The story is based on the song 'tis the damn season by Taylor Swift. Parts of this chapter were also inspired by lyrics from her songs august, All Too Well (10-minute version), and Wildest Dreams. Probably others too without meaning to since my brain is currently 50% TS lyrics.
As was foretold by the Plum family holiday tradition we had my favorite meal for dinner - absolute crap. Yum! Christmas Eve, New Year's Eve, and Superbowl Sunday at my parents' house were the best. Rather than a traditional balanced meal at the dining room table, we ate the most unhealthy snack food known to man on paper plates, precariously balanced on our laps in the family room, watching the TV. The menu consisted of: pickles covered in cream cheese and wrapped in dried beef, meatballs in red sauce, BBQ cocktail weenies eaten with decorative toothpicks, and mom's cheesy taco dip with chips. The only nod to a healthy alternative was the veggie pizza, which wasn't healthy at all. It was croissant dough baked and covered in a thick layer of cream cheese mixed with a sour cream chip dip, topped with a minimum of actual veggies: broccoli, sliced carrots, sweet red peppers, and my favorite, olives. Most people probably didn't consider olives vegetables. The Plums weren't most people.
Val and her family were over, the kids trying to hold it together the night before the best day of their entire year. I remember that feeling. In some ways I envied them. Don't get me wrong, you couldn't pay me enough money to go back and relive any part of my life. Were there things I wish I'd done differently? Absolutely. Was I willing to go through it all again? Absolutely not. The girls were doing pretty well, Angie and Mary Alice had grown and matured a lot in the last year and Lisa was still too young to understand most of it. In a year or two she'll be beside herself with excitement. Christmas Eve was movie night and it started with a kids' movie chosen by my nieces. The top contenders were A Muppet Christmas Carol, Curious George's A Very Monkey Christmas, and Christmas Eve on Sesame Street. They picked the last one, my favorite. We'd watched it since Val and I were little, and it always made me cry. This year was no exception. But it was a good kind of crying for once, a refreshing change for me. The whole movie tugged at my heartstrings. How could it not? Oscar the Grouch convinces Big Bird that Santa isn't real and everyone thinks Big Bird ran away. They organize a search for him while he's sitting on the roof of the building, waiting for Santa in the snow, wanting the chance to prove Oscar wrong and reaffirm his own belief in the big man. Adding in the tear-jerker of Bert and Ernie's version of the Gift of the Magi, featuring the late Mr. Hooper just makes me sob. By the time Bob leads the cast in singing Keep Christmas With You while Linda signs the words I'm just a blubbering fool.
I was sure that the two older girls would have preferred something else, but they were generally very good to their little sister, well until she destroyed something of theirs, then all bets were off. After the kids' movie, my mom left with my sister's family, heading to church early to prepare for the Children's Christmas Pageant which preceded midnight mass. Grandma, Dad, and I watched another movie with a big mug of Grandma's homemade eggnog, of which nearly 50% was bourbon. Delicious. Early on, we used to watch classics like Miracle on 34th Street, It's a Wonderful Life, or White Christmas. Our choices have changed in the last few years, with movies ranging from Fred Claus, Die Hard, and Who Shot Liberty Valance? Even though the John Wayne western had nothing to do with the holidays, it always seemed to be playing on Christmas Eve, convincing my dad that it was a holiday classic. Neither Grandma nor I argued the point. This year I got to choose the movie and we watched Fred Claus. I could also relate to poor Fred, who lived in the shadow of his perfect brother Kris Kringle. I needed the laughs too. I wasn't big on westerns and Die Hard always reminded me of Ranger. One year when he and I were on patrol Christmas night we started debating if it was truly a Christmas movie before he spent a great deal of time explaining to me all the plot holes and inaccuracies. When he started in on the problems with the weapons and fight scenes I kissed him just to shut him up. We'd been sitting at a red light at the time. Immediately, he turned right and found the nearest alley where he parked the truck and fucked me senseless, thus ending the discussion. Yippie Ki Yay indeed!
After the movie, Grandma went upstairs to get ready for church. I gathered the mugs from our eggnog and headed into the kitchen to rinse them before getting myself ready. I was a little surprised when I turned around and found my dad in the doorway of the kitchen. He studied me in a way very reminiscent of another man in my life. Trying not to squirm under his scrutiny, I waited for him to ask whatever it was he wanted to know. While I loved my dad, I didn't want to go into detail with him about how I'd fallen into a friends-with-benefits relationship with a man that I was hopelessly in love with and how it nearly destroyed me.
