Chapter 64: Christmas Eve

Thursday, December 23, 1982

In a nearly unprecedented move, Angie went off to a brief lunch meeting with Jane by herself. She had her card to Sharon with her. Jane would mail it, but they wanted to talk about it, of course. It was a big step for Angie. After over two years of dwelling on whether forgiveness was even possible, Angie was taking a real, concrete step in that direction.

I hoped it would work out best for all of us. Sharon had been dead to me for a long time, but the person who wrote that card might well not be the same Sharon at all. If I could change as much as I had, if Angie could change as much as she had, and if I believed in rehabilitation, of learning, of growing, Sharon must be at least capable of those things.

In this, more than almost anything: trust, but cautiously, and verify everything.

Friday, December 24, 1982

True to our word, we mostly read, studied colleges, played games, studied colleges, napped, studied colleges, and so forth. There’s only so much studying you can do, but we’d gotten the usual guidebooks, a number of college catalogs, all of the deluge of mail we’d received after the PSAT, and so forth, and shared it between us.

College brochures are amusing. There’s no way that Schreiner University could possibly pretend to be on par with even Trinity, much less Rice, but their brochure skirted every possible line to imply it. Oh, it has its points, and there’s nothing wrong with it, but there are major differences.

After three days of this, it pretty much came down to either A&M, both of us changing our minds on Rice, me changing my mind on UT, or us heading out of state. That was it. Neither of us could stomach Baylor or TCU. Maybe SMU, but it was a bit of a long shot. Tech was just ... no. I mean ... Lubbock? Hell, no. And I wouldn’t pick UH even if Angie wasn’t set against it.

And, while it’s a bit unfair, it was almost the case that at any Texas University besides those, or maybe Trinity, and possibly Southwestern, we would be the National Merit Scholars. UT and A&M would both have many. We’d have a peer group, and there would be classes that would meaningfully help us get into graduate programs or do whatever it was that we’d be doing. We’d have a big alumni network that would help accomplish ... whatever.

So ... perhaps ... we were converging on a plan. Out of state had dozens of possibilities, but I wasn’t sure any of us really wanted that. Just about a year to go before we had to put it all down in writing, but we might have a plan.

Maybe.

Angie and I headed over to Jasmine’s around four. She met me at the door, holding a bag, with Camille close behind. Angie waited in the car.

“You two have fun!” Camille said.

“We will, Mama!” Jasmine said.

“I’m sure your pastor will appreciate this,” Camille said. “He surprised me when he spoke at the School Board meeting, just by how much I liked him. I’m sure we would disagree vehemently about theology, but he struck me as decent, thoughtful, and well-intentioned.”

I nodded. “I likely disagree just as much about theology, while respecting all of the education and study that he has that I don’t have. But I agree — I think he’s all of those things. Of course, I’d never have asked him to speak if I hadn’t been fairly certain that he’d support our side.”

“If I don’t see you later tonight ... well, even if I do, I suppose ... Merry Christmas, Steve!”

“Merry Christmas, Camille! And the same to Francis, of course.”

From the living room came, “I heard that! Merry Christmas!”

“Bye, Mama,” Jasmine said.

“Bye, honey,” Camille said, hugging her daughter. Then she grinned. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Jasmine giggled. “See, now I have to think. ‘What would Mama not do ... in a church?’”

Camille grinned. “That ... is a most interesting question ... I suspect!”

Laughing, we separated and headed for the car. I helped Jasmine in, and then we headed off for my house.

“This is going to be fun!” Jasmine said.

“What’s in the bag?” Angie said.

Jasmine said, “No peeking in Santa’s sack!”

“I have no interest in peeking at Santa’s sack. Or anyone’s,” I said.

Jasmine took a second, then burst out laughing. “Ugh! A reminder that you might say nearly anything!”

Angie was giggling, too. “I’ve said it before, and I’ve said it again: There’s no telling what might come out of Steve’s mouth.”

