Unbreakable (24 page)

“You don’t like the wine?”

I shook my head. “No, it’s not that,” I said. “I have a headache. Wine isn’t the best cure.”

“I know what cures headaches,” he said and smiled mischievously.

I laughed but pushed him away playfully. “I don’t think so,” I said. “Not tonight at least.”

“How are you feeling?” he said, his face concerned. He pulled me into his arms, brushing my hair back from my face, pressing his lips against my forehead. “You don’t have a fever.”

“I’m fine, Doctor,” I said and smiled at him “Just a little under the weather. Plus I’m probably PMSing.”

“Yes, you’re due about now, aren’t you?”

“My period’s been erratic since I quit taking the pill.”

He nodded. “A lot of women don’t ovulate for months after they stop. Your body is probably adjusting. You stayed up really late last night working on your paper. I thought you were finished.”

“Revisions. I want to get it done before Christmas so I can relax. I hand it in after the new year.”

He leaned over to kiss me. “Good. What’s for supper? I’m starved.”

I dished out the food and took only a very small portion for myself. I wasn’t all that hungry, but I got Drake talking about a patient he’d seen in the OR who needed to have emergency brain surgery and he didn’t seem to notice how little I ate. I took our plates off the table before he could comment and then we went to the living room where we snuggled together and listened to some music.

We fell asleep a few hours later, and ever the sensitive soul that Drake was, he didn’t even think of making any advances towards me, knowing I wasn’t feeling very well.

On Christmas Eve day, after Drake left for the hospital to check in on his patient who was in medical ICU, I had to rush to the washroom and throw up my breakfast. Luckily, I hadn’t eaten very much—a bowl of oatmeal and some tea. I frowned and Googled the flu to see if vomiting was one of the symptoms and sure enough, the strain going around did often cause nausea and vomiting. Still, I’d never been sick like that before with a flu so I sat down and looked at my calendar on my iPhone. My period was due on…

I checked and double-checked. My period was due a week ago. I’d been so busy working on my paper and Christmas shopping, I’d completely forgotten. I ran to the bathroom drawer where I had a couple of pregnancy tests stashed and took one out of the box. First Response was supposed to detect the hormones involved in early pregnancy before your missed period so I hoped it worked, although I didn’t expect to be pregnant so soon after stopping the pill.

“Here goes nothing,” I said to myself and sat on the toilet.

Later that afternoon, I finished wrapping presents. A collection of Nat King Cole CDs for my father, a Jamie Oliver cookbook for Elaine, some toys for Heath’s kids and a set of espresso cups and saucers for Heath and his wife. We agreed as a family to keep our presents under $25, donating the same amount to the Food Bank and the local Catholic Mission for their Christmas Eve dinner for the homeless. Drake and I donated money to a charity that gave goats and chickens to families in the hardest hit countries, touched by war and famine in Africa. We had so much, I felt it was necessary to give away twice as much as we spent on our own families. Even that would be a drop in the bucket compared to the need in those areas, but at least it was something. Besides, Drake donated so much of his time and money already, but that only showed how much was needed.

I thought of Alika and Maya and my time at the UN camps in Niger, wondering how they were doing, hoping everything was okay with them both. I thought about Liam, who had been discharged and went back to California with his mother and Chris.

All of it conspired to bring tears to my eyes, and I laughed at myself for being so emotional, but I always felt that way during the past few Christmas seasons. Not unhappy, but nostalgic for the years when my mother was alive and we spent Christmas Eve eating Polish food and opening presents, as was the tradition on her side of the family. My mother and father would take me to the local Catholic Church where we’d do a late Mass at 6:00 p.m. at St. Stanislaus Bishops and Martyr’s Church, in the Lower East Side. Then, we’d have a special feast of twelve dishes, including the traditional borscht, pierogi, mushroom soup, cabbage rolls, carp, herring and sauerkraut along with several desserts, like kutia, piernick, as well as poppy seed cake. Then, we’d troop back to St. Stanislaus for the carols, where I’d soak up the beautiful music and stained glass wonder of the old Cathedral.

