On the Fifth Day of Christmas, My True Love Gave to Me…

           The first time a guy got down on one knee and asked me to marry him, I was five years old. He was six. Max Wade, with his cherub dimples, encyclopedic knowledge of Saturday morning cartoons, and a slight lisp from an ironically missing set of two front teeth. He lived next door. Our families had been friends forever: backyard barbeques every summer, tandem camping trips or sledding excursions, and yes, and annual Christmas Eve party.

           Max’s oldest sister had gotten engaged two months before, and apparently he’d thought it looked like great fun. His mother gushed to my mother about how he saved every cent of his allowance and dipped into last year’s birthday money to buy the plastic ring from the corner store. In lieu of a hinged box to pop open, he’d placed the ring in a festive red and green gift card holder. After every gift had been exchanged and the adults were well into their spiked egg nog and cider, he pulled the holder from his pocket, got down on his knees just like he’d seen his soon to be brother-in-law do, and said,

“Maritha? Um, will you marry me pleathe?” He shoved the costume ring in my face. Flaking silver paint and a bright pink gemstone in the center. It was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Max was my best friend, so of course, I said yes. I plucked the ring from his hand as our parents awed and laughed.

I wore the ring every day until the end of Kindergarten, when Max told me he wanted to marry Eliza Bell instead. The separation was amicable, and Max and I were still best friends. If only I’d known then the tradition he’d started.

           My second proposal was in my second year of college. A group of friends and I spent Christmas Eve partying at the local drinking hole, sending off the end of the year with a bang before I had to head home for Christmas Day. My boyfriend, Tyler, was uncharacteristically quiet. Usually I was the reserved one while he poured shots, talked louder than strictly necessary, and danced across the bar. Badly. But tonight, he just watched as my girlfriends and I karaoked carols, smiling when I caught his eye.

           “Hey,” he said in my ear after a rousing rendition of “Santa Claus is Coming to Town.” “Join me on the roof?” The roof of this particular joint had been made into a small terrace complete with space heaters and perfect view of the college town’s holiday lights. I nodded, happy to get him alone. Maybe the terrace would have mistletoe too.

           Light snow started to fall as we emerged. This made Tyler’s smile widen. He pulled me toward the rail that encircled the roof, far enough from one of the heaters that the snow stuck in our hair as it fell. When he stopped, I kept hold of his hand, tugging him closer to me. Even without the mistletoe, I made my mood clear. But he stepped back.

           “Hold on,” he said, still grinning. “I wanted to give you your gift.”

           While I’d been hoping my gift would involve his bed, my naughty elf outfit, and breakfast in bed before a romantic ride to the bus station, I waited happily to accept whatever he’d bought me, sure it would as adorable as the photo album of us that I’d gotten him. Our relationship was that interesting mix of cutesy sentiment and hot physicality.

           Then he knelt down, heedless of the thin layer of snow melting into his jeans. Black velvet box in hand, he looked up through his gorgeous eyelashes.

           “Will you marry me, Mare?”

           Stunned, I briefly considered playing it off as a joke. Then pretending I was frozen, which wasn’t far from the truth. Eventually, I swallowed and pulled him to his feet.

           “That is so, so sweet, Ty. But this is really fast. Can I think about it?” He smiled again and assured me as much time as I needed, awkwardly putting the ring back in his pocket. Beautiful though it was, I wasn’t ready to take that next step. Not with Tyler, not with anyone.

           Slightly embarrassed, I went home alone. I told my mom and dad, my cousins, and Max. They all said the same thing. Do what I felt was right. They’d be happy for me either way. Tyler and I didn’t last until New Year’s. Apparently rejecting what in hindsight was a perfect proposal, what with the falling snow and the magical Christmas atmosphere, didn’t bode well for a relationship. Little did I know I’d get plenty more practice in proposals, perfect, romantic, or otherwise.

           My third foray into getting engaged came on my first Christmas on my own. I’d just graduated the previous spring and for the first time, lived totally on my own. No family, dorms, or roommates. Sure, I was still a bus ride away from home, but I would not be going this year. My parents were on a last minute cruise and wouldn’t be back until New Year’s Eve. Most of my family had their own plans, and while I was welcomed by each of them, I decided to give my own holiday a try for once.

I invited a few college friends, and a few from home. Max was busy with his latest girlfriend and her family, so this would be my first Christmas not seeing him too, though I knew we’d get together in the New Year to make up for it. The turnout ended up bigger than I’d expected, taking into account a few last minute drop-ins from work and two of my neighbors from down the hall. Those two added a hint of drama to the evening, as they’d slept together on and off for most of the year I’d lived in the building. Currently they were off, and the guy would not stop flirting with my girlfriends and I, all the while eyes glued to his ex-flame.

