Kissing Father Christmas (4 page)

I
turned to see Peter leaning against the doorframe looking like a teenage hooligan with his hands in his pockets and his shoulders rounded forward.

He grinned at me the way he'd grinned last May across the table at the rehearsal dinner. Friendly, joking, slightly bashful, looking like someone who was having a good time at the party.

I played along with his teasing question. “I snuck out. You won't tell on me, will you?”

“Your secret is safe with me.” He pulled his hands out of his pockets and strolled over to where I was standing. Tilting his chin up, he scanned the sky above us as if trying to see what I had been looking at.

“Were you out here checking on the universe? Making sure all the moving parts are still working?”

“I was just getting some air.” I glanced at him, but he continued to stare at the sky. We still hadn't made eye contact.

“God does a pretty good job of keeping it all in motion, doesn't He?”

“Yes. He does.” I was beginning to feel nervous about where this conversation might go, or not go, and added, “I guess we're the ones who get out of sync.”

He didn't reply.

I wished I hadn't said that. Peter could easily take that to mean that I was still stuck on the kiss and how I'd misinterpreted it. He was the one who was attempting to normalize our conversation. The least I could do was stick to neutral comments.

“It's a good thing that He keeps extending grace to us, don't you think?”

“Yes.”

“We can make a fresh start of it at any time.” I could tell that Peter was looking at me. I kept my eyes toward the night sky, not yet willing to let our eyes meet.

“I hope we can do that,” he added. “Make a fresh start of it.”

I turned slowly and met his gaze in the glow of the dim, yellowed light pouring from the open kitchen door. The earlier tensions and anxious thoughts dissipated.

Offering Peter a warm smile, I said, “Of course. Fresh starts.”

“So, we're friends, then?”

“Yes. Friends.”

I knew how to be “friends” with a lot of guys. Most of them were married to friends I'd known since childhood. I could start over and be “chums” with Peter. No one needed to ever know about the hopelessly romantic embers I'd kept warming in my heart for him all these months. Being able to talk easily around him was a better alternative than packing my bags and tiptoeing out of this small village in the morning.

“I heard you're thinking of going into London tomorrow,” he said.

I must have given him a startled look, as if he'd just read my thoughts.

“With Ellie and Julia,” he clarified. “I heard the plan is for Christmas shopping at Harrods and afternoon tea at the Georgian Restaurant.”

“Oh, yes. Christmas shopping with Ellie and Julia. I think Miranda is going, too.”

“Do you have plans for afterward?”

“I don't know. I don't think so.”

“Would you like to see a bit of Londontown while you're there?” Peter cautiously ventured. “I'm going to be in London tomorrow. If you'd like, I could meet you at Harrods after tea and take you around.”

“Could you take me to see Ben?”

“Ben?”

“Yeah, the big, tall guy with the handsome face and outstretched hands.”

It was clear that Peter hadn't picked up on my attempt at being clever.

“Big Ben,” I said plainly. “I've always wanted to see him.” Trying out Ellie's cute line from this morning, I added, “It's my Christmas wish.”

A look of sudden understanding spread across Peter's face. “Tall guy, open arms. Right. And I bet you're going to tell me that his face lights up when you go see him at night.”

“I hope it does. I've yet to meet him.”

“You've come to the right tour guide, then, because as a matter of fact, I know where to find him.”

“Good.” I kept going with the playful, teasing tone. “In that case, I will go with you tomorrow. But only if you promise to take me to see Ben.”

Peter was still smiling. “Why do I get the feeling you're one of those women who just uses a guy like me to get close to some other guy like Ben?”

I gave him a grin but didn't have a comeback. I was still trying to figure out where the sassy lines about Big Ben had come from since that wasn't my usual way of speaking to anyone.

Except, I guess that is the way I banter with the husbands of my childhood girlfriends. I somehow always go into a coy mode around them. That's interesting. Is this the only way I know how to feel comfortable interacting with men my age?

“Hallo! There you two are.” Ellie stepped outside with a dish towel in her hand. “Are you feeling all right, Anna?”

“Yes. I'm fine. Thanks.”

“Any chance we might employ the services of the two of you for the final round?”

“After you,” Peter playfully bent at the waist and extended his outstretched arm toward the door. “Ladies first.”

The rest of the evening rolled out with lots of laughter and a comfortable camaraderie with the kitchen crew. I chose to refrain from doing much talking because I was still trying to figure out why I turn coy and a bit sassy when I'm trying to communicate with men. It seemed best to just keep smiling and enjoy the company. It was great fun being around Peter and watching how he “worked the floor,” as Ian called it.

“I always told him that instead of becoming an architect, he should have taken up a career as a dining room maître d' on a cruise ship.” Ian filled the sink with hot water and added more dish soap than needed. “He's at home with an audience—that's for certain.”

Tiny incandescent bubbles began rising from the sink. Ian plunged his large hands into the water, releasing even more of the liquid pearls. Miranda and I exchanged quiet grins. Both of us had noticed how the transcending bubbles were clinging to the ends of Ian's light brown hair like the remains of a dismantled halo.

Miranda motioned for me to join her by the stove where she was standing and eating a bowl of soup.