After she died and my father started seeing Elaine, we stopped going to mass on Christmas Eve, and celebrated a more traditional American Christmas. We had a big meal on Christmas Eve as before, but now it was ham and potatoes, with cake and cookies. We still opened a few presents on Christmas Eve, because it had become a tradition that was hard to break, but I missed the rest of it – mostly, my mother.

Family truly was everything, the core of a person, who they are. I thought about poor Drake, who had a completely different kind of upbringing. How would he react to my family’s Christmas? I thought he’d probably eat it up like candy.

I’d give him the tickets to Africa as my Christmas Eve gift and keep the others for Christmas morning when we were alone.

My father called me after lunch. Drake was still at the hospital with his patients, and so I was alone.

“Are you feeling better?”

I took in a big breath. “I’m a little better now.” There was no way I was going to admit I’d thrown up my breakfast for then he’d be all concerned.

“You two coming over tonight I hope. Heath and the kids will be here. I’d like to be able to go to St. Stanislaus but I’m not really up to it.”

“I’m pretty sure we’ll come.”

“It wouldn’t be the same without you and Drake.”

“We’ll be there,” I added. “I don’t have a cough or anything so I think I’m just tired from staying up late all week to finish the first chapter of my thesis.”

“That’s my little workaholic. We’ll see you at 6:30 for cocktails and dinner at 7:30 as usual.”

“Okay, Daddy. See you then.”

Drake arrived back at the apartment at about five, smiling, excited about dinner at my father’s. He put some music on the sound system, an album titled “Christmas” by Mannheim Steamroller.

“My father wasn’t much on Christmas, calling it a capitalist plot to separate people from their money but before he became such an old curmudgeon, he used to play this at Christmas.”

While the music played, he had a quick shower and I did my hair. He chose a grey suit, a white shirt and black tie, which made him look like a million—or a billion—dollars. He finished fastening the top button of his shirt while I stood in the bathroom doorway and watched him.

“Do you approve, Mrs. Morgan?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow at me.

“Very much so.”

He came over to me, his tie still undone, and pulled me into his arms. I was still in my gown and hadn’t yet finished dressing, waiting for my curling iron to heat up.

“I wish we could have a little afternoon delight before we go to your father’s.”

I shook my head and pressed my hands gently on his chest. “Too late now. You’re all gussied up.”

“I could bend you over the vanity and have my way with you…”

Drake bent down and kissed my neck, one had slipping beneath my robe to caress a breast. It sent a jolt of lust through me, but at the same time, my stomach was still off.

“Maybe when we come home,” I said and pushed him away.

“Still not feeling well?” he said and frowned, his expression changing to serious doctor mode.

“Just a bit off. I’m good enough to go tonight. I wouldn’t want to miss it.”

He nodded. “We won’t stay long.”

I smiled and went back to my hair. On his part, Drake sat on the edge of the claw foot tub and watched me finish.

“We’re bringing a gift over to open for each other, right?”

I nodded, my eyes on his in the mirror. “Yes. One present for each person there. It’s a tradition in the Polish community to open gifts on Christmas Eve. We used to do it when my mother was alive.”

Drake nodded. “I think my father was more suited to Festivus. The airing of grievances.” He laughed at that, and I smiled, recalling the Seinfeld episode.

“No airing of grievances tonight. My father would never hear of it. Christmas Eve is for happiness and joy.”

Drake smiled. “That sounds wonderful to me, a kid who never really got Christmas. I’ll be like a little kid again.”

I turned back to the mirror and curled another lock of hair, hoping that Drake was pleased with his tickets to Ethiopia to see his father’s grave.

Dinner at my father’s was perfect. The apartment on Park Avenue was decorated beautifully – Elaine really had a great eye for style even at Christmas. Choral music played over the sound system, and the smells wafting from the kitchen made my mouth water, so I knew I was definitely feeling better.

We sat around the table, my father at the head, Elaine at the other end, Heath, Christie, the kids and Drake and I around them. The meal was fabulous and everyone seemed really happy and excited for Christmas. The kids especially, particularly Colin, Heath’s oldest. At six, he was really knowledgeable about Christmas and was particularly pleased that we would be opening presents on Christmas Eve.

