December 2, 2009
Okay, so it's silly. Silly to decorate a tropical village for a holiday they've celebrated without decorations for years, ridiculous to think a palm tree can replace a noble or a Douglas fir, much less than that it can hold ornaments, but it's her job to try. Some people, like her, depend on the normalcy of things like Christmas.
Of course, Christmas used to mean the heavenly scent of baking cookies, a tree so large Derek and Mark could hardly carry it, and snowflakes that Derek kissed gently from her lips and cheeks. She's outgrown that level of bliss and innocence; the world isn't defined by such straight, bright lines anymore. But as she hangs homemade baby Jesuses that honestly look more like voodoo dolls, she figures maybe it's more the idea that counts.
A snort from behind her interrupts her, and she turns to find Naomi staring at her palm frond garland. "You are ridiculous, you know that?" she asks incredulously.
"I most certainly am not. I'm decorating for Christmas, Naomi, like all the other normal people at the beginning of December!"
"Addison, it's ninety-five degrees."
"So?"
"Violet, tell her it's ridiculous."
"Violet, tell her she's a Grinch."
"You're both pathetic. Addison is pathetic for making Christmas cartoon references like a five-year-old, and Naomi is pathetic for actually caring. Okay? That's my professional opinion," Violet says without looking at either of them. Instead she hauls herself into a sitting position, frowns at the progress of her tan, and lies back down.
Addison sighs and returns to scoping out the next palm tree. She's not doing this for herself, not really. Okay, well she sort of is, but there's plenty of children in this village who have had their hearts torn apart by violence and abandonment and lies and maybe she thinks this will improve their lives just a little, make up for it just a bit, a flimsy band-aid over a bullet hole.
If Derek were here … it's poisoning her slowly to think like this, but she can't help it … if Derek were here, he'd be beside her, arms full of makeshift ornaments. He'd hold the little brown-skinned children up to their roofs to hang old socks and try to teach the women how to make his mother's famous lasagna. God, she misses him.
But they're different now. And even as the tears fall and Naomi places a hand on her shoulder, because despite her disapproval, she knows her friend is only trying to protect her, she tells herself it's different now. Derek isn't here. That's partially her fault.
She hates Christmas.
Dear Derek,
I miss those days too. It's easy to forget all the good times when things are tough, but I don't regret one second of our time together. I wouldn't trade all those memories and all the good times we had for anything, no matter how it ended. We may have grown apart, but at least we had those times.
I'm sure you'll have kids someday, Derek. You'll be a wonderful father – the one who plays football with his kids and makes the other families in the neighborhood jealous. And even if Meredith isn't ready to have kids now, I'm sure she'll come around.
We shouldn't talk about if things had been different. I wonder about it, sometimes, but … we can't go there. We shouldn't. It's not right, it's painful, and it's not fair to either of us or to Meredith. What happened, happened. We don't get a redo.
I can't believe you told everybody about the elephant thing, Derek. Great. That's humiliating. Everyone in Seattle already knows a bit too much about my personal life, if you know what I mean. It reminds me of the time you told your entire family over the phone that you couldn't come over because I was making you go to the store to buy tampons.
And I did not withhold sex for three weeks. It was two and a half at THE MOST.
Things here are going pretty good, we're decorating for Christmas (well, I am while Naomi laughs at me and Violet tans). And I was banned from helping make Christmas dinner, apparently because all the women said I was a nuisance when it was my turn to help cook. I'm not that bad of a cook. You liked that crab chowder I made, didn't you?
Saving lives is different here – refreshing, without all the pretension, but a lot more stressful. Wow, I can't believe you guys merged with Mercy West. How's Richard taking it? I haven't heard much from him lately, but he's probably busy.
Our practice was affected financially by the recession, but we didn't have to lay anyone off – that must be tough. Everyone feels lost sometimes, Derek. You were different, when you were younger; you always knew what you wanted and how to get it. But just because that goes away and you don't know precisely where your life is going isn't necessarily a bad thing, Der. It just means you have some thinking to do. And you save lives every single day – never underestimate that.
