmas decorations you insist upon every year."

Walking out the room, he left a bewildered Theresa behind him. Although she had essentially gotten what she wanted, it somehow felt as if she had lost that battle anyway. Why that was so puzzled her. Perhaps if she had seen her husband slip his cell phone into his pocket as he went outside, she would have become more suspicious of his actions, but she hadn't. So, with a heavy heart, she returned to the kitchen and her work preparing her list of things she would have to buy to make this Christmas special, to make her husband fall back in love her. Little did she know, he had never had felt that way for her.

The lights were all turned off; the only illumination in the entire apartment came from the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree and the leaping, hypnotizing flames of the fire in the fireplace. The two lone people were silent, merely staring at each other; their eyes capable of expressing everything they wanted to say but couldn't. The presents, few in number, were resting beside them, wrapped and ready to be exchanged. The empty boxes of food and dirty dishes pushed aside, into the shadows, where they could be forgotten and ignored. Finally, breaking through the relative quiet of the room, the sparks of a falling log or a rare, faraway sound of a car horn down on the streets the only other noises invading their private oasis of holiday bliss, the man spoke up, his voice and words immediately bringing a smile to the woman's face.

"Although I still find it hard to believe that we just ate pizza and ice cream sundaes for our Christmas dinner," Ryan teased Marissa, "what I can't believe even more is that I was foolish enough to leave you in charge of the meal. I figured you'd at least buy some of the traditional staples."

"And where would the fun be in that," she chided him. "Besides, I saw how much you ate. You cannot tell me you didn't like it."

"That's beside the point," he dismissed her argument. "It's just not….Christmas until you have all the proper trimmings."

"I beg to differ. For the first sixteen years of my life," Marissa explained, "I had that type of Christmas. Not a decoration was out of place, we would have the traditional meals and parties, the presents were always top of the line and there were so many of them, it would take us hours to open all of them, but it was all taken for granted and never made us happy. Then my life changed, and for the first Christmas we were on our own, Caitlyn and I were living in a shelter. We went to a soup kitchen for our dinner on Christmas Eve, spent the rest of the night in a church, because it was warm and peaceful, just talking, and the next day we went to the park and played in the snow together for hours. There were no presents, no new dresses, no parties, but we had fun. Ever since that Christmas, those trimmings you mentioned haven't mattered to Caity and I. For us, it's all about spending the holidays with the people you love and care about, about celebrating life, about enjoying the company of those around you, and about making someone else smile." When Ryan went to talk, when he went to offer his opinion, she stopped him, speaking again. "Wait, don't say anything. I have a challenge for you. I want you to just experience this celebration that we're having together. Don't question it, don't analyze it, don't even think….just feel, and then compare it to the one you have later with Theresa, and then tell me which one you preferred. You'll see; I'm right."

"You seem pretty confident."

"It has nothing to do with confidence. I know what I'm talking about, and I know you, but this is not fun." Smiling excitedly, her eyes moved towards the presents. "I want you to open your gifts. One though, we have to go on the roof for."

"It's freezing outside," Ryan complained.

"You are such a baby!" Handing him his first present, a large box that felt fairly heavy, he opened it quickly to reveal that she had gotten him an assortment of warm clothes. "I realize that you have no use for them at home, but, since you're going to be here off and on all winter, and I like to go outside, I figured I better buy you some clothes so you wouldn't complain about the cold. Now, put something on….I don't care what, and let's go outside." She went to stand up, but his hand grabbing hers and pulling her back down into a sitting position stopped her.

"We're not going anywhere until you open your presents, too."

"But, I want to show you…."

"No buts," he argued with her, his eyes twinkling. "Now, do you want your serious present first or the funny one?"

"Serious."

"Alright, wait right there," he instructed her, standing up and moving towards his bags which were behind the couch. "It would have been stupid for me to travel up here with the real thing, so this is just a picture of what I got you. The real gift is on hold, paid for, at the branch of the store here." Sitting back down across from her, he handed her a small, rectangular, wrapped present, about the size of a calendar. "This is just the cardboard advertisement," he explained. Curious, she ripped the paper off quickly, reminding Ryan of a little kid and not a 27 year old woman.

"You got me a luggage set," she exclaimed, surprised. The bewildered expression on her face made him laugh. "Not that I don't like it," she continued, "but I don't understand…."

"Well, there's no way I could have you traveling to Columbus next week to see Caitlyn, knowing that you'd probably end up flying home panty-less again. The last time you did that you ended up with a friend/part time house guest, and, although your apartment is the perfect size for the two of us, I don't think it's big enough for you and two men who would occasionally stay with you. Besides," he added, "I really don't feel like sharing my best friend. The second part to this gift," he continued, "is that, before I leave tomorrow night, I'm going to help you pack, make sure you fill that suitcase properly, and I will continue you help you pack, whether in person or by phone, until you learn how to do it correctly yourself."