"Your mom said you were jet lagged?" he asked skeptically. While my dad was a pretty even-tempered guy, lying would not be tolerated. I was an expert fibber, but I'd never been able to fool him.
I decided to keep my answers short, just because I couldn't lie to him, didn't mean I had to spill my guts either. "I ran into Ranger last night. It didn't go particularly well." I hoped that was enough detail to appease him, "It was late when I got in and I was upset. I didn't sleep well. Mom came to check on me and chalked it up to jet lag. It was easier to just go with it than try to explain." He kept his gaze on me, reviewing what I'd told him and doing his internal dad lie-detector test. I must have passed because he took two steps towards me, closing the distance between us, and folded me into his arms.
"Are you two going to be able to work it out?" His voice was full of concern.
I bit back a sob, "I don't know Daddy. I'd hoped so, but I don't know how much hope I have left in me."
He squeezed me tight then stepped back, hands on my shoulders, his face completely serious, "Do you need me to hurt him?"
I barked out a laugh, surprised at his offer. Of course, he was joking. I mean, I think he was joking. Shaking my head I said quietly, "I think we've inflicted enough pain on each other." I dropped my eyes and took a deep breath to keep the tears at bay, "I know you two have gotten to be friends. I don't want that to change, at least not on my account. It's good, for both of you." Even though my dad loved Val and me, I knew a son or grandson would have delighted him. He'd looked out for Ranger this last year and recognized that he needed support. Isolating himself was the root of his problem, so if Ranger's relationship with my dad helped him it was fine with me. He may be a dumbass and emotionally stunted, but I knew what happened between us had hurt him too. While I blamed him for most of it, I accepted that he'd always been upfront about what he was willing to offer me. It was my own fault for wanting more and hanging onto the hope that he would change. I'd refused to change for Joe but somehow expected Ranger to change for me.
Dad moved one hand to my chin, tipping my head up so I was looking him in the eye, "Pumpkin, you're my daughter. Nothing comes before that."
My smile was a little wobbly, "I know Daddy. But you don't have to choose sides. He needs support too, he doesn't let most people in and you seem to be one he has." I didn't know what else to say without spilling my guts and blubbering all over him. As for all the details, he probably didn't want to hear them even more than I didn't want to share them. "I just need to find a way to let go. I didn't realize until last night that I was still waiting, living for the hope of it all, wishng things could be different." I paused to take a deep breath, "But they aren't going to be and I've wasted enough time in denial. I need to find a way to move on." He didn't press me further, he just gave me another hug and placed a kiss on top of my head before giving me a gentle push toward the stairs and reminding me we needed to leave in twenty minutes.
By the time we left the house, it had started snowing again, they were big beautiful flakes, the kind that make everything magical. It was what Christmas Eve should look like. I offered to drive us, but Dad refused to ride in my rental car since it was a Toyota and not American-made. He argued that if it kept showing the Buick would have better traction in the snow. While I doubted his logic, I didn't mind not having to drive. I was still mellow from the eggnog and I welcomed the feeling. Different types of alcohol had distinct effects on me: whiskey made me laid-back and philosophical, wine made me sleepy, tequila put me in my feels, champagne made me silly, rum made me barf and vodka made me horny. I guess it's a good thing Grandma hadn't made Bloody Marys. Feeling turned on while in church felt wrong in so many ways.
The parking lot at Saint Anthony's was nearly full when we arrived. Most people arrived early to get a good seat. My dad didn't believe in such things, in his mind sitting and waiting was a waste of time. I didn't mention to him that he was just sitting at home, but since he was sitting in his Lazy-Boy in front of his TV I suppose he considered it productive. My mom was already inside tonight so it wasn't an issue. Dad had to park in the farthest spot from the door, next to the dumpster. Ah, Trenton, some things, including my luck with parking hadn't changed. Before I could squash the thought, Ranger's excellent parking karma came to mind. It was one of the best things about riding anywhere with him, right after his sexy cars with the buttery leather interiors, engines that purred like big cats, reminiscent of their owner, and the unique scent of Ranger that permeated the air and wrapped around me like an embrace. Grrr, so much for trying to put the sexy, infuriating man out of my mind.
