Champagne Toast (44 page)

Whenever Kate was in a foul mood or had something that she couldn
’
t get off her mind, she
’
d sit and listen to Tori Amos.  She
’
d listen to so much Tori Amos it was ridic
ulous.  I’ve never been a fan —
frankly, I think that woman
’
s a little nuts.  But, she helped to soothe my girlfriend in a way that I couldn
’
t.  So, today, I try something new.  I start listening to
“
From the Choirgirl Hotel
”
and I sit on my couch listening to every single song.  It doesn
’
t help.  Not a bit.  I don
’
t want to think about Kate being upset.  I don
’
t want to think of her listening to Tori for
years
while I was out meeting other girls, dating other girls, sleeping with other girls.  It makes me sick to even think about
it
.  Instead, I think of the music that makes my love happy. 
Dino.
 

Digging through my pile of dusty CDs, I find it.  The Dean Martin CD that I
’
ve had for years.  I pop it into my CD player, and listen as his voice croons through my apartment.  Instantly
,
I feel at peace as memories start to roll through my brain.  So many memories of us when we were happy.  And right now, I know in my gut that we can get back there. 
We can be happy again.
  But, how do I prove it to her?

Memories continue to flood my brain and instead of fighting against them so that I can figure out how to prove my love to Kate, I submit to them, bask in them, and enjoy them so much that I
’
m smiling from ear to ear.  I have faith.  We
’
re going to be okay.  I just need to convince her of that.  And I think I finally know how to do it.  But, I can
’
t do it alone.  Reaching for my phone, I start to put my plan into motion.

Kate

December 24, 2012

Christmas has been depressing these last couple of years.  No Evan, no family, no traditions or special breakfasts to be found.  But, this year, one of those things has changed.
This year, I
’
ll be spending Christmas day with my parents.  We
’
re starting slow, not rushing into too much
‘
family togetherness
’
just yet.  But, one meal on one of the most special days of the year seems like a nice way to start.  I haven
’
t heard from Evan since the exhibition, and I
’
m not sure how to feel about it.
He seemed so determined to win me over that night, but ten days have passed without so much as an email.  Maybe he had a change of heart.  Just the thought of that makes my heart sink, so I push it far from my mind.
He
’
s probably in Green Bay with his family.  I tell myself that there
’
s always a chance we
’
ll reconnect in the New Year.  Stranger things have happened.

I was really excited when Tosha from Blue Door invited me to a party at the gallery for this evening.
I didn
’
t have any Christmas Eve plans and wasn
’
t looking forward to spending the evening pouting over cartons of Chinese take-out.  It was kinda odd that Tosha invited me so last minute.  I almost wonder if she was in contact with Deb at Shutterbug and decided to add me to the obviously exclusive guest list. 

I
’
m allowed to bring a
‘
plus one
’
.
I was actually thinking of asking Jason, but Bree begged me to bring her.  I guess she really enjoyed the exhibition and wants to
“
go to more cultural events
.” 
Whatever.  Bree and I are assuming that this will be a fancy party, so we used that as an excuse to go shopping and buy some new clothes that will be acceptable for a holiday party such as this.

I
’
m feeling confident as I look myself over in the mirror.  I
’
m wearing a new red wool cowl neck sweater with a black pencil skirt and knee-high leather boots that Bree convinced me to buy.
Bree and I walk to the gallery once again, although this time I
’
m not nearly as nervous as the last.  I see lights on at the gallery, but not the crowd I was expecting.  The sidewalk outside is completely vacant.

“
Did I get the time wrong?
”
I ask Bree.

“
No, I think we
’
re right on time
.” 
She smiles. Something about that smile makes me suspicious.
“
Follow me.
”

We walk through the doors and I
’
m consumed by the smell of pine in the air.  White twinkle lights fill the gallery, wrapping around the ceiling in a beautiful chain.  A small cocktail table sits close to the front door.  There is one dirty martini sitting on a napkin.  An envelope that simply says,
“
Bree
”
sits next to it. 
Peculiar
.

Bree looks giddy as she tears open the envelope.  She smiles to herself and kisses me on the cheek as she walks back towards the door.

“
Wait, what is that?  Who is it from?
”

“
It
’
s just a thank-you note.  Don
’
t worry about it.
”

“
Bree, where the hell are you going?  What
’
s going on?
”
  None of this is making any sense.  There
’
s no party here at all, just a lone martini and a room full of Christmas lights.

