A Celebration of Sorts

“The problem,” said Drew, as he took a dubious red drink from a passing tray, “is that you’re simply not very attractive.”

“Physically, you mean?” asked Harry. “Or is it my personality?”

“Yes,” replied Drew, “exactly. Family must be honest with each other. Even if we are separated by a degree or two.”

“You’re hardly family. Barely an acquaintance,” said Harry.

“No need to be mean,” said Drew. “I am your cousin, after all. I’ve known you since you were a child.”

“Yes, well, I believe there was a doctor who met me when I was born, but I hardly consider him family. Anyway, everyone in this room is my cousin,” said Harry. “Or an aunt or an uncle or a grandmother.”

“Or a sister,” said Margaret, who had snuck up behind them and stood on her tiptoes to place a Santa hat on Harry’s head. “You’re too tall, Harry. Always have been. What are we talking about?” she asked.

“Hello, Margaret,” said Harry, biting his lower lip. “If pressed on the matter, what would you say is my strongest selling point?”

Margaret frowned. “Ah, we are on that topic again. Hmm, difficult. Your oral hygiene is passably acceptable, I suppose.”

“At least in the morning,” said Drew. “By evening, he is once again repugnant.”

“True,” said Margaret, checking her watch. “But it’s early yet.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” said Drew. “You are, of course, bland, but not in an especially memorable way. So that’s in your favor.”

Margaret nodded. “That’s an excellent point.” She playfully poked her brother in the stomach.

“Even so, what do you think of her? Is she attractive?” asked Harry.

“No,” said Drew, taking a sip.

“Really? Then perhaps there is hope, after all,” said Harry.

Drew gulped the remainder of his drink. “No, I lied,” said Drew, as he chewed an ice cube. “She is beautiful.”

“A goddess,” said Margaret. “Truly.”

“The outlook is rather bleak, I’m afraid,” said Drew, patting Harry on the shoulder.

“But,” protested Harry raising a finger, “as you say, I do floss regularly, every morning. Perhaps that will be enough. She likes breakfast, after all.”

“Yes, that’s good,” said Drew. “Stick with breakfast, and you’ll surely be together forever.”

Harry drew a deep breath. “So, you think she’ll say yes?” he asked.

“Of course, she will, Harry,” said Drew smiling. “She would be crazy not to. Do you have it?”

Harry took the ring box from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Right here.”

“Good, so you’re not a complete idiot. Put it away before she sees, and then be gone from my presence. She’s waiting for you to save her from Rupert.”

Harry headed toward Susan, who stood at the punch bowl next to a disheveled, plump young man telling a story he found tremendously funny. Well down the path to full inebriation, Rupert ended his story abruptly when he sloshed his drink onto the carpet. He looked forlornly at the punch seeping into the carpet. "Sad," he said.

Susan gave a sympathetic smile and handed him a cocktail napkin. As Rupert dabbed the carpet, she looked desperately in Harry’s direction. When he finally arrived, her phone rang. She excused herself, put the phone to her ear, and walked into a quieter corner of the room, leaving Harry to deal with Rupert.

“I love that girl, Harry,” said Rupert. “I don’t quite recall what I just said to her, because methinks I am drunk and not to be trusted, but it’s quite possible that I just proposed something inappropriate. Or marriage. I’m not sure which.”

“Did you?” asked Harry, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, don’t be a twig, Harry,” said Rupert. “It was just a joke. Besides, she said she was previously engaged.”

“Did she?” asked Harry. “To whom?”

“Not ‘to whom,’” said Rupert, “not to you, certainly, even though we all know that’s coming. But ’to what.’ Her job, I think she said.”

“Yes, well, that’s certainly true,” said Harry. Susan was an investment banker. Harry was a schoolteacher, but he was also married to his job, in a way. There was nothing else he had ever wanted to do.

Susan returned. “Harry, come with me,” she said. She grabbed his arm and pulled him to the side. “Can we speak for a minute?”

“My offer still stands,” called Rupert, as Susan and Harry moved away. Harry shot him a glare, and Rupert pulled back in mock fright. “Yow!” he said, grimacing. He turned to Susan. “Not sure why I said that, Susan. I take it back. This second proposal does not count. You might get five proposals tonight, for all I care, but this one, my dear, is off the table. Scratch it out. The first one, yes, but this one, nooo.” He pretended to shred a sheet of paper and tossed the make-believe scraps into the air.