Being back in Trenton, everywhere I went I was reminded of him. I'd lived here for thirty years without knowing him, but the impact of the years I had him in my life colored everything. Even this church held memories of him. You'd think that attending St. Anthony my whole life, the significant events that took place here would be the thoughts that would flood my mind. I was baptized here, made my First Confession, and First Communion, I was Confirmed here, and attended CCD every Wednesday night. My thoughts should be of those times: sneaking Communion wine with Mary Lou, Eddie, and Carl, finally getting chosen for May Crowning, and having my first kiss with Michael Rizzo in the basement. Dickie and I were married here in a lavish ceremony with a full mass, a ridiculously extravagant dress, and seven bridesmaids. Did any of those memories come to mind? No, all I could think of was Ranger, and being a bridesmaid in Amanda and Rober Kinsey's wedding when Orin Carr was trying to kill us all. Being back in town was harder than I thought it would be. I wasn't able to think of anything but him.
Dad had offered to let Grandma Mazur out at the front steps, but she refused. She said that was for old people. Dad rolled his eyes and said something under his breath but abided by her wishes. Once he was parked he came around to help her out of the passenger seat and gave her his arm as they walked up the snowy sidewalk. I walked on Grandma's other side and took her other arm. While Grandma was still young at heart and as stubborn as ever, I couldn't help but notice a change in her. When you see someone every day, the subtle changes aren't as obvious as when you haven't seen them for a while. Grandma seemed frail and to have shrunk even more since I'd been gone. I'd even noticed a small tremor in her hands when she was working on wrapping gifts and writing names on the gift tags. She also seemed a bit more forgetful, telling stories of her childhood, my mom's and even mine, but on a few occasions, she struggled to come up with a word she wanted or the name of the person she ran into at bingo. I mentioned my observations to my mom, but she dismissed them, saying everything was fine. It was Dad's change in behavior that gave credence to my concerns. When I left a year ago Dad and Grandma bickered daily, at every meal and in the mornings over the lone bathroom in the house. Since I'd been back, I'd seen Grandma needle him, trying to goad him into an argument, but his responses seemed softer, more lighthearted. Evident by the care he was taking with her now, I was convinced Dad had seen the changes too, and was stepping up. Choosing to care for her in ways he hadn't before, even if Mom refused to acknowledge the reality. It made me worry, I was so far away now. What if something happened and I couldn't be there to help? I didn't like to think about her getting older and that my spunky grandma wouldn't always be here.
When we made it inside, Grandma brushed off our hands, insisting she wasn't an invalid, and moved into the sanctuary with purpose knowing that my mom had a pew saved for us up front. The Christmas Pageant was without any major fiascos, as usual, there was at least one participant who had stage fright and ran to their mom midway through the performance, as well as a child who was really into the performance, adding their personal touch, exaggerated dance moves, and facial expressions. The pageant wouldn't be complete without a performer who believed they were too old to be in a children's pageant and performed every part with little to no enthusiasm. Mary Alice had been the over-enthusiastic performer the last few years but seemed to have mellowed. Lisa and a little boy about her age made it halfway through the first song before being overwhelmed and running for their parents. I'm sure the fact that they were up well past their bedtimes didn't help, being tired made me weepy too. Angie of course was perfect as always, this year Mary Alice was too. I was happy for her because she appeared content and confident, but I was sad to see the little girl who insisted she was a horse go. Since I'd firmly believed I was an Intergalactic Princess as a kid, I felt a connection to her. The kids sang traditional Christmas Carols, more of the religious-leaning ones, and in between songs would read snippets from the story of Jesus's birth. As a whole it was a success and mass started right on time. We were nothing if not punctual in the Burg.
As a kid, I attended church every Sunday and CCD on Wednesday nights. When our family would go out of town, the first thing my parents would do was look in the phone book or drive around to find a Catholic Church, even on vacation we attended Mass. My parents were Sunday 9:00 am people. They sat in the 4th pew from the front on the left every week like it had their names engraved on it. They'd relaxed a bit in recent years, especially my dad. Mom though was still very active, especially with the women's guild. Once I went to high school my attendance was more sporadic. When I turned 16 and could drive, I convinced my mom that Mary Lou and I wanted to go to Saturday evening services at 5:00 pm since we would be out with friends that night and we didn't want to get up early in the morning. Lou and I would attend about once a month, the other three weeks we'd pop in long enough to grab a bulletin and then head to the mall. When I was in college I never went unless I was home for the weekend. Then Dickie and I got engaged and we had to go through premarital counseling before the wedding, it was awkward and obviously didn't do us any good. After the wedding we went weekly, but to the 11:00 service on Sunday. Dickie insisted on it, citing that it would be good for his career to be seen as a pillar of the community. Of course that was shot to hell with the spectacle of our divorce and my airing of our dirty laundry. Since then I've been with my parents on holidays and attended baptisms, weddings, and funerals. I've also visited on a couple of occasions when my period was late and I promised everything under the sun to not be pregnant. I wouldn't say I was a great Catholic, but I wasn't the worst either and I was okay with that.
