Chapter 2: Christmas

Sarah finished wrapping gifts on Sunday, and washed clothes -- including the wash-by-hand stuff which had been accumulating -- on Monday. She had their meal for the train prepared and in Tupperware Tuesday morning. She’d rationed herself on milk all weekend to keep enough for Billy’s cereal. Except for the two care packages, she killed off the food in the refrigerator for lunch, and an odd lunch it was too. That left nothing to do until it was time to prepare for her date.

After a few hours of television, she took as leisurely a bath as she could. Then she dressed. There was really no reason to wear the nice lingerie; Knut sure wasn’t going to see it. Still, it did go with the rest of the outfit. This was the last better- than-school outfit that Knut hadn’t seen. She could have gotten away with a teaching outfit for the Chinese dinner.

She was still in her slip when the phone rang. “This is Sarah Jenkins,” she answered. That earned her a chuckle.

“Well, this isn’t,” Knut said. “Look, I’ll leave in five minutes or so.” Five minutes? She had neither her dress nor her face on! It was only ten minutes after five. “I should be there by six, but I can’t guarantee it in this weather.”

“By six? Where are you?”

“I’m at the office.”

“On Christmas eve?”

“This is the business rush,” he said. “Then we have another rush for individual clients in April. I stayed home most of the weekend. Anyway, I may be late, and I’m sorry.”

“No need to be sorry. I won’t put my coat on until you ring.”

She did, however, spray herself with perfume and put on her face. She put on her dress and sat waiting for his ring. He was on time; she had been early. “Is Middle Eastern cooking all right?” he asked.

“I haven’t had much of it.”

“Do you feel like experimentation? Or would you prefer something more familiar?”

“Let’s live dangerously,” she said.

The place was half-empty. They took their time over selecting their food; really, she took her time. He’d known what he wanted. “I’m having some wine,” he said. “Do you want anything to drink?” She settled on a glass of rose’. The food was very tasty if a trifle rich.

They talked of Christmas today and their Christmases as young children. She didn’t have a tree this year; the tree at her parents’ would be enough. He had already set up the tree. “And all the presents are locked in my room. I’d trust Rebecca with my wallet, but not to pass a tree without opening her presents.”

Her parents had always insisted that presents could not be opened before Christmas morning. “But the first Christmas after we were married, I persuaded Fred to open them on Christmas Eve. I had always hated to wait. Now, it’ll be the evening of Christmas day; and Billy won’t care.”

At about that time, she’d found her glass empty. Knut called the waitress over, and then asked if she wanted more wine. She did; besides, it would have been wrong to bring the waitress over for nothing.

She’d grown up with artificial trees. “Shedding needles just isn’t part of my picture of Christmas.”

His family had always had real trees. “I didn’t care if it was scraggly, but the Christmas tree had to be taller than I was. That was fine when I was Rebecca’s age. It got to be fairly restrictive by the time I was fifteen or so. Rebecca gets insistent on crazy details, and I say, ‘Why me, Lord?’ Then I think back. I know why it is happening to me; she’s my daughter.”

“And your tree this year?”

“It’s not quite as tall as I am. But it’s full; Rebecca insists on full. Maybe we have a little less to spend on presents, but I don’t quite put it to her that way.”

She took a sip of wine. The glass was less than half full, and she didn’t want to order another. “Billy will come home loaded with presents from his father.”

“Candice tried to make that a contest, too. I let her win. You know Billy better than he does; you know what he’ll remember in six months.”

“Yeah! I know what he wants, but what he needs is clothes. He’s growing so fast! And my support check will be real late in January.” She didn’t know where that confession came from.

“Ouch! And you are only paid when you sub.”

“Friday is the only day on my next paycheck. Well,” she corrected herself, “the next one would come tomorrow if it weren’t for Christmas. The one after next.”

“At least he warned you.”

“The hell he did. It’s just that the check’s almost always late, and later when he has major expenses, like splurging on Billy’s Christmas. I shouldn’t have had that wine.”

“Why not?” he asked. “You can’t tell Billy; he deserves to have a good image of his father, whatever his father deserves. You have to talk to somebody, and I won’t quote you.”

“And I keep telling myself that he can be a perfectly good father, whatever his faults as a husband.”

“Some faults as a husband, sure. But the payments are for support of his son. Sorry! That’s rather a sore point with me. Although I will admit that Candice is responsible on finances. Still, it galls when ‘Becca sees one of my faults as a parent as that I don’t provide what a traditional mother would.”