Eventually, my one good work friend saved me from his cringy advances. Donny stumbled into my neighbor, possibly as a distraction tactic, possibly as a result of the four shots of peppermint schnapps he’d downed in the last hour.

“Hey, let’s dance,” he giggled as my neighbor stalked toward another group of girls.

“Sure. I own you one for scaring that creep back to his ex,” I laughed, nodding toward where my neighbor had quickly abandoned the girls to hang on my other neighbor’s every word.

We took a few turns around my tiny living room, bumping into the couch and tripping over each other’s feet. Donny left me once to grab drinks from the kitchen. I sipped mine, but he drained his enthusiastically. It was a little odd to see a co-worker so hammered, but he was an entertaining drunk.

Finally, I coaxed him onto the fire escape to get some air, hoping to clear his head. I didn’t feel like babysitting drunk friends on top of cleaning up after the party.

“Hey, Marissa,” he said, his eyes rolling before they found mine. “You know what we should do?”

“What?” I asked, sure I could guess the answer. He’d been plenty friendly tonight.

“Get…married. You wanna? Wouldn’t that be something? Married on… Christmas Eve? Just like Jesus’ parents!” He was really excited by this plan.

“Uh, I’m not sure that’s how it happened. Besides, we barely know each other,” I told him. I might have laughed, if only this was the first time this had happened to me. Seriously, what about me screamed all I want for Christmas is you?

I liked Donny. He was a solid work friend. But I’d never had romantic designs on him. Certainly, I wasn’t looking to get hitched. I rubbed Donny’s shoulder. “Sleep it off, Donny.” Then I left him on the fire escape.

I didn’t tell my parents this time. It wasn’t really another proposal. Donny wouldn’t even remember asking when we went into work after the holidays. When I told Max, he laughed his ass off. Neither of us mentioned the trend that seemed to be forming. I didn’t want to think about it. He was too busy imitating Drunk Donny’s clumsy request for my hand in marriage.

A few years passed before another man asked me. It was almost long enough that when I started to notice the signs, part of me ignored them. The hinting questions. The blissful, knowing smile. I told myself I was paranoid. The odds of being proposed to on Christmas Eve for a fourth time were ridiculous. That wasn’t what was happening.

But December rolled around, and as I dug through our shared closet, looking for a particularly ugly sweater of his to wear to a party, a little teal box tumbled from the shelf. I wanted to shove it into the back of the closet, pretending it didn’t exist. Besides, Tiffany’s sold other stuff. And it was almost Christmas. Maybe I was moments from peaking at a lovely gift from “Santa.” Then, paranoia getting the best of me, I cracked the box open. Inside was a huge diamond engagement ring. I gasped audibly and then I did shove it back where it had fallen from.

For the next week, every time Carter asked me anything, I had to force myself not to jump. Where to grab dinner? Oh, God, this is it. Pass the remote? Obviously a precursor to the big moment. But I should have known when he’d pop the question.

We decided to exchange our gifts to each other on Christmas Eve, knowing doing Christmas Day at both my parent’s house and then at his would leave us too busy to open them the next morning. The last gift under the tree was a small box wrapped in silver paper with a delicate bow that I couldn’t help noticing would perfectly complement Tiffany’s teal.

“This one is my favorite,” Carter told me as he handed it to me. Already, I could see him tensing to leave his seat on the couch beside me, to lower himself to one knee. And despite knowing this was coming, I let it. Part of me was terrified. Was I ready? I loved Carter and we’d been together for over a year. And yet, even takin into consideration the annoying tradition forming, I was a little excited too.

Dutifully, I ripped the paper and gaped at the box. As I opened the lid, I sensed him kneeling on the floor. Finally, I glanced up.

Carter took a deep breath. “Marissa Leigh Soto, will you marry me?”

Before I really let myself overthink it, I grinned and nodded. “Yes! Yes, I will marry you.”

That was probably one of my most memorable Christmas Eves. Carter and I were bursting with engagement euphoria. My parents, thankfully, made no mention to him about the previous time’s I’d been proposed to on Christmas Eve when we told them the happy news the next day. His parents were over the moon. I’d always gotten along with them and they seemed to like the way I brought their once aimless, arrogant son down to Earth. Part of that confidence is what drew me to Carter, but I was also glad that we made each other better.

Or at least, I thought we did. But about three months and a few thousand dollars into wedding planning, Carter showed his true colors. The boisterous, conceited man-child was still there, beneath the thoughtful surface he put on with me. I came home from work to find him screwing not one, but two of our friends who were helping us plan the wedding: the assistant event coordinator and her boyfriend, the photographer.  

