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When we reach Tina’s door, the party is already in full swing. Beatrice, one of Tina’s closest friends who sometimes volunteers at Days of Grace, greets us at the door. She welcomes us in with kisses on the cheeks and exclamations about how good our cookies look. We follow Beatrice through the living room, where Tina sits ensconced in her favorite armchair, chatting with several of her guests.
“Carl, Nick! You’re the last ones to arrive, so we can get started!” Tina exclaims. She levers herself up with her walker and pulls me into a hug made awkward by my armful of cookies.
She hugs her son next, then shoos us all into the kitchen, not letting her surgery slow her down in the least. Even if she does have to lean heavily on the walker as she shepherds us all along to the main event of the evening.
I follow Beatrice into the kitchen. Every surface is covered in tins, trays, and tupperwares overflowing with a vast array of cookies. Tina hands out decorative tins for each guess to collect our half dozen cookies from each of the varieties on offer. We’re soon swallowed into a crowd of the ladies and the handful of gents who I work with. We all circulate around the displays of cookies, taking some of each to fill our boxes.
Nick and I are soon separated, and part of me worries he’ll be out of his depth. How many times have dates commented that my closeness with the elderly folks I work with is weird? I can’t help the gnawing worry that a gathering like this being my idea of a good time might be a huge turn off for Nick. But every time I catch a glimpse of him, he’s deep in conversation with his mom’s friends. And every time our eyes catch, he dazzles me with his smiles. Like he’s enjoying this as much as I am.
It’s almost worse to know he could be happy fitting into my typical not-so-wild Friday nights like this. That he could be content to join me catching up on gossip, nibbling cookies, and comparing notes on the various crafting projects Tina’s guests are working on.
Most of the time when we all get together, at least half of the guests have fiber art projects with them. Tonight isn’t much different. Once the cookies are distributed and packed up to go home with each guest, most of the party migrates to the living room.
Tina has Nick put on decaf coffee and tea for everyone. She delegates setting the coffee table with more pastries and fruit and veggie trays for the crowd to nibble on. Beatrice badgers her back to her seat where she presides over a crafting night in the living room with holiday music playing softly in the background.
“Be a dear and help me grab my knitting bag, Carl?” Beatrice loops her elbow through mine, and I know this is completely a ploy to have my ear. Beatrice is far from frail, even in her late seventies.
“Of course, Miss Bea. How have you been?” I walk across the living room with her to get her knitting bag from the entryway closet.
“Tina tells me you boys set up the tree for her the other night; it looks lovely, Carl.” Beatrice beams as she grabs the bag from the hook in the closet.
“Thanks.” I smile as I watch Nick delivering warm beverages to his mom’s other guests.
“She also tells me you’ve been spending most of the week with her son.” She looks meaningfully between me and Nick. “Anything there?”
I try to hide my flush by turning to track Nick’s progress across the room. He looks so right in my life. I wish this could be more than a fake fling. I wish love could fit this seamlessly into my life, but after all the ways I don’t fit, I’m not sure I’ll ever have anything this good for real. “It’s too soon to say, and he’s going back to Toronto next month.”
“Hm. Are you certain of that?”
“Yes.”
“Ah, Tina must have been mistaken about how miserable he’s been in the city then. She says this is the happiest she’s seen Nick in years.”
“Has he said anything to her about staying in Elk’s Pass?”
“No. But she’s been thinking of downsizing. My neighbor at Caribou Heights is moving in with her son in Vaughn, and Tina seems interested in the neighborhood. I know she plans to offer Nick a good price on the house before she lists it.”
“Oh.” Hope flares in my chest that this could become a lasting love. “It’s only been a few days, though.”
“Don’t be too hasty to write off love, Carl. I told Tina that I was going to marry my Robert the first night we met, you just ask her if I didn’t! And that man and I shared fifty wonderful years together before he passed. Sometimes the heart knows what the head is too thick to accept.”
“I’ll, uh, keep that in mind.” I take the bag from Beatrice and let her lead me back into the living room.
If Beatrice is right, and if Nick takes his mom up on the offer… I ruthlessly crush back the thousands of happy what-ifs that explode in my chest. My longing for that beautiful future is an almost physical ache. What if I could let myself fall for Nick for real? Too many ifs to hang my heart on.
He only promised me our one perfect holiday week, and he hasn’t said a thing about wanting more than that. It’s easy to overlook my closeness with my ex and the lack of sex and all my other foibles for a week. How many times have I seen those things turn from lovable quirks into deal breakers over the years? No. I can’t have Nick forever. But I can enjoy this while it lasts.
I heft Beatrice’s bag over to the sofa for her. She claims her seat on the couch nearest to Tina’s chair. Tina presides over the gathering to ensure everyone feels welcome in her home, ever the gracious host.
“Carl, my son tells me that you boys wanted to watch the parade.” Tina cuts her eyes to the clock over the mantle. “If you go now, you should be able to catch most of it. This is usually around the time the first few floats reach Elm Crescent.”
“Are you sure?”
“Psh, go. Just because these old bones are too finicky to enjoy standing in the cold for an hour doesn’t mean you shouldn’t indulge. You can both come back and warm up with a coffee afterward.” Tina waves us toward the door.
“Or Nick can enjoy his coffee back at your place. I’m sure Tina will hold on to your cookies until morning for you,” Beatrice interjects. Her knitting needles continue clacking away as she gives me a wink all the while continuing to add even rows of stitches. The woman is a menace.
“Bea!” Nick protests.
