The Christmas Orphans Club(48)
He sticks out his bottom lip in an exaggerated pout. “Sweet baby Hannah.”
“I know,” I say, laughing. Warmth spreads through me thinking about the Christmases of my youth. I hadn’t thought about the fussy white trees in ages. I’m glad to be able to share this memory with David.
“Okay, here’s an idea.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “What if, instead, we become a kooky-tree family.”
“I like it!” I tell him.
I try to hold on to the contented feeling while we decorate the tree to the sounds of Brian Wilson crooning that it will be a blue Christmas without you, but the ring keeps popping into my mind. And telling myself not to think about the ring only makes me think about it more. Rings with cartoonishly large Disney character feet cha-cha through my brain, taunting me.
When we finish, we collapse back onto the couch to admire our handiwork. “Well, we definitely have our work cut out for us,” David remarks. “This tree does not look kooky at all. In fact, it looks like the kind of tree that has a mortgage and drives a Honda Accord.” I laugh, already excited about the prospect of hunting down more ornaments to make this tree ours.
“How about you pour some wine while I start dinner?” David asks.
“Sounds perfect,” I say. Relief courses through me as he heads toward the kitchen. Braised chicken feels like a fairly unlikely place to hide a ring.
twelve
Hannah
This year, December 2
The next afternoon, Theo leads me through the designer women’s wear floor at Saks, navigating us around displays of sequin-encrusted evening gowns. Behind a selection of pointy-shoulder blazers that remind me of “Vogue”-era Madonna, he rings a doorbell next to a plain wooden door.
After he invited me on this last-minute shopping trip, my next call was to Priya, ostensibly to invite her to join, but I also wanted her opinion on the ring. She knew David the best out of my friends. Even though David lived alone when we started dating and we easily could have holed up in his apartment, he made it a point to spend time at mine, too.
One rainy Sunday early in our relationship, Priya made chana masala—another of her mother’s specialties—as we watched back-to-back showings of Ocean’s 11, 12, and 13 on cable. After licking his bowl clean, David insisted she teach him how to make the dish. For months, our minuscule kitchen became an off-license cooking school as the two held weekly Sunday cooking lessons. They only stopped when we reached the dog days of summer and the apartment was too stuffy to justify using the stove. Priya taught David to make saag paneer and malai kofta—the latter requiring a few FaceTimes with Priya’s mom to perfect. I was happy to be the designated taste tester, and even happier to see David win Priya’s enthusiastic stamp of approval.
But when I called her this morning, she brushed me off with vague excuses about work even though it’s Sunday. “Maybe I can meet you later?”
“Also, I found a ring in David’s sock drawer,” I told her before she could hustle me off the phone.
“That’s great, Hannah. Congratulations!” She sounded distracted and I could hear a man’s voice in the background. I wondered where she was and who she was with. “But I gotta go. Let’s plan drinks next week, okay? And I’ll try to make it later if I can.” Before I could protest that I wasn’t sure this could wait until next week, she’d hung up.
As I waited for the E train to take me uptown to Theo, I couldn’t shake the feeling of distance growing between me and Priya. I wondered if there was something going on, and if so, why she didn’t want to talk about it with me. So it’s just me and Theo on today’s shopping trip, since Finn is apartment hunting in LA.
A woman with a blondish-gray bob opens the hidden-in-plain-sight door, and a cloud of Chanel N°5 wafts out along with her. I’d recognize the scent anywhere, the same one my mother wore.
“Miriam!” Theo exclaims, leaning in for a double cheek kiss.
“Theo!” she coos back at him in a similarly posh British accent. If we weren’t in a department store, I might be fooled into thinking she’s his mother by the affection in her voice.
“And who do we have here?” she asks, looking over his shoulder at me.
“This is Hannah.” He shoves me in front of him so Miriam can kiss my cheeks, too.
“A pleasure to meet you,” she says. “Come in, we have everything set up.”
She leads us back to a sitting room with tall windows overlooking Fifth Avenue framed by gauzy white curtains that billow down to the floor. I feel like I’m in a Celine Dion music video.
Trays upon trays of printed silk scarves, statement earrings, and delicate gold watches are set up on the glass coffee table. On a console table off to the side are at least a dozen purses. Everything is beige or gold, including the furniture. It’s like I’m in an I Spy book trying to spot the thing that doesn’t belong in the sea of ecru, cream, and gold. Except the thing that doesn’t belong is obviously me in my scuffed Doc Martens and eight-year-old jeans with a hole in the knee.
“Champagne?” Miriam asks. Even the beverage adheres to the color scheme.
Theo turns to me, deferring the decision, so I say, “Yes, please.”
Miriam goes to fetch the champagne, leaving us alone with what I imagine is hundreds of thousands of dollars of merchandise. We have two missions today: the first is to find Christmas gifts for Theo’s two mother figures, and the second is to figure out what we should do for Finn’s last Christmas. I’m equally overwhelmed by both tasks, but it feels good to have a distraction from the ring.