“Did you get anything to eat, Anna?”

“No. I probably should.”

“There's soup and some rolls left, but not many. Here.” She handed me a freshly washed and dried soup bowl and nodded toward the pan on the stove. “Please help yourself.”

“Would anyone else like some?” I asked.

“I'm good,” Ellie said. She was drying bowls faster than Ian could wash them.

“None for me,” Ian said. “Peter said he ate before he came and I took bowls up to my dad and Katharine earlier. What's left is all yours, Anna.”

I was hungrier than I realized and went looking for a remaining roll after I'd finished the soup. Ellie noticed what I was doing. With a chuckle she said, “Didn't I tell you this morning? We serve you breakfast in bed merely to put on a good front. After that, you're on your own for your meals.”

I stuffed the last bite of the last roll into my mouth and chewed contentedly. A little thrill rose inside me, elevating like the iridescent floating soap bubbles. I loved being here and feeling included in this extended family. I loved the lively conversations and the fast-paced comings and goings. It was so different from my everyday life at home.

Peter and I had found a new path to walk down. It wasn't what I'd dreamed about. But it was okay. It felt good to move along on the “friend” path with so much ease. It was much better than ousting myself from this group.

Tomorrow I'd get to experience a day in London with these lovely women and a round of sightseeing with Peter. Plus, I had the promise of getting my Christmas wish of meeting Ben face-to-face.

I watched Peter as he cleared the remaining tables and leaned over to give one of the older women a good-bye kiss on the cheek.

I pressed my lips together. The eternally hopeless romantic in me wondered,
Would it be wrong to still hope for one more Christmas wish?

T
he next morning Ellie, Miranda, Julia, and I arrived at the train station just as the rumbling clouds overhead began dousing the countryside with a chilling winter rain. We got on board and peeled back our wet coats before taking our seats. We tucked our collapsed umbrellas under our seats and settled in, facing each other across a table. The windows were steamed over from all the warmth emanating from our compartment.

I felt as if we were on a grand adventure. I don't think there is a train system in the Midwest that comes close to the British railway system. Even though the inside of the train was modern, the experience of dashing to the station and feeling the sensation of rolling down the tracks made it seem as romantic as if we were in a movie from the Victorian era.

I thought about the fact that Peter and Ian both worked for the same architecture company in downtown London. “Do Ian and Peter take the train into work every day?”

“Ian does,” Miranda said. “I think Peter does, too. I'm not sure. I've never asked them. Would you like something to drink? This train has a snack bar.”

“Some tea would be nice.”

Miranda scooted into the narrow aisle. “Ellie? Julia? Would either of you like something?”

“Nothing for me,” Ellie said with a smile. “Julia, I brought along a juice box for you, if you're thirsty.”

Julia had pulled out a coloring book and was busy giving a princess on the first page a blue-colored gown. She wasn't interested in the juice yet.

Miranda gently touched my shoulder. “Would you like to come with me?”

“Sure.” I slid out and followed Miranda from our car through two other cars before we entered a crowded café car that had a line of people waiting to get up to the small snack bar window.

“Let's sit here and wait for the line to get shorter.” Miranda slid onto a narrow bench and I squeezed in next to her.

“I was wondering,” Miranda said in a low voice. “Did it seem as if Peter was less talkative with you than he'd been at our wedding?”

Miranda's gleaming eyes seemed to be searching my expression for clues as to what was going on. I didn't know what she'd seen at the wedding reception and I had no idea what Peter may have said to her or to Ian about me.

Part of me wanted to lean in like schoolgirls at lunchtime and tell her all about my elevated dreams, Peter's crushing explanation of our kiss, and how we had restarted yesterday as “friends.”

But I wasn't used to talking about feelings like this with anyone, so the answer that came out was vague. “He and I had a chance to talk outside last night. It was a good talk.”

“That's good.”

I nodded but didn't say anything more. I liked Miranda very much and I had no reason not to believe that I could trust her. But there was a familiar voice in the back of my head that I had listened to since childhood. It was the voice of “Prudence.” Prudence had kept me nestled in my padded, safe cocoon for many years. She reminded me that once a secret is shared, it's no longer a secret. And if it's no longer a secret, it's no longer yours alone.

Sitting beside Miranda on this rainy morning in the swaying club car on our way to London, I felt my timid temperament rising to the surface. It seemed best to keep all my secret Christmas wishes about Peter to myself.

When I didn't provide any further information, Miranda honored my silence. She moved on to the facts that were common knowledge. “I'm glad that Peter volunteered to show you around London today. Is there anything you're especially interested in seeing?”

“Big Ben. And maybe Saint Paul's Cathedral. What are your favorite places? What do you recommend I see?”

“There's so much. It depends on what you like. I enjoy the museums but I'm not sure how many of them will be open this evening. The V&A is one of my favorites—that is, the Victoria and Albert Museum. Both of the Tate Museums are wonderful. You have to see the front gate of Buckingham Palace, of course. And the Tower Bridge is always a favorite.”

“What do you think about the London Eye?”

Miranda thought for a moment. “Do you have any aversion to heights?”

“Not particularly.”