I was on my parent’s couch, sobbing, one mortifying, miserable bus ride later. I lived at home for a while after my relationship imploded. It was Carter’s apartment and most of his stuff, and despite his pleas that we could make this work, I left virtually empty-handed, which included leaving behind my self-esteem and desire to ever live with a man again.

The only person who really pierced my enduring funk was Max. He didn’t laugh or make any comments about another Christmas Eve proposal gone bust. He just held me when I cried, insulted the size of Carter’s dick, and reminded me that not all guys were shallow assholes, just like any best friend worth the two-piece heart necklace I’d embarrassedly given him years ago would.

If anything good came out of being cheated on, it was reconnecting with my childhood friend. I’d seen less and less of Max since leaving for college. Best friend status notwithstanding, I did worry from time to time that we’d outgrown each other, moving on with our own lives. But after deciding to live a little closer to home for a while, I was relieved to find I was wrong. Max was still the goofy, loyal guy I remembered. We hit the lake in the summer. We grabbed coffee in the fall. We even watched cartoons together on Saturday mornings, just for old time’s sake. It felt good spending time with him, the balm of a friend who was always there healing my fractured heart.

Though I wasn’t really looking forward to Christmas that year, I put on a brave face for Max. It was his favorite time of year and I knew he was looking forward to spending it with our families. It had been more than a few years since we’d all been together for my parent’s Christmas Eve party.

The party was somehow bigger and more lively than I remembered. Many of my cousins brought their own families now. And Max’s older sisters both had kids. Though his middle sister divorced her wife a few years before, his oldest was still with her husband despite marrying pretty young. I remembered when they’d gotten engaged what had to be at least twenty years ago. Rather than let their happiness make me bitter for my own failures in love, I was determined to look for the strengths between them and remind myself that sometimes it did work, with the right person. That person not being a two-timing snake helped too.

 “Having a good time?” Max asked, bumping his hip against mine. He’d sought me out periodically to make sure I was enjoying myself and hand me a drink or plate of food if he didn’t believe I was.

I shrugged. “Sure.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly in disbelief. “Uh huh, right. But don’t worry, I know what will cheer you up. Presents!”

I laughed, his cheer infectious. “It’s not Christmas morning yet,” I reminded him.

“Eh, close enough.” He grinned, pulling me toward my old room, where the coats were all stored during the party. “Come on, I left it with my stuff.”

When we reached my room, he rummaged around in his coat before producing a large hinged box, clearly an oversized version of a ring box, topped with a red bow.

 I rolled my eyes. “That’s not remotely funny, Max.”

He chuckled. “It’s a little funny.”

Trying to refuse to smile, I grudgingly took the box. Opening the lid, I saw another, smaller ring box inside. I glared at Max, but he put on an air of total innocence. Inside that was yet another ring box, still too large to hold an actual ring. This was getting ridiculous.

“Max, what the hell! Rub it in much?” Some of my unbidden humor faded. There was using a practical joke to lift a friend’s spirits and then there was being mean. This was quickly shifting tones.

“Last one, I promise,” he told me, his face a little more serious now. Maybe he realized this wasn’t as hilarious as he imagined. “Just open it.”

Inside the final ring box was a small green and red cardboard envelope, for holding a gift card. Really? All that production for a Starbucks gift card? Or maybe Amazon. I popped it open and out toppled a plastic silver ring topped with a pink jewel. Confused, I looked at Max.

“What…?”

He took my hands and sat with me on my old bed, currently piled with winter coats, hats, and purses. “Do you remember it?”

Of course I did. It was the costume ring that had started this whole Christmas Eve proposal tradition all those years ago. But how did he have it, if it really was the same one? And why was he giving it to me again?

“Is it the same one?” I finally asked.

“Yup. You gave it back, remember? After I told you I wanted to marry someone else.” He grinned at the flimsy whims of six year olds.

“And now?”

“Do I want to marry someone else?” he asked, his tone purposely dense as he affected a mock-confused look. “Well that’d be a little awkward considering I gave you the ring.” His eyes were still light, but his voice grew a little husky at the end. I noticed he was still holding my hands.

“Max, what is this?”

“A promise,” he said softly. “These last few months have been incredible for me. And I wanted you to know how I feel. How I’ve felt for years, if I’m being honest.”

“You’ve got to be joking.” I started shaking my head.

“I’m not asking you anything,” he assured me quickly. “I wouldn’t do that. I just want you to know where I stand. And well, the symmetry felt a little too perfect.” He shrugged, waiting for my response.

Slowly, I took the ring. It barely fit on my pinky finger. “Promise you won’t leave me for Eliza Bell?”

His grin returned full force. “Not this time.” And then, so gently, he cupped my face and pressed his lips to mine. The coats crinkled beneath us. “Merry Chrithmath, Maritha,” he whispered.