While I wasn't overly spiritual, something was comforting in the ritual of Mass with everyone repeating the same words, singing the same songs, the whole congregation acting as one. It made you feel a part of something larger. It also provided me with time to think. I tended to zone out during the Homily and readings, using the time to think, plan, and reflect, not in a religious way, but more of a time to focus on myself. Tonight was no different, being Christmas Eve, there were additional rituals that had to be performed that could add up to half an hour to the service. The pattern was familiar and didn't require much of my focus. I used the time to make plans for when I returned to California, a mental list to help me accomplish my resolutions: people I wanted to try and spend time with, classes I could sign up for to try and find a hobby, and most importantly how to move on from Ranger. My heart clenched at the thought, but I needed to do it. I was stuck. I thought I'd made progress, but seeing him, I realized it was like I was paralyzed by it. Recognizing it wasn't something I could do on my own, I needed to get help, and not just a friend to talk to, not that I had anyone that close out there anyway, but a professional. If my mom could do it, so could I. I think. I had to try. Denial was no longer working.
Just sitting here made me think of him, I was brought back to the memory of walking down the aisle in that god-awful Little Whorehouse on the Prairie dress. I was lucky I didn't trip and fall on my face or run into the back of the bridesmaid ahead of me because all I could see was Ranger. Standing tall, proud, and handsome as hell next to Kinsey at the altar, he served as the best man. Undeniably gorgeous in his custom-tailored tux, I had tunnel vision. The jacket highlighted his broad shoulders while the white shirt set off the beauty of his dark skin and the pants fit snugly in all the right places. Once I saw him, I couldn't look away. His eyes were focused only on me, the corners of his mouth turned up a fraction in a smile only I would recognize. But it was the look in his eyes that took my breath away, they were warm brown pools that made me yearn for more with him. Before that day I'd wanted him of course. He'd moved from mentor to friend, to potential boyfriend and after our first night together I knew I wanted more, but with his comments about not being relationship material, condoms, and rings I didn't think it was in the cards. I settled for what I could have of him using every excuse I could to be with him: Grandma Bella hexing me with the Vordo, playing a newlywed couple for a case, and taking advantage of the off times in mine and Morelli's relationship. I wasn't even always good at waiting for an off period.
Looking back now, I can admit the flirting, kissing, and fondling that went on between us while Joe and I were together made me a shitty girlfriend. I'd denied it back then, but I'd acknowledged it at least to myself now. I'd pretended if I'd caught Joe in similar positions I would've been pissed. The thing was, I wouldn't have, not really. When Ranger touched me or kissed me and I'd have an attack of guilt, the next thought was, I wish Joe would do the same thing with someone else. It would be a relief and an excuse to end things without me having to be the bad guy. I'd also justified it in my mind a couple of ways. For one, Joe and I were off more than we were on, and most of the time, he'd said we could see other people, he just didn't want me to be seeing Ranger. He should know that telling me not to do something almost guaranteed that I would do it. I was just that stubborn. The other justification was, I was in love with Ranger. I wasn't in love with Joe. So in my head, it didn't feel like cheating, just the opposite, since my heart belonged to Ranger, it felt more like I was cheating on him when I was with Joe. It sounds stupid, but that's how it felt. I worried for a while if that made me a slut like Joyce Barnhardt. Maybe it did in some people's eyes. I also knew Ranger was it for me and if we were ever a couple I could never cheat on him. Even though we hadn't been together in a year, I still hadn't been with anyone else because it felt like I was being unfaithful. I didn't want to think about him being with anyone else while I was gone, just the thought made my stomach clench.
Until the Kinsey wedding, I knew I wanted Ranger, wanted him in my life, wanted to spend time with him, sleep with him, and maybe even wanted to date him. But it wasn't until I walked down that aisle to him that I recognized what I truly wanted was forever with him. It scared the shit out of me, mostly because I knew it would likely never happen. It was too much to hope for because allowing myself to hope out loud opened me up to devastation when he rejected me. So I squashed that hope, tucking it away in the back of my mind along with my desire to develop superpowers and be able to fly. So I went back to flirting, kissing, and sleeping with him whenever he allowed, forcing myself to accept what he was offering, convincing myself I didn't want more. It wasn't until we started sleeping together regularly that I let that hope out of its box. I could see how good we were together, how well we complimented each other. I was sure he would come to see it too in time.