“In, however, there are some real limits,” I said. That drew more laughter.

When it died down, I said, “So, how’s the family visit?”

“Eh ... it’s ... okay? I really do love Uncle Alexandre and Aunt Martine, and I know they love me, but they never had kids and they don’t know what to do with me. In terms of how they treat me, I go from being a miniature adult to a little kid from moment to moment.”

Angie and I exchanged a look. I wasn’t sure if she meant what I did, but for me, it was ‘I get that’. Before I’d had kids, I wasn’t great at relating to them. I tended to lean more to the ‘miniature adult’ category, even when it wasn’t the best choice.

Angie said, “That stinks. I understand it, though, I guess. All of our family has had kids, though. Well, except Uncle Donald.”

“That’s the one in Colorado, right?” Jasmine said. “It seems weird to have an uncle that you’ve never met.”

“It is,” I said. “Perhaps one day. I know he got fed up with my grandmother a long time ago, but I don’t know the details, and I doubt they matter.” Nearly fifty years and I’d still never met Donald. I might just have to change that. Angie and I could find a way to meet him.

I was pretty sure that Dad had tried — really tried — to get together, later in life, but it just never happened. I could probably change that. Should I? That was a harder question, one that would take a lot of thought.

Donald had never even met Mom. That seemed like a total shame to me, and maybe a big enough shame that something should be done.

Angie said, “I’d like to meet him, too. Even the family that I don’t really like, I still ... like. If that makes any sense.”

“Like your aunt?” Jasmine said.

“Yeah, exactly. She pissed me off a year and a half ago, but ... she’s family, and she does want the best for me. And she was much better this last trip. Maybe only because we weren’t there as long, but still. Much better.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t ask, but ... what about the other member of your family that you don’t like?” Jasmine said.

Angie looked confused, then got it. “Oh ... um... her.”

“Yeah,” Jasmine said, looking apologetic right away. “Sorry I...”

“Nah,” Angie said. “That’s okay. It’s ... um ... well. This is a bit of a secret, but you can be in on it.”

I was surprised, and then also not surprised. If there was anyone Angie would share this with, besides me, it was Jasmine. Well, and Jane, but that’s totally different. Jane’s entire life is based around people sharing things with her that they wouldn’t share with almost anyone.

“O ... kay?” Jasmine said.

“She sent me a card. I mean, I know it was her. She just put her first initial on it, though, because she could get in big trouble for contacting me. It was about making amends. She wrote a really nice message about just wanting me to be happy and safe and in a life I deserved.”

“Wow. That’s ... something. I mean ... I hope she means it.”

“We think she does,” I said. “Maybe not, but we hold all the cards, and if she doesn’t mean it, eventually we’ll figure it out and she’ll be in a lot of trouble.”

“So...?” Jasmine said.

“I sent a note back. Vague, but ... opening a path to more, hopefully.”

“I think that’s really cool,” Jasmine said. “And ... it fits the spirit of the season.”

“Yeah,” Angie said. “Cynical Angie thinks that’s why she sent it now, and Cynical Angie is probably right, too. But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong, it’s just ... she has to know how I feel, at least in general.”

“Of course. Well ... anytime you need hugs from me, or a shoulder to cry on, or whatever, you know I’m here.”

Angie smiled. “I do, and it means a lot. Thanks, Jas.”

She grinned. “Hey, we might be relatives, too, one day. No reason not to start acting like it now.”

“Makes total sense to me!”

We arrived at the house, and Jasmine hugged Mom, then Dad. “Great to see you both!” she said.

“Great to see you, too, honey!” Mom said.

Dad smiled. “It really is.”

“Will you all be okay in the back seat?” Mom asked. We’d be taking Dad’s car, a Volvo 240. Obviously, Angie or I could drive, but we knew Dad would prefer to drive, and that was fine.

“We’ll be fine, Mr. Marshall,” Jasmine said.