“You seem an exemplary parent to me.” ‘Exemplary,’ she sounded so much like an English teacher! Why wouldn’t the board hire her as one?

“You’re not a sixth-grader. I think kids’ highest ranking for parents is ‘barely adequate.’ And Rebecca seldom accords me that. Well, enough of parenting. Are you enjoying the food?”

“Very much.” And they talked of trivia until it was time to leave.

When they reached her apartment door, she asked “Do you want some coffee?” She dumped her coat on a chair on the way to the kitchen. When she brought the coffee in, her coat wasn’t there; neither was his, for that matter. He must have hung them in the entrance-way closet. Her night things were in there!

Well, he probably hadn’t guessed that the track suit was her sleeping gear. She set the coffee down on the end tables, not really wanting to suggest that he sit so far from her. This was ridiculous! They had both refused more of the excellent, rich restaurant coffee; she was serving him instant. She might as well have asked him up to see her etchings.

She sat as far toward the middle of the sofa as was compatible with reaching her cup. His mouth quirked upwards, and he sat about two inches to her left, one arm over the back of the sofa bed.

“I’m glad we experimented,” she said. “That food was good.”

“Yes. But there was a moment there when I was sorry that I hadn’t taken you to a place where they use chopsticks. I could have given you another lesson.”

“I thought I’d done a creditable job.”

“Sure,” he agreed, “but the people in the restaurant wouldn’t have known that. If I’d taken your hands to show you how to hold a knife and fork, however, they might have guessed my motives.” She had to reach over to set her cup and saucer down.

He took her left hand in his. “Lovely hand,” he said. He kissed the four knuckles and the middle of the back. “Lovely fingers.” He kissed the tip of each finger, then he kissed the middle of her palm. A thrill ran through her at that. She was aware of a dampening between her legs, and the man hadn’t even kissed her lips.

He pulled her hand towards his left and pressed on her shoulder at the same time. She swayed into the shelter of his hug. Abandoning her hand, he held her chin while he kissed her mouth. He didn’t need to turn her face; she’d already positioned it for his kiss.

His kiss was gentle, then fierce, then gentle again for a long time. Still he kept his mouth closed. When he broke it, he kissed the tip of her nose. He licked across her lips. When she opened them, he pressed his tongue within.

When his tongue tip reached hers, she thrilled to the touch. And touch it was; he didn’t try to push it aside. She was barely conscious of his hand smoothing upward from her waist. When he cupped her breast, though, she knew it. How far should she let him go? With Billy gone, the law would let her have sex in the apartment. And Knut -- divorced himself -- almost certainly knew that. She didn’t want to go that far. Well, she might want to go that far, but she wasn’t that sort of woman.

And that was the hell with a sofa bed. One thing could lead to another, but you couldn’t ease along until you were in bed together if getting the bed out was a major operation. And she sure wasn’t going to have sex in Billy’s bed.

Anyway, she wasn’t going to have sex at all. And, to give Knut credit, he didn’t seem to be headed in that direction. Instead, he kept his hands -- both hands by now, he’d reached his arm over her shoulder and under her arm -- on her breasts outside her dress. Through dress and bra, though, those hands excited her. And, while they were caressing and he was holding her breasts, his mouth was moving from hers to her neck and ear. He kissed there, and sometimes gave tiny little licks. More than that, though, he was nibbling at her with his lips.

How long they sat like that, she couldn’t tell. Finally, it was Knut who drew them back to earth. He removed his hands, moved from intense involvement with her ear to light kisses on her forehead and hairline. Finally, he sat there with one arm around her while she lay back with her head against his shoulder. The intensity had dropped, but she felt comfortable there.

Indeed, she must have dropped off. The sound which jerked her awake was her own snore. When she straightened her head suddenly, it hit his jaw. She couldn’t tell which was more mortifying. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said.

“Did that hurt?”

“It didn’t hurt me.” It must have hurt him, though.

“Then,” he said, “there’s nothing to be sorry about. It is time, though, for me to be on my way. I’ll let you get to bed. I do apologize for staying so long. It would be totally hypocrisy to say, ‘I’m sorry.’ But I do apologize.” He rose and made his preparations. With his coat on, ready to go out the door, he tilted her head up for another kiss.