"How is this not my funny present," she asked him doubtfully, trying in vain to hold in her giggles.

"Because you'll actually use this, but the other gift….I doubt it."

Taking the second present he held out to her from him, she opened it less quickly, somewhat warily. "You have no idea how scared I am right now," Marissa confessed, slowly pulling the tissue paper away from the item underneath it only to start laughing hysterically. Pulling the gift out of its box, she just kept laughing as she looked up and down the one-piece, childlike, pink fleece set of pajamas that zipped from her feet to her neck.

"I couldn't resist," he revealed. "The idea of you actually wearing these Christmas Eve and letting Caitlyn see you in them….let's just say that it made me laugh so hard, the other shoppers were sending angry glares in my direction."

"Is that a dare, Mr. Atwood, because, I'll have you know, I've never been able to turn one down."

Ryan grinned out of surprise and pleasure. "First of all," he taunted her, "the fact that you can't turn down a dare is something that I'll definitely have to keep in mind." Noticing the mischievous glint in his eyes, Marissa merely rolled hers at him. "As for the pajamas," he pushed on, "sure, you can take that as a dare, but I'll need visual proof."

"Well then, if I were you," she said confidently, "I'd be checking my email Christmas morning, because there will be a message waiting for you with a picture of me in those pink, ridiculously cheesy pajamas as soon as your lazy ass crawls out of bed. Before he could respond, she jumped up and ran towards the door, grabbing her coat off the hook in the process.

"Wait," he followed her, "don't you want something out of this, some kind of reward if you actually come through on the bet?"

"Sure, if you want to," she answered him, "just surprise me." And with that, their conversation was apparently over, because she seized his hand, pulling him out the door with her before he even had a chance to slip on one of the warm shirts she had bought him, immediately heading for the stairwell that would take them to the roof.

"This," Marissa explained once they were standing on the roof in front of a wooden structure which, at that moment, looked like a compost pile, "is our pumpkin patch." When he merely looked at her confused, she continued. "After the pumpkins we carved got old, I got the idea that we needed to raise our own pumpkins like you did all those years ago. These were special to me….to us, and I wanted to have a reminder of them for years to come. So, I built this little gardening plot, albeit smashing one of my fingers and making a mess of the job, and dumped the old pumpkins here. Every time I have some kind of natural garbage, I bring it up here and dump it on them for fertilizer, and some of the neighbors that I get along with bring their foot scraps up here, too. By the time Halloween comes next year, we'll have enough pumpkins, hopefully, to carve a new batch and hand them out to the kids that live in the building with me." Sighing, she pressed, "I know that it's not a very traditional gift, that's it corny, and weird, but it just….it felt right, and I thought that if anyone would…."

But that was as far as she got before Ryan cut her off, his voice hitching slightly with emotion. "No," he stopped her, "this…what you did for me, building this with your own two hands, this is the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me. I have no idea what to say….except thank you." Turning to her, he took her hands in his and looked directly into her eyes, repeating what he had just said as earnestly as he could. "Thank you!"

"You don't have to say anything," she told him honestly, smiling out of simple joy and pleasure that she had apparently been able to make him that happy. "Just promise me that you'll be here next year, that I'll have my best friend beside me when it comes time to harvest our pumpkins."

"I wouldn't be anywhere else," he replied, sincerely, retuning her smile.

Whispering, she confessed, "that's all I needed to hear," before pulling him back towards the door that would take them back downstairs to her apartment, "but for now, I'm exhausted and want to go to bed."

"I'll get the couch ready," he offered. "Since you're so tired, just go right on into bed."

"No," she argued with him, "we're responsible, moral adults. I think we could handle sleeping in the same bed platonically, Ryan. I'm not going to make you sleep on the couch."

In response, he merely shook his head to show his agreement. After all, Ryan mused to himself, who am I to argue with her. I'm her guest. It would be…rude to turn down her generosity. With his conscious calmed, they reentered the apartment and silently made their way back to her bedroom. Picking up his bag on their way past the couch, neither said a word as she continued to lead him, as if saying something would ruin the moment. He was too afraid she would change her mind; she was nervous about what they were about to do.

They had gone their separate ways once they had made it into her bedroom, Ryan going to the bathroom to get changed for bed and Marissa undressing in her room. Once he was finished, clad in a simple pair of pajama pants and wife beater, he rejoined her, but, as he was hesitantly climbing into her bed, she excused herself, speaking so softly he had a hard time hearing her, to wash her face and brush her teeth. After she had reappeared, the lights had been turned off, and she had climbed into bed beside him, careful to keep as much distance between their two bodies. Despite everything, he couldn't help but notice how adorable she looked. Dressed simply in a pair of short shorts and a big, thick sweatshirt, her hair loose and cascading down her back, she looked, for all the world, like an innocent little girl, someone who needed to be sheltered from the cruelties of society and taken care of, a job he wouldn't mind having.

