Christmas

We drove along State Road 31 in silence, both of us settled in the fact that we would soon be at Adam’s parents’ house.  He hated it there, so I had also learned to hate it by default.  It wasn’t his childhood home.  That one was in Alabama.  It had burned to the ground fifteen years ago, forcing a change.  It had brought their family to Indiana.

 

His mother was a stiff woman, one of very few words.  His father was an alcoholic, a chain smoker, a liar.  Adam had loved both his parents at one time, but felt nothing now.  He was older and knew that showing them affection wasn’t necessary.  He could eat on his own now.  He didn’t need sustenance to be provided.  There was no real demand for pleasantries.

 

He leaned over and placed his hand on my thigh, patting once.  “Why don’t you find something for us to listen to, darlin?”  He still had a bit of an accent, although he had spent years trying to lose it.

 

He was respected now.  He had a career, a luxury car, his own assistant, a parking spot with his name on it.  I could see his fingers gripping the wheel tighter as we passed a green sign.  Only 15 miles to Lakeville.  Population, 786.

 

We had been there every year on Christmas, each one strained.  Usually, his father drank himself into oblivion, causing us to exit early.  Last year was no exception.  After consuming a pint of whiskey, Bob put his hand on my breast in the kitchen.  Adam stood up, kissed his mother on the cheek, took my hand and left.  We hadn’t even opened presents.

 

Five years.  That’s how long Adam and I had been together.  Five holiday seasons spent with them.  I purchased a bottle of perfume for his mother and a soft cashmere scarf.  When she opened them, she replied, “Oh, how nice.  I’m sure this fancy scarf will really impress the ladies down at Casey’s.”  Casey’s was a Mini-Mart.  She was mocking me.

 

I never knew what to buy for his father.  A flask?  A carton of smokes?  This year, I bought a snow shovel and made a batch of no-bake cookies, his favorite.  The shovel leaned up against the wall.  The cookies rested on his belly.  He ate them one by one, staring at me, licking his lips every once in a while.

 

It was time to unwrap our gifts from them.  I was starting to feel uncomfortable.  It was inevitable.  Adam opened a silver pen with his initials engraved in the side.  “Thank you, Mother.  It’s very nice.”  He handed it to me.  I nodded and gave a weak smile. 

 

“Yes, it’s very nice, Mrs. Daniels.”  My voice was soft.

 

“Well, I never know what to buy you.  It was between that and a travel mug for that fancy car of yours.”  Her Alabama accent was still thick.  She could never just say “you’re welcome.”

 

I opened a small, wrinkled silver bag.  The bag was most likely second or third hand.  It was a bottle of nail polish and a manicure kit.  The color was Cherry Red.  “I don’t know what to buy you either.  But every time I see y’all, you have them long, red nails.  You probably get ‘em done by some Chinese lady, but if ya don’t…” Her voice trailed off.

 

I thanked her and placed Adam’s pen into the bag with my nail kit.

 

Adam handed me a small package.  It was wrapped in shiny black paper with a tiny silver bow.  “This one is for you, darlin.  It’s from me.”

 

Generally, we didn’t open presents from each other at their house.  We waited until Christmas Eve, at our place.  It was quiet there, the comfortable kind.  I peeled back the paper to reveal a black velvet jewelry box.  My heart was pounding. 

 

Please don’t do this here.  Please don’t do this here.

 

I opened the box and immediately snapped it shut.  The ring inside was easily three carats.  I looked at it for one millisecond and I knew.

 

Why did he do this here?  Oh God, oh God, oh God.

 

When I finally looked up, all three of them were staring, each with a different expression on their faces.  Adam was on bended knee.  His father lit a cigarette.

 

“Sarah, will you marry me?”