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The lead-upto Christmas is the usual mayhem for me—shopping, wrapping, cooking, decorating and this year, packing for a trip my kids don’t know about yet. It’s the first time I’ve bothered with a big tree since Mike died. And yes, I know I have kids and owe them a magical Christmas, which I’ve provided sans the tree. I just couldn’t bring myself to bother with that without him here to do the heavy lifting.
This year, Gage did it for me, and it felt right that he should be there decorating the tree with us.
On the Friday before Christmas, I host a Wild Widows potluck dinner and gift exchange. We all chose one name from a hat to buy a gift for, and I got Joy. I bought her a gorgeous cashmere sweater and scarf set in a vivid hot pink. I think she’ll love it, as everything about Joy is vivid. After Gage hemmed and hawed so much over what to get Roni, I finally picked a pair of sheepskin-lined boots for her. Derek helped me get the size right, and I even wrapped them for Gage. That’s the least I could do after he hauled an eight-foot tree home from the lot, put it up and handled the dreaded strings of lights for me.
We’re very much in a relationship.
He doesn’t even try to deny it anymore, and if I do say so myself, he seems very happy.
My kids adore him. They crawl all over him the way they used to do to Mike. They crave his attention, his approval, his laughter and his love, which he gives them freely and without reservation.
I love him. I aminlove with him. And one of these days, I need to tell him that.
I’ve spent days preparing for the Wild Widows get-together, with deluxe appetizers and fancy cocktails. During this holiday season, I haven’t seen any of the friends who were so special to me before I lost Mike. They’re still out there, still part of my life, but they aren’t essential to me anymore, not like my Wild Widows are.
Gage comes early, toting the bags of ice I asked him to pick up for me. The kids are at my mom’s for a pre-Christmas sleepover that includes a visit with Santa at the country club they belong to. The kids were super excited to see Santa and couldn’t wait for my mom to pick them up. I couldn’t wait for a night alone with Gage after the evening’s festivities. Everything has been so busy that it’s been a few weeks since we had a kid-free night.
He deposits the ice in the cooler I have ready and then wraps his cold self around me, making me shiver from the chill as well as his lips on my neck. “You smell good enough to eat.”
“I smell like garlic.”
“No, you don’t.” His hands move over me with a possessiveness that gives me a thrill. “You smell like my Iris.”
It’s all I can do not to melt right there in my own kitchen with friends due any minute. “Gage…”
“Hmmm?”
“I want to tell you…”
He pulls back to look down at me. “What do you want to tell me, sweetheart?”
I hoped that maybe he might say it first, which is so stupid. Who cares who says it first? Widowhood has taught me to tell the people I love how I feel as often as I can. I need him to know how I feel. The words burn at the tip of my tongue, where they’ve been sitting for weeks, wanting to be said. “I want to tell you—”
The doorbell rings and ruins the moment.
He kisses me. “Later. I want to hear anything you’ve got to say.”
After he goes to grab the door, I take a couple of deep breaths to get myself together, to put my game face on so I can enjoy this evening with my special friends.
But I can’t wait until later.
23
GAGE
Everyone is in high spirits tonight, which is nice to see. Holidays can be a bitch for grieving people, and I’m sure each of us will have our difficulties over the coming days, but tonight, we’re able to enjoy each other, to exchange gifts, to eat the delicious food everyone contributed and celebrate getting through the year. We’re still here, still capable of joy and love and wonder, which is a surprise to me.
After losing Nat and the girls, I thought those things were gone forever for me. But over time, thanks to many of the people in this room, my family, Nat’s family, longtime friends and colleagues and mostly thanks to Iris and her kids, I’ve found that there’s still love and joy and wonder to be found.
With that in mind, I touch a fork against my crystal glass of champagne to get everyone’s attention. “Listen up, you Wild Widows.”
They stop what they’re doing to give me their attention.
“I just wanted to give a quick shout-out to Iris, our lovely hostess, for having us tonight and so many other times during the year. Iris, you’ve made your home our home, and we’re thankful for you and this group that’s held us all together through good times and bad.”
“Cheers to Iris,” Roni says as the others whistle and shout and embarrass Iris.
“Love you all,” she says, blowing a kiss.
