The Silver Linings Playbook(61)

For my mom’s sake, I keep hoping my father might come downstairs and join the party, but he doesn’t.

“And we have a present for you too,” Ronnie tells me. “Come on, Em. Let’s give Uncle Pat his present.” He hands Emily a box, which is too heavy for her to carry, even though she is walking pretty well now, so he and Emily both carry the present over to me.

“For Pap!” Emily says, and then starts to rip off the wrapping paper.

“You want to help me?” I ask her, and she tears the rest of the paper off as everyone watches.

Once Emily finishes with the paper, I open the box and fish through the Styrofoam peanuts and find what feels like a plaque of some sort. I pull it out of the peanuts and can see it is a framed picture of Hank Baskett. He’s in the end zone with a football in his hand.

“It was taken during the Dallas game,” Ronnie says.

“Read what’s written on the picture,” says Veronica.

To Pat,

You’re on the road to victory!

Hank Baskett #84

“This is the greatest present ever! How did you get Baskett to sign the picture?”

“Veronica’s cousin’s a barber,” Ronnie explains, “and one of his customers works for the Eagles promotions department, so we were able to pull a few strings. Vinnie said that this was the first request his contact got for a Baskett autograph, and Baskett was actually pretty excited to get a specific request, since his autograph is not in such high demand.”

“Thanks, Ronnie,” I say, and then we give each other one-armed manly hugs.

“Merry Christmas,” Ronnie says to me as he thumps my back.

“Well, I hate to break up the party, but we need to get Emily in bed before Santa comes down the chimney,” Veronica says.

As they put on their coats, my mom is putting their presents into a holiday bag with fancy handles and thanking everyone for coming over, saying, “You don’t know how much it means to Pat and me. You’ve been so good to us this year. You’re good people.

All of you. Such great people.” And then Mom is crying again, saying, “I’m sorry. Thanks. Merry Christmas. Don’t mind me. God bless you.”

Just before everyone leaves, Tiffany grabs my hand, kisses me on the cheek, and says, “Merry Christmas, Pat.” When she pulls her palm away from mine, I have a square in my hand, but the look in Tiffany’s eyes commands silence, so I stick the square in my pocket and say goodbye to Ronnie’s family.

I help my mother clean up the wrapping paper and empty eggnog mugs, and then she catches me under the mistletoe in the hallway. She’s pointing up and smiling, so I kiss her good night, and she reaches up to hug me. “I’m so glad I have you in my life right now, Pat,” my mother says to me, flexing her arm muscles so hard, pulling my head down so that her shoulder juts up into my throat and it becomes a little harder to breathe.

In my room, by the light of the electric Christmas candle Mom has stuck in my window for the holiday season, I unfold the note Tiffany passed me.





Letter #8-December 24, 2006





Dear Pat, I won’t be coming on Christmas. I won’t be coming ever. Move on. Start over. Tiffany and your family will help you through this. Goodbye for real this time. I will not be writing more, nor will I be taking any more calls from Tiffany, because I do not appreciate her yelling and cursing at me on your behalf. Do not try to contact me. The restraining order is still in effect.

Nikki





An Episode Seems Inevitable





I rise before dawn on Christmas morning and begin my weight-lifting routine. I am nervous about being reunited with Nikki today, so I double-time my exercises in an effort to work off my anxiety. I realize the note Tiffany gave me last night suggests that Nikki might not be interested in meeting me at that special place once dusk rolls around, but I also know that in the movies, just when the main character is about to give up, something surprising happens, which leads to the happy ending. I’m pretty sure that this is the part of my movie when something surprising will happen, so I am trusting in God, who I know will not let me down. If I have faith, if I go to that special place, something beautiful will happen when the sun sets—I can feel it.

When I hear Christmas music, I stop lifting and go upstairs. My mother is cooking eggs and bacon. Coffee is brewing. “Merry Christmas,” Mom says, and gives me a little kiss on the cheek. “Don’t forget your pills.”

I take the orange bottles from the cabinet and twist off the lids. As I swallow my last pill, my father comes into the kitchen and throws the newspaper’s plastic cover into the waste bucket. When he turns and heads for the family room, my mother says, “Merry Christmas, Patrick.”

“Merry Christmas,” Dad mumbles.

We eat eggs and bacon and toast together as a family, but no one says much.

In the living room we sit around the tree. Mom opens her present from Dad. It’s a diamond necklace from some department store—tiny diamonds in the shape of a heart on a thin gold chain. I know for a fact that Mom has a similar necklace, because she wears it almost every day. My father probably gave her the same thing last year, but Mom acts really surprised and says, “Patrick, you shouldn’t have,” before she kisses my father on the lips and then hugs him. Even though Dad doesn’t hug Mom back, I can tell he is happy, because he sort of smirks.