The Accidentals(57)

Aurora wears a black dress, borrowing my slinkiest earrings.

Christmas Dinner Jake—in a coat and tie—arrives right on time, looking like a completely different person. He’s left his glasses at home. “Wow,” he says when he comes to our door.

“Is it too much?” I ask, putting my hand over the neckline of Aurora’s dress. I feel exposed.

Aurora rolls her eyes. “Rachel, that was a compliment, not a warning. Vamos. Get your coat.”

I don’t quite understand the zeitgeist of Christmas Dinner until we step into Bartleby Hall. It’s decked out for a medieval feast, with garlands and tables laden with ornamental foods, as if Henry the Eighth is expected for dinner. We pass a tower of shrimp laid out in front of an ice statue in the shape of a mermaid. With a thousand candles flickering on the beams overhead, the cavernous room becomes weirdly glamorous, in a sixteenth century sort of way.

Jake’s two roommates, Sal and Arin, wave us over to a table. Jake removes a flask from his jacket pocket and sets it on the table, camouflaging it amid the pine boughs of the elaborate centerpiece. Then he pulls out two chairs for Aurora and me.

“Hi, Sal,” I say, sitting down beside Jake. “Hi, Arin.”

“Hi,” they reply. It’s the most they ever say to anyone.

A waiter props a tray beside our table and begins setting salads in front of everyone. Aurora puts her napkin in her lap. “This is fancy. What if we could dine this way every night? I hear there is entertainment.”

I look down the long room. The tables at the other end are practically in the next zip code. “Both the a cappella groups get a set.” I’d rehearsed three Christmassy songs with the Belle Choir.

“Of course they do,” Jake says. He collects our coffee cups from each place setting and surreptitiously pours bubbly into each one.

The first group to sing is the Senior Songsters, and Jake mimes plugging his ears. Their three songs end just in time for the salad plates to be cleared.

I see my own singing group approaching. As a senior, I don’t have to participate, since this fancy dinner is for us. But Jessica and Jessica are both up there, and I don’t want to be a slacker.

So I get up to stand on the end of the horseshoe in the alto section. We all link arms. Jessica hums a note, and we begin.

Good King Wenceslas looked down

On the feast of Stephen

When the snow lay round about

Deep and crisp and even

As the harmony resonates in my chest, I’m basking in the perfection of the song, the candlelight, and the cozy half-circle of girls tethering me here. I look across to our table, where Jake’s eyes are trained on my face. The warmth I find there is so distracting that I flub the words to the third verse.

I’m supposed to be rhyming “hither” with “thither.” But my heart is singing a different tune. Please keep looking at me like that.

We sing each of our three songs in a different corner of the room, and then I take my seat just as the prime rib is being served.

“Sorry if that was painful for you,” I say as Jake pulls out my chair for me. “I know you’re not a fan of a cappella.”

“I try to keep an open mind,” he says, as Aurora smirks from across the table.

“This dinner is an excellent tradition,” I announce. “Especially the champagne.” Jake pours the last drop into my cup.





After the last course—chocolate mousse—the three of us go tripping back across the cold lawn in the dark, Aurora in the lead. I’m the tiniest bit tipsy and wearing heels. So naturally I stumble on a frozen clod of snow and nearly fall. But Jake catches my hand to steady me. “Thanks,” I breathe.

Curiously, his warm fingers remain curled around mine until we reached the door of Habernacker.

I try not to feel ridiculously excited about it.

He lets go when we all reach the third floor. When Aurora opens the door, he follows us inside until we all collapse on the S.L.O., with me in the center.

“Oh! I forgot to steal my plate,” I realize.

“Me too.” Aurora sighs.

Jake reaches into his jacket and pulls out a plate.

“Well done, Mr. Jake!” Aurora laughs. “The party in the annex starts in fifteen minutes.” She heaves herself off the squishy couch. “I have time to redo my makeup.”

I watch her walk over to the stereo, where my phone is already ensconced, and turn on our Christmas playlist. Then she grabs her makeup bag off her desk and leaves the room.

When the door clicks shut, neither Jake nor I speak for a moment. The low chords of a Straight No Chaser song play through our little speakers.

Suddenly, it’s awkward. We’ve been circling each other for a while now—since the night he was trying to be nice and I wrecked it.

“You’re probably sick of a cappella by now,” I say, just to find something to talk about.

But Jake turns slowly toward me and says something unexpected. “Rachel, I need to ask you a question.”

My stomach does a little flip flop, and I turn to face those blue eyes I love so much. “What?” I whisper.

“Well…” He clears his throat. There is a very long pause, during which I hold my breath. “Will you come skiing some time?”

I exhale. “I guess so?” Another beat of silence passes. “That was your big question?” I ask, feeling like I’ve missed something.