But appearances were deceiving. Between the two of them, she was the stronger, more self-sufficient, confident one. Her life was not perfect, and she was still trying to reach her dreams, but she knew what she wanted and she went after it no matter who or what stood in her way while, at the same time, doing so with grace, compassion, and dignity. True, Ryan had technically been on his own since he was sixteen and married, but Theresa had been their emotional rock while they were together, her mother helping to support them before and after her death. If their situations had been reversed, neither of them would have had the same lives. Ryan, in Marissa's shoes, would have ended up on the streets or in foster care, never capable of caring for a younger sibling; Marissa, in Ryan's shoes, would never have gotten married at age sixteen, but, at the same time, despite their differences, they had connected, and that connection was strong enough to bolster Marissa's confidence.

Rolling over so that she could face Ryan's back, his sleeping position mirroring what hers had been moments before, she tentatively reached out and touched his shoulder, making him slightly jump out of surprise at the feel of her soft hand on his skin. Slowly, he turned his body over to face hers, their eyes locking together almost instantly. For a moment, neither could speak.

"There's actually one other thing that I got you….for Christmas," Marissa explained her actions, sitting up in bed and turning on her bedside lamp. Pulling open her nightstand drawer, she took out a small box and handed it to Ryan who watched her face instead of looking at his gift. "I don't know what you'll think of it…maybe it's too forward; it might make you feel uncomfortable, but I wanted to make you feel as if you belong here, as if you're always welcome, day or night, even if I'm not here. I don't want you to think of this as my apartment. It can be our place, my home and your retreat from your everyday life." Laughing at herself in a disparaging manner, she urged him with her eyes to open the present.

It took him a moment to tear his gaze away from her, but, once he did and started opening the small gift, she couldn't look at him any more out of fear of rejection, so she turned her eyes away from him and pulled her legs up to her chest as if to guard herself from pain.

There was no wrapping paper on the present, just a decorated box with a bow, so as soon as Ryan lifted the lid, he saw that it held a key. "What's this for," he asked her baffled.

"It's for here….for the apartment," she explained before taking a deep breath. Still refusing to look at him, she continued. "It's my spare key. No one else has one, not even Caitlyn, but I wanted you to have it." Finally turning her body towards his, her eyes never leaving her hands, she reached out to pull the box and key away from him. "It was a stupid idea. Forget I even…"

"It is not a stupid idea," Ryan replied forcefully, snatching the box away from her grasping hands, "and if you think I'm going to let you take this key away from me…." His voice trailed off as he had no idea what he could say. If she demanded he give her the key back, there was nothing he could do to stop her, but, at the same time, he wanted to keep it forever. Although he had never told her, he already felt as if he belonged with her at her apartment. There was nowhere else where he felt accepted for who he was without strings attached or conditions. Given the choice between spending his time with Marissa in Seattle or at home in Chino with his wife, he would choose Marissa every time, and, by giving him that key, he knew that she wanted him with her as often as he could get away.

Wordlessly, he moved across the bed and took her in his arms in a close, tender embrace, needing a way to express what her gift meant to him. He could feel her hesitate at first, barely returning the hug, but, as soon as he pulled her in even tighter to his body, he felt her melt under his hands and hold unto him as if she could lose him at any second. Their touches were desperate, greedy, devoted.

Needing reassurance, Marissa pulled back and looked deeply into Ryan's eyes. "So, you're sure you want it?"

Cupping her face, he tenderly leaned in and kissed her forehead. "I want the key," Ryan said decisively, leaving no room for argument. "I have never wanted something more in my life." With that, he smiled at her warmly, kissed her forehead one last time, and then snuggled back down under the covers, waiting for her to do the same and turn the light off.

Once she did, she turned to him, their bodies now facing each other as they waited for sleep to overtake them. "Merry Christmas, Ryan," she said, and, with that, she closed her eyes, within moments, falling into a soft, dream filled, peaceful slumber. Ryan, however, stayed awake long after she had fallen asleep, his eyes watching her delicate face and chest as it rose and fell with each tiny breath she took, the streetlight casting her beautiful countenance in a gentle glow, while his right hand continued to play with the wedding band on his left. I wonder why I never took this off, why I still wear it, he silently asked himself. No answer would come. Just as he was about to drift off to sleep, the inevitable pull of exhaustion dragging him under, he pushed the ring firmly into place, settling it back into the spot it had been in for the past eleven years.

