She stared at the tree, inspecting its shape, the glittering and artfully draped ribbons. “It’s hard for me to believe this will be my last Christmas,” she mused. “Thank you for helping me make it even more special.”
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m honored you’ve chosen to spend part of it with me.”
“You know what I’ve never done? Even though I’ve lived in New York City all these years?”
“Seen The Nutcracker?”
She shook her head. “I’ve never gone ice skating at Rockefeller Center under the giant tree. In fact, I haven’t even seen the tree except on TV since my early years here.”
“Then we should go! The gallery is closed tomorrow, so why not?”
“I don’t know how to ice skate,” she said with a wistful expression. And I’m not sure I’d have the energy, even if I did.
“I do,” he said. “I played hockey, remember? I can help you.”
She eyed him uncertainly. “Don’t you have something better to do on your day off? You shouldn’t feel like it’s your responsibility to indulge your boss’s crazy whims.”
“Believe me, it sounds a lot more fun than what I usually do on Sundays.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
“Laundry. Grocery shopping. A little video gaming. Are we on?”
“I’m going to need to sleep late. I wouldn’t be ready until midafternoon.”
“Why don’t we meet at the gallery at two or so? We can catch an Uber uptown together.”
Despite her reservations, she agreed. “Okay.”
“And afterwards, depending on how you feel, maybe you can fill me in on what happened next between you and Bryce.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “Let’s see how I feel.”
*
Back in her apartment, Maggie felt a profound exhaustion overtake her, pulling her down like an undertow. She removed her jacket and lay down in bed, wanting to rest her eyes for a minute before changing into her pajamas.
She woke at half-past noon the following day, still dressed in the clothes she’d worn the day before.
It was Sunday, December 22, three days before Christmas.
*
Even if she trusted Mark, Maggie was nervous about the thought of falling on ice. Though she’d slept heavily overnight—she doubted she’d even rolled over—she felt weaker than normal, even for her. The pain was back, too, simmering just below a boil, making even the thought of eating impossible.
Her mom had called earlier that morning and left a short message, just checking in on her, hoping she was doing well—the usual—but even in the message, Maggie could hear the strains of worry. Worrying, Maggie had long ago decided, was the way her mom showed Maggie how much she loved her.
But it was also wearying. Worrying, after all, had its roots in disapproval—as though Maggie’s life would have been better if only she’d listened to her mom all along—and over time it had become her mom’s default position.
While Maggie had wanted to wait until Christmas, she knew she had to call back. If she didn’t, she’d likely receive another, even more frantic message. She sat on the edge of the bed and, after glancing at the clock, realized there was a chance her parents would be at church, which would be ideal. She could leave a message, say that she had a busy day ahead, and avoid the potential for any unnecessary stress. But no such luck. Her mom picked up on the second ring.
They spoke for twenty minutes. Maggie asked about her father and Morgan and her nieces, and her mom dutifully filled her in. She asked Maggie how she was feeling, and Maggie replied that she was doing as well as could be expected. Thankfully, it stopped there and Maggie breathed a sigh of relief, knowing she’d be able to hide the truth until after the holiday. Toward the end of the conversation, Maggie’s father got on the line, and he was his normal laconic self. They spoke about the weather in Seattle and New York, he updated her on the season the Seahawks were having—he loved football—and mentioned that he’d purchased a set of binoculars for Christmas. When Maggie asked why, she was told that her mom had joined a bird-watching club. Maggie wondered how long the interest in the club would last and assumed it would go the same way as other clubs her mom had joined over the years. Initially there would be a lot of enthusiasm and Maggie would listen to raves about how fascinating the members were; after a few months, her mom would note that there were a few people in the club she didn’t get along with; and later, she’d announce to Maggie that she’d quit because most of the people were just awful. In her mom’s world, someone else was always the problem.