The Christmas Orphans Club(65)
“That’s not true!” My voice edges on a yell. How could he possibly think that?
“Like I said, I think this is a longer discussion.” He reaches a hand into the shower and turns on the tap. “Can you close the door? I’m getting in the shower,” he says like I’m a stranger he doesn’t want to see him naked.
After I close the door behind me, I run breathlessly to his sock drawer. When I open it, the only thing inside is socks. With shaking hands, I rifle through them in case the ring box is hidden beneath them or pushed to the back of the drawer, but it’s not there.
I turn on my heel and head back to the living room. I snatch the creamy gray envelope containing the Blue Hill gift certificate off the couch cushion and stash it in my work tote. I knew things weren’t great between us, but I didn’t realize they were this bad. It feels like everyone I love is slipping away from me.
eighteen
Finn
This year, December 25
There’s a light knock at the door. “Finn?” Theo calls from the hallway, “Are you awake? It’s Christmas.”
“I’m awake,” I reply, my voice still froggy from disuse. I’ve been awake for hours, too keyed up to sleep. I wish there were auspicious words to say to make sure today turns out perfectly, the way you say rabbit, rabbit on the first of the month for luck. After two dud Christmases in a row, I feel like I’ve been waiting three times as long for this day to roll around on the calendar.
“Do you want coffee?” Theo asks from the hallway.
“Yes, please.”
The doorknob turns and Theo pokes his head into the room with a mug in hand. I didn’t realize he meant immediately. I feel around the bed for the T-shirt I peeled off when I got too warm in the middle of the night and pull it on while Theo watches from the doorway.
When I’m clothed, he offers me a Spode mug with a Christmas tree on the side. I recognize the China pattern from Grandma Everett’s house, but I’ve never seen these mugs here. He must have bought them special for today.
“Are we late?” I ask.
“Our call time is ten.”
“Call time?” I echo, noting the strange word choice that makes it sound like we’re actors reporting to set. “Are we making a Christmas movie? Because if so, I hope it’s the kind where I meet a rugged blue-collar man with a heart of gold who can teach me the true meaning of Christmas. I’m hoping for a furniture maker, but I’d settle for a lighthouse keeper if that’s all you can find on short notice.”
“Are you looking to get married and move to a small town?” Theo asks. “Because I’ve got some bad news for you: everything you own is on its way to LA.”
“Maybe my dream furniture maker will have to move out west. Aiden Shaw did well for himself whittling chairs in the big city,” I tell him as I throw back the covers. I swear I catch his eyes traveling down my body as I do. “Well, I’ve gotta get in the shower. I want to look my best in case I meet a curmudgeonly widower who needs to be banged back into the Christmas spirit,” I tease as I brush past him into the hall.
* * *
? ? ?
?We’re in gridlocked traffic in Times Square, the worst five-block radius of Manhattan. The blinding light coming off the fifty-foot billboards for Aquaman and Swatch watches has me wishing for sunglasses even though it’s an otherwise cloudy morning.
Theo’s been tight-lipped about our destination, going so far as to tilt his phone away from me so I couldn’t see the pin on the map when he called a car. But everything we pass is closed, from the M&M’s store to the three-story Olive Garden to the TKTS booth.
Fifteen minutes and six blocks later, we pull up to a tan brick building on Forty-Fourth Street. It would have been faster to walk.
“Follow me,” Theo urges as he heads for an unmarked metal door. I trail him through a maze of cinder-block-lined hallways until we reach another metal door, this one decorated with a homemade gold star caked in glitter with my name written in the center in Hannah’s wonky cursive.
“Ta-da!” Theo announces with a flourish as he opens the door and reveals Hannah and Priya sitting in folding canvas director chairs in front of mirrored vanities. A woman with coarse gray hair held back with a pair of chopsticks stands in front of Hannah with a palette of rhinestones she’s applying to Hannah’s already intense eye makeup look.
“Is that Finn?” Hannah asks with her eyes closed, reaching one hand out to grasp at the air beside her.
“Don’t even think about opening your eyes,” the makeup artist warns as she aims a pair of tweezers holding a rhinestone at Hannah’s face.
“Well, merry Christmas, whoever you are!” Hannah says, earning herself a glare from the makeup woman.
“Finn, this is Paula,” Theo says. “If there was a Tony for theater makeup, she would have won it for Hello, Dolly last year.” I stick out my hand, in shock I’m about to touch someone who’s touched Bette Midler. Paula looks down at my hand with distaste and waves her tweezers at me instead. Guess not.
“And this is Anton,” Theo points to a petite man in a leopard-print kimono squatting in the corner to steam the hemline of a red silk gown. “He was the assistant costume designer for Hamilton.”