Daddy's Girls (69)

    She sat thinking about it in the living room until the fire went out, and then she turned off the tree lights, and went to bed in her new yellow bedroom that was all floral chintzes, with a beautiful headboard on her new bed, and a canopy. The furniture was white, and it looked like a sunny summer day every time she walked through it, and it made her happy looking at it. It had been worth every penny she’d spent on it. She had bought it with royalties from her books. She had put in pale yellow carpeting, moved the bed to a different place, and put built-in drawers in the closet. She bought a beautiful antique desk to work on, and a big, comfortable chair covered in the floral fabric, and a fabulous new TV. It was fancier than any other room in the house, and the next best thing to an exorcism.

She woke the children at eight, wished them a Merry Christmas and kissed them, and went to make them breakfast while they dressed. Peter was due to pick them up at nine, and take them back to the city. He said they would leave for Squaw around lunchtime. He had it all organized.

    She made them pancakes, which was their favorite breakfast, and they grumbled about having to get up so early. Billy was playing games on his new iPad when Peter rang the bell after waiting outside for ten minutes. She went to the door and he looked handsome in his ski clothes. He was dressed for their trip.

“Hi. Merry Christmas,” she said, smiling at him. “They’re ready, they’re just slow eating breakfast. They’re all packed.” They had become experts at handing them off to each other, and were always punctual and respected each other’s schedules, unlike many divorced parents who showed up early or late just to annoy each other, and wound up stressing the children even more than themselves. They were careful not to do that.

There was an awkward moment as he stood there, and then she remembered his present and invited him in. He hesitated for an instant and then followed her to the kitchen. She stopped in the living room, stooped down, picked up his gift from under the tree, and handed it to him. He looked surprised and touched and embarrassed as he took it from her. It felt strange to him being back in the house again.

“I don’t have anything for you,” he said guiltily.

“I didn’t expect anything. It just looked like something you’d use.” He opened it in front of her, and smiled broadly. He loved it, and he kissed her cheek to thank her, which embarrassed her. As he did, he looked over her shoulder and saw her bedroom through the open door. It looked like a summer garden, and he was startled.

“You changed our bedroom?” He said it like a child who discovered his parents had sold the house and didn’t tell him.

    “Yes, I did. It was looking tired,” she said by way of excuse but didn’t need one. He knew why she had done it. They both did. It cut through him like a knife, and reminded him of how deeply he had hurt her. She couldn’t even live with their furniture after what he’d done.

“It looks very fancy.” He could see into the room and that there was a canopied bed, pretty fabrics, and entirely different furniture. “Very girly,” he commented, and she laughed. “What did you do with the old stuff? I liked it.”

“I got rid of it. It’s nice having a fresh look. I have a desk in my room now, so I can work and the kids don’t have to be quiet in the living room. And I had built-ins put in the closet.” She was proud of what she’d done. She’d used a closet expert, and consulted a mother from school who was a decorator. She had helped her get the fabrics at a discount. She’d done the rest herself.

“It’s nice,” he said, not knowing what else to say. It had dragged his transgression right up into their faces on Christmas morning. He wondered if she had just sent all their old furniture to the city dump. She had wanted to, and him along with it.

They went to find the children then, they had finished breakfast and were talking quietly, wondering what their parents were saying, and careful not to interrupt them.

“Mom got you a present,” Billy announced when they walked in.

“I know, it’s a gorgeous sweater. I can wear it in Tahoe.” He smiled at her and she looked relaxed. It was easier having Peter in the house than she’d expected. It felt almost normal.

“That was nice of her,” Billy added.

“Yes, it was,” Peter agreed, and both children stood up. “We’d better be going.” They went to get their backpacks, and he got their suitcases and carried them to the car. He noticed that their bedrooms hadn’t changed, only their mother’s.

    They put on their jackets and she hugged them, and then Peter and Caroline looked at each other, and didn’t know what to say.

“Merry Christmas,” she said again, sounding cheerful.

“Thank you for the sweater,” he said, and kissed her cheek again, and then they walked out to his car, got in and she waved as they drove away. Caroline stood in the doorway with a lump in her throat, smiling and trying not to cry. She closed the door behind her, and felt as if someone had sucked the air out of the house. The life went out of it the minute they left. It was going to be a lonely Christmas Day without the children, but this was what they had agreed to. She went out to the kitchen and rinsed their dishes, and then she went to her desk in her new bedroom, pulled out her manuscript, and sat down to work, trying to see the words through her tears. It wasn’t a very merry Christmas. Suddenly all she could think of were the happy times she and Peter had shared for so many years, and for the first time in six months, she really missed him.