We were, too. Jasmine took the middle, which wasn’t all that comfortable but wasn’t too bad. None of us were all that big, and Angie and Jasmine were perfectly comfortable pressed together.

On the drive, we talked some about family Christmas traditions, which weren’t all that different. Jasmine’s family had mostly adopted American traditions, with just a nod towards French sensibilities. Like us, they opened one present on Christmas Eve, then the rest Christmas Day. Unlike the French, who had their large holiday meal on Christmas Eve, they had their large meal on Christmas Day.

While Camille and Francis were nominally Catholic, it was very nominally. Pretty much, it was exactly enough to claim to be religious if anyone asked. My ex-wife and I had done somewhat the same before finding that Unitarian Universalism actually spoke to us. It gave the kids an easy excuse when pushy friends invited them to church, which was very common in our area in the 2010s.

Church was, as always on Christmas Eve, packed. The bigger service from a religious standpoint would be tomorrow morning, and we would be there (without Jasmine, who would be at Catholic services), but this service was more fun, and we always enjoyed going.

We found a seat in a pew not too far away from where we usually sat. I saw Dr. Ott note Jasmine’s presence and smile at her. I doubted he missed more than Jessica did — which is to say, nothing at all.

We sang the songs, lit our candles for ‘Silent Night’, and just enjoyed the familiar story told in a familiar way. I loved the chaos (and often, the irreverence) of Unitarian Christmas Eve services, but I really did enjoy this, too. The familiar has comforts all its own.

As before, I noticed the disconnection between the reality Angie and I were living and Lutheran theology. Really, with Christian theology in general, and perhaps many others. God could, of course, do anything, but there was no recorded precedent for anyone living their life a second time. How could such a thing be possible, yet glossed over by a deity presenting their story of how things worked? At the same time, we certainly appeared to be proof of a soul, of an existence beyond mortal flesh, of the possibility of rebirth and renewal.

Well over two years later, we had no more idea now of the answers to those questions than we had when we’d started. If God, or the Gods, or whoever had wanted us to know, presumably He, She, or They would have told us.

In the meantime, I was okay with the ambiguity. We were trying to do good, and it certainly appeared that we were succeeding. That was enough for now.

We wound up singing more Christmas carols in the car on the way home. It hadn’t escaped me that our whole adventure in Drama had quite possibly started on that November day when, despite my better judgment, I’d been cajoled into trying to sing. Had that not happened, I might have been unaware that I could sing, and ... so many things would have been different, and almost certainly lesser for it.

When we got home, Mom served a Christmas Eve dinner. Nothing fancy; she’d heated some ham, cooked a couple of Stouffer’s spinach soufflés (a long-time family favorite), warmed up some rolls, and so forth. Simple, but tasty, and a blend of newfangled convenience foods and Christmas classics. On a different Christmas Eve, Ang and I would’ve pitched in, perhaps, and created a feast, but not this year.

Jasmine either liked it all or did a very good job pretending to. Mom really was a better cook now than she had been during our first go-rounds, but nothing tonight let her show that.

When we’d finished, we moved to the living room and gathered around the tree.

Jasmine opened her bag and placed several presents under the tree. “You don’t have to open mine tonight, and you might not even want to. But, you can, too.”

Each of us picked one present, as usual. We followed Jasmine’s advice, I suppose. None of us picked hers.

The one Mom picked contained a scented candle from Angie. We both knew she’d never use it. We also knew she’d treasure it.

Dad opened one that was actually one of the better ones, for all that it seemed small and nondescript. He’d always liked key rings that separated, so that he could easily separate the house keys from the car keys, even though he seldom used that feature. Most of his were cheap and tended to separate when dropped. I’d found a very nice one that was easy to separate but stayed together really well. He certainly seemed to appreciate it.

Jasmine went next, opening one that turned out to be from Mom. It was a red blouse with golden embroidered poinsettias. It was nearly the perfect Christmas top for Jasmine, and we all knew it.