In the beginning, I told myself it was fine that we were only a couple in the sense that we were sleeping together. It wasn't like we only had sex, we talked and cuddled, he opened himself up to me and showed me a side of him that he didn't share with other people. I convinced myself he wanted to keep it that way while things were new, not wanting to let the outside world in, a way to nurture it until it grew strong enough to survive in the real world. It was like I was his secret girlfriend. He was a private man who lived a dangerous life, it was for my protection. I focused on the time we spent together, not the constraints he'd imposed on it. Most nights he was at my place or I was at his. I'd long been the sort of person to want things they couldn't have. I'd wanted a relationship with Ranger for so long, even though our situation-ship wasn't perfect, it was closer than anything before. Keeping it between us made it special.
I'd thought things would continue as usual in public, the teasing, the touches, the stolen kisses. It didn't. He put up barriers between us when I saw him outside our apartments. There was no dragging me to the alley to kiss me senseless, no flirting, no double entendres. He kept his distance physically and emotionally. I'd thought it was just me being overly sensitive, but even Connie and Lula commented on it one morning when we happened to be in the office at the same time. He'd barely acknowledged my presence. While screaming on the inside, I'd convinced the two busybodies that he must just be really busy and having a bad day. I hadn't been able to convince myself of the same thing. But he was all business, every time I saw him in public, at the bonds office, at the station, when I filled in at Rangeman, even when he responded to a disaster I had with a skip. He'd stand off to the side observing while sending Lester or Tank over to check on me. I can't say it didn't hurt, especially when before he'd been so affectionate, his touch sometimes comforting, but always arousing. I'd wondered at the time if he was ashamed. Was he desperate to hide us, it, whatever the fuck this was?
Briefly, I'd thought he was losing interest or tiring of me, but every time he walked through my door or I walked through his, his need was obvious. He'd descend upon me with a passion that only grew with time. Unable to wait he'd take me up against the wall, on the table or kitchen counter. Afterward, I'd see him visibly relax and we'd spend time together eating dinner or cuddling, watching TV or even talking before we'd wind up in bed again. The second time he'd slow things down. That's not to say it was any less intense, but the sense of urgency was gone. He'd tease and torture me, using his mouth, tongue, and teeth along with his nimble fingers to bring me to the precipice before backing away and then building me back up over and over again before finally granting me release. It was only after he'd wrung multiple orgasms out of my body he'd finally joined me, filling me so perfectly, making me feel whole once again. No matter what his words said, his body told a different story, that was enough. I told myself it was enough, the whole while clinging to the belief that he would eventually change his mind and we'd have our happily ever after. I was so wrong, I know that now.
I was a little surprised when suddenly everyone was putting on their coats, wishing each other a Merry Christmas, I'd zoned out for a significant period of time. The routine of Mass was so ingrained in me that I could participate even while my mind was elsewhere. I followed along with everyone else as we poured out of the building, families were in a hurry to get home, children were overtired and overwhelmed with excitement; parents worried about getting them to bed, knowing they still had to play Santa and hopefully get some sleep themselves before they were awakened at the crack of dawn. Valerie mentioned earlier that she hoped they could make it to at least 7:00 am before the kids woke up. She said last year they were all up at 5:00 am and everything had been opened by 6:30 am. Maybe remaining single was the way to go. In the last year, I'd thought about it a lot. This was the longest I'd gone in my life without a boyfriend, relationship, or at least a social orgasm since I started dating. I'd never been comfortable being alone, it made me feel like a failure, probably because of the expectations I'd grown up with. Looking at it now, it wasn't probably the healthiest pattern. I knew why I hadn't tried dating or even hooking up since I left. No one would ever measure up to him. Just because I thought I would always love him, it didn't mean I couldn't find happiness with someone else, did it? But I couldn't be with anyone else until I learned to be comfortable with myself. I added learning to enjoy time alone and not needing someone else to feel good about myself to my growing list of resolutions. Just the idea of meeting with a therapist was exhausting. I felt like maybe I should make a PowerPoint with major characters and traumatic events for them to understand just how fucked up my life really was.
Right now I was just looking forward to climbing into bed and falling asleep to give my brain a break. Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!