“I don't either but it's still pretty unnerving. It's so high and the enclosures you ride in made me feel uneasy. I wanted something to hold on to. I only went on it once. Ian took me when I first moved here. It's not my favorite thing but if Peter wants to take you, I suppose it's sort of an initiation to welcome you to London.”

The line had shortened, so Miranda stood and motioned for me to join her.

“I have a feeling you'll like whatever he takes you to see,” she said. “The Christmas decorations make everything in the city look especially beautiful.”

We ordered tea and carried the corrugated paper cups back to our seats. I was grateful that the lid was nice and tight because otherwise I most likely would have had a spill. We slid in across from Julia and Ellie and admired the progress Julia had made in her coloring book.

“It's not as neat as I'd like it to be,” Julia said with a sigh. “It's difficult to be neat when this train keeps being so jiggly.”

I took in the views of the countryside through the rain-streaked windows, sipped my tea, and enjoyed Julia's happy chatter about every princess in her coloring book. She knew them all by name and each of them had a story.

When we arrived at Paddington Station, Julia held my hand as we tried to keep up with woman-on-a-mission Ellie. She got us into the queue outside at the taxi stand and I noticed the rain had stopped. I was grateful for that. It was still bone-chillingly cold and damp. I could feel the sharp breeze bringing icicle-like tears to my eyes.

“I never guessed England could be so cold.”

Elli was wrapped up to her nose in a blue-and-white snowflake scarf. “That's saying something, coming from you. I have always imagined that there's nothing but ice and snow in places like Minnesota. I think that's because those are the only pictures they run on the news here. Whenever you break a new record for the windchill factor, our local weather reporter is eager to make it a top story.”

We were next in line for the taxi. A classic, big black British taxi rolled up and we got inside. Julia bounded in first. Her rosy-cheeked face showed that she was as excited about taking a London taxicab ride as I was. We turned to look right and left as we passed rows of lovely, tall white buildings and went through a roundabout with a towering statue.

“There it is!” Julia announced. “We're almost there!”

We'd turned a corner and were pulling up to the front of Harrods. The impressive building was a city block long and trimmed with white lights, making the huge square building look like a giant gift box. I could only imagine how stunning it would look when it was lit up at night.

“It's best if we stick together,” Ellie warned right before we exited the taxi. “I've gotten myself lost in this place before. Are we ready?”

We clumped together like a cluster of grapes in the midst of a well-kept vineyard. The throngs of determined shoppers seemed to give off a low hum of polite frenzy. It was as if everyone within a hundred miles of London woke up that morning and realized that Christmas was only four days away.

Once again Julia held my hand and Ellie led the charge. The elegance and beauty of every display took my breath away. The ceilings were ornately decorated and vastly different in style and design in every department. I'd never seen a store like this. The opulence of the Victorian era still reigned at Harrods.

The iconic department store was enormous but well organized. It wasn't difficult to find our way to all the various departments on Ellie's list.

My favorite department was the stationery section. Miranda purchased an expensive pen for Ian. Julia used her own money to buy a small wax and seal set for her brother with the initial
M
.

I lingered over a set of watercolors in a beautiful leather case. It seemed like the perfect souvenir but I couldn't convince myself that I needed to buy it. I had long been an avid fan of Beatrix Potter and loved all her endearing, watercolored storybook characters. Jemima Puddle-duck and Peter Rabbit were my childhood favorites.

Running my fingers over the smooth leather case, I remembered the first time I tried to copy Beatrix's beloved Peter Rabbit, for the Lake Minnetonka Junior Artists contest. I was nine and won first place. I still had the ribbon.

To her credit, my practical mother enrolled me in art classes and took me to the Minneapolis Institute of Art for lectures on Monet's haystack paintings while I was still in grade school. She sought out opportunities for me to excel and I kept improving. My favorite project up until now was a book about a village of hedgehogs that lived in pastel-colored cottages and wore tweed suits and hats made out of buttons.

Through my drawings over the years, my romantic imagination had blossomed. I put my whole heart into every sketch I did. I loved the process of filling in the carefully curved lines with watercolors.

I smiled. No one knew about the secret gift I'd brought with me for Christmas. It was a children's book for Peter's young sister titled 
Molly the Little Lamb
. I almost didn't bring it with me but now I was glad I did.

My only regret was that I didn't have a second book I could slide under the Whitcombe Christmas tree titled 
Julia the Lovely Princess
.

I looked at the luscious watercolors one more time and felt the anxious hum of the other shoppers vibrating inside me now. How quickly could I draw and paint a picture of “Julia the Lovely Princess”? I clutched the set of watercolors and then stopped.

Better yet, what if I sketched the pictures in a notebook and Julia could color the drawings herself?

“Ready to move on?” Ellie asked. “I think it's the Christmas room for us next. We need to hunt down a few specific ornaments.”

“I need to get one more thing.” I put down the leather box of watercolors and headed for the back wall to the impressive assortment of notebooks and journals. Julia followed me.

“Which one of these do you think I should get?” I asked her.

“I like this one.”

“So do I.” I picked up the very girly purple journal with blue flowers and headed for the cash register, smiling all the way.