A Decade Through December

“How’ve you been?” He blew the steam across his coffee before taking a sip.

How’ve you been? Really? After all this time, that’s all you’ve got?

I took my mittens off and placed them on the table. “Pretty good. It’s nice being home for the holiday. It’s been a rough year, but we’re getting through it.”

“We?”

“Yeah. We.” I held up my hand just as I had dozens of times over the past few weeks. The ring reflected the multitude of lights that lit up the small coffee shop.

He leaned forward to get a better look. “Oh yeah. I keep up with you online. I didn’t know it was that serious.”

“Yeah. It’s good.”

“Well, congrats.”

“Thanks.”

I leaned back in my chair and my head nestled into the branches of a poorly placed Christmas tree.

“Be careful, you’ll knock down Rudolph,” he teased.

I scooted my chair forward. “How’s…”

“Angela? She’s good. Really active in Natalie’s school.”

“Does she like it?” I asked.

 “It’s volunteer so if she doesn’t, she can stop.”

“Are you still with that car dealership?”

“I see you’ve also done your research.” The lines around his chocolate eyes deepened as he smiled.

I allowed myself to smile back. If I wasn’t careful, I would get lost in those eyes. The last time I was this close his eyes were filled with tears, when moments before they had been begging for another kiss. I touched my lips at a futile attempt to stop them from tingling.

“Yeah, I’m still there. Made top rep this year.” His mug tilted the table when he sat it back down.

“Congrats.”

“Thanks.”

Laughter seeped in through the window. I looked out to see the lavishly decorated town square. Giant candy canes and gumdrops lined the sidewalk, while Santa unloaded his sleigh to the dozens of laughing children gathered around. A woman paced back and forth next to the snowflake that doubled as the bus stop sign. In the center of town stood the same 20-foot tree that was used for my first Christmas. While still holding onto its deep emerald color, several branches bent in half and brushed the pavement below.

“Why’d you reach out to me?” he asked and I turned to see his gaze was following the woman outside.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“C’mon. You don’t just reach out for no reason. You’re not spontaneous like that.”

“You don’t know that,” I answered a bit too quickly. I sipped at my coffee and my face flushed from the heat.

He threw up his hands in defeat. “I get it: it’s been a while, but some things don’t change.”

“It’s been bugging me how we left things.”

He chuckled. “So, you decide ten years later is the best time to bring it up again?”

I sighed, “I knew this was a bad idea.” I stood up to leave and he grabbed my hand. He gently ran his thumb along the lone diamond. The hand that once held his cubic zirconia promise was replaced by the real thing.

“Please, don’t go.” He laughed and let my hand fall. “I don’t think I can take that twice in a lifetime.”

His words hung in my head. Please, don’t go. A decade ago, they were screamed as a plea.

I sat back down. “Why’d you say yes?”

His brow furrowed.

“To meeting me. Why’d you say yes?”

“I don’t know.”

I ran my finger along the seam of my paper cup. “I still feel bad about how we left things.”

“Me too.”

“It was just as much my prom night as it was yours –”

“Grad Night,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“It wasn’t prom. It was Grad Night. At the arcade.”

I took myself back to that fateful night. There was music, but it settled into the background, hidden behind the pings and alarms from rows and rows of games. But the loudest thing was still our screams.

“You’re right. Grad Night. Because I gave you the tie.” I rubbed my hands together. “Then you gave me the ring."

“No, the ring I gave you on prom night.”

“No, that was Grad night. Because I know I only wore it for three hours.”

“You’re right. Grad night.” He looked back at the window, this time admiring the rainbow of lights carefully arranged along the window frame. One of the lights flickered and with a small twist from his hand it came back to life.

“So, you still feel bad about things,” he said.

“And you don’t?”

“I do.” He lifted his mug to his lips. “It’s interesting how we thought we could plan our whole lives at 17.”

“We were kids.”

“We were kids,” he affirmed.

The games were gone. The music had disappeared. Now it was all screaming and the footsteps from the chaperones charging our way. I frantically searched for his hand to pull him somewhere private.

“I still have the ring,” he chuckled, “and the tie.”

I twirled the ends of my hair and plucked an evergreen needle out that had found its way in.

“We didn’t want to do long distance,” I said.

“That’s one thing we can agree on.”

“You could have come with me.”

“You could have stayed with me.” He leaned back and crossed his arms. “My mom was everything. I couldn’t leave her.”

I tried to meet his gaze, but he was more fascinated with the napkin below his mug.

“How long?” I asked

“It’ll be a year in January.”

“That must have been so hard.”

“It’s gonna be a tough Christmas.”

“I miss her.”

“Me too.”

The laughing kids had been replaced by a cleaning crew picking up the discarded ribbons and wrappings.

I cleared my throat. “She would have followed you anywhere.”

“We had a house. Enough money. We couldn’t have had that anywhere.”

“I couldn’t stay. This town wasn’t enough –”

“I could have been enough.” He rubbed his eyebrows as the chime above the door rang. He lowered his voice. “If you let me, I could have been enough.”

I looked past him to see the woman from the bus stop walking in arm in arm with another woman. They leaned into each other and whispered as they approached the counter.

I sighed, “No, you couldn’t.”

His mouth dropped open as he leaned back in his chair. In one swift motion, he stood up and grabbed the coat that rested on the back of his chair. “Don’t reach out to me again.”

He looked down into my eyes. The laugh lines nearly invisible as his face turned to stone. His lips parted and I held my breath waiting for him. This was it. The rusted nail that a decade later still fit perfectly in our relationship’s coffin.

I looked out the window to see the first drops of rain hit the ground. “I wasn’t planning on it.”