“Harry,” said Susan, when they had reached the corner. “That was Franklin on the line.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Why is your boss calling you on Christmas Eve?”

“Just listen a minute,” Susan said. “He made me a proposal.”

“Didn’t you just get a proposal from Rupert?” said Harry.

“He offered to promote me to Managing Director.”

“That’s great!” said Harry.

“But I would need to move to Paris,” Susan said. She forced a smile. Harry squeezed the box in his pocket. “You like croissants, right?”

“Are you going to take it?”

“Well….”

“Take what?” asked Margaret, as she strung a garland around Harry’s neck. “Did I hear something about croissants?”

“It seems,” said Harry, “that Susan might be moving to Paris.”

Rupert stumbled over. “Paris!” he said, as he plucked the hat from Harry’s head and put it on his own. “Well, that’s news. Listen, everybody! Susan has an announcement!”

The room grew hushed.

“Susan! Tell us the news, woman!” said Rupert. Susan turned red and said nothing.

“Right. Harry, then!” said Rupert. “Tell us the news, man.” He plopped the Santa hat back on Harry’s head.

Susan fled to the other side of the room.

Harry steepled his hands in front of his face. “It seems,” he said quietly, “that Susan was promoted…to Managing Director…and…,” he said, “she’s moving to Paris.”

A lone cheer came from Harry’s brother-in-law and quickly died after a kick from Margaret. He cleared his throat and stepped to the dessert table.

“Which is wonderful, of course,” said Harry. “But you see, funny thing, I was a planning to, um, propose….” His voice trailed off. Susan put her hand over her mouth.

Drew gently pushed Harry to the side. “A toast!” said Drew, raising his glass. “Harry was going to propose a toast to Susan! But the damn fool has forgotten the words. Shame on you, Harry. Too much punch, eh?” He gave Harry a wink.

“No, that’s me, I’m afraid,” said Rupert, pointing to himself. “Too so very much punch pour moi.” He gave a toothy smile and half closed his eyes. “That’s French, you see. Since we are talking about Paris and all.”

“Yes,” said Drew, “so, we propose a toast to Susan! Congratulations! Vive le France!” Everyone raised their glasses.

Harry quietly exited the scene, as Drew began telling the room about a liaison he had several years ago with a French girl from Saint-Denis.

Harry stood close to Susan, saying nothing. “So, what do you propose we do, Harry?” she asked.

He did not meet her eyes. “Not sure I have a proposal in mind, at the moment.”

“Did you really mean what you said a minute ago? Were you really going to-”

“Yes, I was. Here.” He dropped the box into her hand. “Will you marry me?” he said, his voice flat. He feigned interest in Drew’s story about certain nocturnal activities on the top deck of a Seine tourist boat.

“You’re angry,” Susan said, tears welling in her eyes. “Will you at least look at me?”

Harry turned to her. “No,” he said, “I’m not angry. Not sure what I am exactly. It’s just…we did talk about this…and I thought….”

“I know,” she said. “But I never told you that I was taking the job.”

“Are you?” he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I see. Do you want it?”

“Yes, but…” She wiped the tears from her cheek.

“Right. Yes, but,” he said. He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I’m being a jerk.” He took the ring box from her hand and put it back in his pocket.

“Does that you mean you’re not asking, I mean….”

“Hmm? Oh, sorry.” He put the box back in her hand.

“Does that mean you are?”

“What? No, err, I don’t know. Sorry.” He took the box back again.

“If I go, will you come with me, Harry?”

He forced a smile. “Not sure. Perhaps you should give it a go with Rupert,” he said. “I’m sure he would love Paris.”

She laughed. “I don’t think the French are fond of punch.”

“I don’t speak French. How would I teach?”

“You can learn,” she said, “with me.”

He thought for a moment. “So, here’s my proposal,” he said. “You go. I’ll come with you to start. We’ll have breakfast in the shadow of Notre Dame, and then we’ll see.”

“Seriously?” she said, her face glowing.

“But it can only be breakfast.”

“Why is that?” she said.

“I’ll tell you someday,” he said.

“You’re very weird,” she said.

“But very hygienic. That’s why you love me.”

“OK,” she said. “We’ll go with that, for now.” She took his hand. “Are you keeping the ring?”

“Yes. Until I can do things properly,” he said.

“Agreed. You have always been a bit doltish, you know. But in a memorable way.” She kissed him. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas,” he said.