She was up at the crack of dawn, before the light had even touched the cool, crisp morning air, and ran into her sister's room, jumping on the bed to wake her up. Clad in her new, pink fleece sleeper, the two young women shared merry laughs and settled down under the covers to talk and giggle their way through the morning. Their presents could wait; even their hungry stomachs could wait as well. For a few minutes, the rest of the world disappeared and they were alone, completely content and satisfied to only be with each other.

For most people, those with children, their nights of rest before the hectic hours of Christmas morning were just beginning, but not for her. She had a dinner to make, and, if they were going to eat at 1:00 the next afternoon, things needed to be started much earlier than what was considered traditional or even sane. Getting out of bed, she got dressed quickly not wanting to disturb her husband. He was actually home for Christmas; there was no way she was even going to tempt a fight by asking him to help her. Today, she would pamper him and, through her actions and gifts, show him how much she cared.

The cookies were spread out before them in smorgasbord fashion, too many for even a dozen people to eat. Although they had attempted to bake their own the day before, the dough that had actually made it onto the cookie trays and not in their stomachs had only proven to burn, so they had been forced to go to the local bakery and buy every single kind of cookie that looked appetizing at all. Cradling their large glasses of ice cold milk in their hands, their eyes were glued to the television screen before them as they watched their favorite holiday movie of all time: National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation. Talking was prohibited, but giggling was encouraged.

Timidly, she crept into their bedroom, pushing the door open with her foot as her arms were full and occupied with the heavy, large tray covered in delectable delicacies for her husband's Christmas morning. She had let him sleep in; it was almost 9:00, but he needed to get up so that they could open their gifts in time for her to finish their dinner. Plastering a warm, loving smile on her face, she gently spoke, her voice as kind as she could make it. Stirring him, he sat up in bed. Though he thanked her for her efforts in making him breakfast, she was hurt when he complained about the fact that there were no cinnamon rolls. She hadn't even known that he liked them. Apologizing profusely, she left the room to go back downstairs, not wanting to show him she was upset, asking him to get dressed and join her whenever he was finished eating.

The living room was a sea of festive colors; the wrapping paper, bows, boxes, and presents strewn across the small, cramped space. Humorous, holiday music filled the air and made them occasionally sing along when a particular verse or chorus came on that they loved. As the two young women opened their gifts from each other, they talked and laughed, getting up to try on and model every new piece of clothing for the other. There weren't a lot of presents nor were they expensive, but each one was special, endearing, personalized, and neither of them would change a thing.

Everything was neat and orderly. Each individual piece of tape was carefully pulled apart from the wrapping paper so as to avoid making a mess, and, after each gift was revealed, the paper, ribbons, and boxes were gathered and thrown away before the next gift was opened. She had long since finished opening her presents, for there had only been the traditional three: a gift certificate to her favorite store, an expensive bottle of perfume, and a new piece of jewelry. His presents for her never wavered, never changed every year; they were always the same thing. However, she seemed to buy him more and more each year, as if she could buy his affections. There were clothes, shoes, cologne, sports memorabilia, new tools, and anything and everything else she could think of that he might like, but nothing he opened put a smile on his face. Giving the excuse that she had to check on their meal, she excused herself from the living room and went into the kitchen, needing to cry in peace. If only she had stayed she would have seen him reach into his pocket and pull out a simple, golden key, squeezing it tightly in his hand as if it offered him comfort and reassurance, before putting it back away where no one else could see it.

Long into the afternoon, they played in the snow together, building snowmen and snowwomen, having snowball fights behind their carefully crafted forts, and making snow-angels. It was the one tradition they had kept from their first Christmas on their own without any parents, not because of sentimental reasons but because it was just so much fun. Their cheeks rosy and windburnt, they laughed and played the day away, occasionally taking breaks to get a warm, delicious cup of hot chocolate from the many thermoses they had brought with them. Their spirits were infectious, and, after a while, local children came out to play with them, bringing their new sleds and making the fun just that much better.

Staring across the long table, polished so smoothly the candles and Christmas lights reflected off of it creating a glare, the two people sat eating their holiday dinner. The entire expanse was covered with food, way too much food for only two people to eat. There was every kind of meat, vegetable, side dish, and dessert a person could ask for. While she looked on at her meal proudly, he silently lamented that there were millions of people starving that day. His mind went back to the woman he had spent seven days with the week before and her haunting tale of her and her sister's first Christmas on their own, eating their only meal in a soup kitchen. The sight before him made him literally feel sick to his stomach, and he was unable to eat even a single bite. Suddenly, he found himself craving the down-to-earth simplicity of pizza and sundaes, and he knew Marissa was right. All those trimmings he had always found to be so important really didn't matter at all.