When dinner was finished, we made our way to the living room and the presents wrapped under the tree. Colin acted as Saint Nick’s elf and distributed the gifts to each person.

I watched, excited as Drake took his gift. He waited to open until everyone had their gifts and then we all opened them at the same time.

Drake turned to me, wanting to watch me open mine. “Go ahead,” he said, eagerly.

“You, too,” I said, wanting to watch him open his gift.

“Let’s do it at the same time,” he said. I nodded and together, we unwrapped each other’s gift.

Mine was a small white box wrapped in a gold ribbon. It had to be jewelry. When I removed the lid, I found a keychain inside with a single key and on the chain itself was a small plastic fob with a miniature photo of my drawing Knight and Lady.

I peered at it in wonder. “That’s my drawing.”

“The very one,” Drake said, looking up from his gift. I’d wrapped the tickets inside a big box filled with tissue so he still hadn’t found them.

I held up the key. “What’s this for?”

“Your new studio.”

“What?” I turned to him. “Where?”

“In Chelsea. It’s a penthouse loft and it has several smaller offices inside. You could have other artists share it with you if you wanted.”

“Oh my God, Drake,” I said and covered my mouth. He took out his cell and called up his photos.

“Here, take a look.”

I took the cell from his hand and scrolled through the images. The space was big and bright, with hardwoods and exposed brick, and huge windows. There was a sink and island. It would be perfect.

I leaned over to him and put my arms around him, and he put down his present and hugged me back.

“I want you to be able to go there whenever you want and work on your art.”

I looked in his eyes, and shook my head, unable to speak for a moment. “Thank you,” I whispered, tears blurring my vision. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiled and I let go, handing the keychain and Drake’s cell to my father so he could see.

“Wonderful,” my dad said, winking at Drake.

Then I watched as Drake continued to search through the tissues. He finally found the tickets and itinerary and opened them.

“What’s this?” he asked and opened the itinerary. It detailed the flight to Ethiopia and the trip to the crash site with a guide. Then, a flight to the national park in Kenya and our stay at the lodge.

“This,” he said and held up the tickets. “This is…” He didn’t say anything else but pulled me into his arms, his face pressed into my neck. I knew he was overcome with emotion as he said nothing more, just held me for a long moment.

Finally, he pulled back and I could see his eyes were wet. “This is the best present ever. Thank you.” He kissed me, then kissed me again.

“What is it, Drake?” my father said.

Drake handed my father the tickets and he examined them, peering at them through his reading glasses perched at the end of his nose.

“Very thoughtful, dear,” he said to me, nodding. “Wish I could come with you, pay my respects.”

I nodded, but was too overcome with my own emotion at seeing Drake with tears in his eyes that I couldn’t speak.

“Why is Uncle Drake crying?” Ian whispered to Christie.

“Because he’s happy,” she whispered back.

“I don’t cry when I’m happy,” Ian said, matter-of-fact. “I laugh.”

Drake looked up at that and laughed. “I’m happy,” he said to Ian and rubbed his head affectionately. “Just a sentimental fool.”

Ian shrugged and seemed satisfied, then turned back to his own toy – a radio operated drone, that Heath had flying around the room, knocking into things and causing a ruckus.

Drake pulled me into his arms and we sat together, our gifts in our hands, and enjoyed the company.

We left my father’s later than I planned for I was feeling like a new woman, my stomach settled and in a good mood from the evening. As we drove back to our apartment on 8
^th
, I sighed in contentment.

I checked my watch – it was after eleven.

“We could go to St. Stanislaus and listen to some Christmas music if you’d like,” Drake said. We’d spoken about it back at my father’s apartment, reminiscing about Christmas when my mother was still alive.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to go, but at that moment, I thought it might be one of the Christmas traditions I’d like to keep up, even if I was no longer a practicing Catholic.

I nodded. “That would be nice.”

And so, we brought in Christmas Day at the cathedral, sitting in the back pews, taking in the glorious flying buttresses, the dark woods of the altar, the gilded balusters, the stained glass and the beautiful voices of the choir as they sang songs from my mother’s homeland.