How did we end up here? Some days I honestly don't know. Maybe we were too happy – happier than anyone had the right to be – or too complacent. That's life, though, I guess.
Addison
P.S. What needs to be said, Derek? That you made a mistake? That I shouldn't have been there, I should have left you alone instead?
The rumpled envelope, familiar script barely visible, hangs out of the back pocket of his jeans as he bends to heft the latest cardboard box from the driveway into Meredith's cozy house. Moving in with his sort-of-fiancée-sort-of-wife was an idea he dreamt up to restore the serenity that has deserted him. Instead he feels even more lost, swamped by the uncertainty of middle age and disillusionment. It doesn't help that it is his ex-wife's words, written in Addison's unique calligraphy with a red pen that stopped working every few lines (he can see the frustrated scratches), that provide him with a tranquility he hasn't known in years.
There is a grunt beside him and he turns to see Alex with another large box in his hands. "Jeez, Shep, how much fucking stuff do you need?" he snaps, sweat dripping form his temples to his black wife-beater tank top.
"See, this proves it, Meredith!" Cristina yells triumphantly from her position on the floor in front the TV. Apparently the driven resident found a microscope program similar to the one he'd used on his miracle spinal tumor surgery and now tearing her away from it is nearly impossible. He's pretty sure those are his George Washingtons down there she's infesting with chicken pox, but he learned long ago not to mess with Meredith's 'person.'
"It does not, Cristina."
"Does too. Not only does McDreamy have perfect hair, but he also lugs around junk like a frickin woman. This proves it."
"Dude, what kind of shit do you even have in here?" Alex scoffs, throwing yet another of Derek's boxes onto the floor (he didn't realize he and Addison used to have that much stuff) and beginning to yank and tear the tape off.
"Uh, that's nothing," Derek says, attempting nonchalance. The box is labeled 'DINING ROOM' but the problem is that Addison has what dining room stuff wasn't left to rot in New York along with their shattered dreams. Besides, she always labeled it 'D. ROOM', he knows from when they helped Mark move.
"Oh, come on, Derek," Meredith cajoles. "Cristina won't laugh too much when she sees how many different sets of silverware you have."
"We don't need to unpack this. Really. Actually, I was going to take it to Goodwill," he blurts hurriedly, and Alex backs up, clearly bored, but Cristina moves in with a wicked look on her face, and, with one swipe, rips the tape off of the box. All he can do is stand in horror and watch as Cristina plunges her hand in and comes up with a very distinctly shaped object.
"Ew!" she shrieks. "McDreamy and Satan's sex toys!"
Derek can feel the blood rising, painting his face a bright vermilion, and he makes a desperate reach for the box but the others are crowded around, like rubberneckers by a car crash. Meredith stands off to the side, staring intently at him, as if she'd never truly seen him before. And sure, they have hot sex frequently, or used to have hot sex frequently, but Addison used to do some pretty kinky things in the early days of their marriage, things that …
Things that she would literally murder him for letting her former colleagues find out about.
"Hey Derek? Do you think we could have this?" Izzie asks brightly, dangling something in front of his face that brings back some really inappropriate memories … Addison is going to kill him. Literally kill him. Seeing his face, Izzie replaces it carefully. "This is probably a bad time, huh?"
Cristina is still rolling around the floor laughing, Alex is scrutinizing the box carefully, and Izzie is still eyeing the coveted object out of the corner of her eye. He really doesn't think it can get worse than his fiancée and her friends discovering what he and his ex-wife used to do in bed, but the doorknob turns and in walks Mark.
"Either you're running a sex shop out of the garage or Derek started unpacking his and Addie's old stuff, because that's the only place you're going to find such an abundance of … toys. Merry Christmas."