“
Take your drink, Kate.  And wait here.
”

“
Okay?
”
I say, realizing it comes out like a question even though I don
’
t mean it to.  This has to be the most bizarre moment of my life.

“
Hello, Kate,
”
a voice says from behind the small wall where my piece was hung for the show.

Evan.

“
Oh my
—”
I say, putting my hand over my mouth.

“
Hey,
”
he says softly, walking towards me cautiously.  Probably waiting to see if I
’
ll run away.  But, I won
’
t.  I
’
m intrigued.  I want to know what he has up his sleeve.

“
Evan,
”
I say dispassionately. 

He leads me to the small wall where his photos hung ten days ago and takes both of my hands into his. 
“
The last time we spoke, you gave me a challenge.  To show you, convince you
.
”

“
Yes,
”
I nod.

“
Well, I
’
m ready to do that.  Are you ready to be convinced?
”
His smile is already starting to charm me.  Damn him.

Evan walks back to the table, grabs the martini and places it in my hands.

“
Dirty Martini, your favorite,
”
he says confidently.

“
Well, that
’
s an easy one.
I hope you plan on impressing me with more than this,
”
I say, gesturing towards the glass.

“
Sweets, take a few sips and follow me, all right?
”

“
Okay,
”
I say, shrugging my shoulders before following him around the small wall.

“
Your exhibition inspired me.
I was so impressed with your talent and how you were able to communicate through your art.
”

“
Thank you,
”
I say simply.

“
This is an exhibition about you.  I want to
show you
just how much I love you.  I want to
show you
that you
’
ve never left my mind or my heart during these last two years.
”

When we round the corner, I see a turntable perched on another cocktail table.  Evan carefully places the needle on the record and I hear one of my favorite sounds in the world.
The crackle of a record.  And then, the familiar sounds of Dean Martin singing White Christmas fill the air.  I feel my resolve crumbling as Dean croons in the background.  An official looking placard, custom made by the gallery, sits next to the record player.  It simply reads,
“
Dino.
”

“
People in their twenties don
’
t tend to love Dean Martin.  But, you do.  You adore him and I love that about you.
It
’
s a connection that you built with your Nana, and it
’
s a connection that you built with me.  I hope to listen to his music with you for years and years to come.
”

Next, Evan walks me to a simple framed poster perched on the wall.
I stare at the Breakfast Club movie poster and can
’
t help but laugh.  Next to the poster is another placard.  This one simply reads,
“
Sweets
.”
I bite the side of my mouth to keep my eyes from welling with tears.  I
’
ve missed that word.  I
’
ve missed him saying it.

“
Do you remember why I started calling you that?
”
he asks and I nod.

“
I couldn
’
t ignore you if I tried,
”
I recall, my eyes growing wet despite my efforts.

“
That
’
s right.  Your sharp sense of humor is one of my favorite things about you, sweets.  I
’
d like to ask your permission to call you that again.
”

“
I
’
ll think about it,
”
I tease.  But, in all honesty, it
’
s the sweetest thing I
’
ve heard in two years.

“
Come with me,
”
he smiles, taking my hand and leading me to another
‘
piece
’
in this crazy exhibit.

A collage of coasters from Molly
’
s hangs on the wall, adhered to a large canvas.
I can
’
t help but laugh, looking at him with surprise.
He chuckles in return.
The placard reads,
“
Our Beginnings
”

“
Like I said, I was inspired by your piece the other night.  I wanted to make a collage of my own.  And this one is all about how we first met.  At Molly
’
s.  These coasters make me think of you, of us, and of all we
’
ve been through in that place
.” 
I nod, listening to him as I look at the coasters.  Some of them look old and worn, others brand new.

“
Have you been collecting these?
”
I ask, surprised.

“
Well, I had a few of them.
But, I had a little help in getting enough to make my work of art.  Do you like it?
”

“
It
’
s, um, creative,
”
I offer.

“
That
’
s good enough for me.  Come on, there
’
s more,
”
he says, taking my hand once again.

“
I can hardly wait,
”
I tease, squeezing his fingers with my own.

“
Now, all kidding aside, this next one is very special,
”
he says as we round the corner to head down the long east wall of the gallery.  I can see several framed photographs.  The first photo is of me smiling.  I remember when Evan took this photo.  It was the night he first surprised me with my Canon.  I had him pose as my subject for quite a while.  But, then he turned the tables on me, taking pictures of me while I cracked up laughing.  We were so in love.