Bitter Rose Page 10

  “All right!”

  And that’s just what we do. And we talk about how it will be when Elisa and Marc and his new girlfriend, Liz, arrive, and how we’ll invite some family and friends over for Christmas Eve, and how we’ll have a good time at Tia Louisa’s house on Christmas Day. And I try to imagine my dad standing out in the cold, his nose pressed against the front window as he watches us all laughing and having a good time. Okay, I realize that won’t really happen, but the image makes me feel better. I really do want him to suffer.

  “I can get a tree tomorrow,” I tell Mom as we’re finishing up in the kitchen. “I saw a place near Casa del Sol that has them marked down to half price. I could pick one up before work and tie it to my roof.”

  “That’s a great idea, Maggie. We must have a tree.”

  So the next day, I go to work a little early to pick out a tree. But I must admit to feeling a little blue as I walk around the parking lot looking at trees that have about as much Christmas cheer as I do at the moment. Normally, I would be thrilled to see the snowflakes that are just beginning to swirl in the freezing wind, but mostly I feel cold—cold and lonely and sad. This isn’t how getting a Christmas tree should feel.

  I try not to remember when Dad would take us kids to get a tree at the U-Cut place just outside of town. We’d all pile onto a horse-drawn wagon, careful not to spill our free cups of hot cocoa as we rode out to where the Christmas trees grew in long neat rows. Everything smelled so sweet and fresh and piney, and we’d take forever to find just the right tree. But Dad never complained. “We have to get the perfect one,” he’d say as we tromped around. Don’t think about it, I tell myself. Let the memories go. Dad is dead.

  “Hey, Maggie!” calls a voice.

  I look over to see Ned’s bright-green vintage Volkswagen bug on the side of the street, behind my car. His head, topped in a brightly striped ski hat, the kind with ear flaps and a tassel on top, is sticking out the open window as he wildly waves at me.

  I wave back, smiling at his clownish appearance. “Hi, Ned!”

  “Whatcha doing?”

  “Getting a tree.”

  “Need some help?”

  “Yes!” I yell loudly to be heard above the semitruck that’s whizzing by him. “I do!”

  So he hops out of his car and comes over. “So,” he says in an official sort of way, “what kind of a tree are we looking for today?”

  I shrug. “I’m not sure I can find what I’m looking for. I mean, they’re pretty sad-looking, don’t you think?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” He reaches for a tree that’s about his height and stands it up straight so we can see it better. One side is flattened and the top is slightly bent.

  I touch a branch, and dry needles cascade to the ground. “Looks like a disaster just waiting to happen.”

  He nods, letting the tree fall back to the wood support it was leaning on. “Definitely not good.”

  We walk around looking at a few more, and I begin telling him about how I was having this flashback to the days when we kids used to get fresh beautiful trees with my dad at the tree farm.

  “Hey, I’ve heard about that place,” he says with interest. “It sounds like fun.”

  “Yeah,” I say sadly, “it was.”

  “Why can’t it still be?”

  I consider this. “Well, I’m sure it is for some people, but I don’t think I could handle driving out there by myself and getting a tree. Seems kind of pathetic, don’t you think?”

  “Why don’t we go together?”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I had my last final today, and I’m pretty free for the next couple of weeks. My roommate invited me to go snowboarding, but I can’t afford it. So I’ll probably just be sleeping in and feeling sorry for myself anyway. Want to go in the morning? That gives us plenty of time to be back at work.”

  “That sounds great!”

  And so I’m feeling pretty stoked as I work my shift tonight, thinking about how cool it will be to go with Ned to the tree farm, how it will be almost like a date—although I will drive, since my car has a bigger roof to tie the tree onto—but it will be just the two of us, together for several hours. And because I’m feeling so happy, I’m probably being extra friendly and cheerful to our customers. I’m not sure if it’s just me, but it seems like everyone is in an especially jolly mood tonight. Maybe it’s the real spirit of Christmas.

  I smile to myself as I brush a white tablecloth clean, careful not to get crumbs on the chairs, and then I quickly but meticulously reset the table, taking a moment to adjust the red roses with the tiny pine bough (my aunt’s sophisticated Christmas touch), and then return for the party of four who will be sitting there.

  “Right this way, please,” I tell them as I lead them to the table, help them get seated, fill their water glasses, and take their beverage orders. “And your waiter tonight will be Ned,” I say as I see Ned coming their way. I want to add, “and he’s the cutest waiter here,” but of course, I control myself.

  “I think you might be the best hostess we’ve ever had,” Tia Louisa tells me as the evening rush begins to slow down.

  “Thanks,” I reply. This is high praise coming from my aunt. “I really do love working here.”

  She smiles. “That’s probably why you’re doing such a good job, then. When you love what you do, people notice.”

  I consider her words as I’m driving home and decide she must be right. I wonder how she got so smart about these things, although I suspect it comes with age and experience. It makes sense that people should get smarter over time—well, most people anyway. Unfortunately, my dad isn’t one of them. He seems to have only gotten stupider with age. Or maybe he’s reverted back to his adolescence.

  That’s when I see the bitter irony of it: He’s acting like a teenager and, as a result, I’m having to grow up and go to work and do things like decorate our house for Christmas and get our family a Christmas tree. I have to admit these things are kind of fun, and the idea of going with Ned tomorrow is certainly no hardship, but it hits me that maybe I’m not just pretending to be a grown-up anymore— maybe I really am growing up. Just the thought of this makes me sit up a little straighter in my car, and it even makes me drive more carefully—well, that and the snow that’s beginning to accumulate on the road. I’m not used to driving in these conditions.

  fourteen

  THE WORLD OUTSIDE IS WHITE AND BEAUTIFUL WHEN I GET UP THE NEXT morning. Really amazing! Even though I’m only going tree hunting, I try on several combinations of clothes until I decide on my favorite jeans and burgundy Gap sweater, which look great with this knitted scarf-and-hat set that Claire gave me for my birthday last year. Of course, I wear my snow boots and parka and even remember to stuff mittens in my pockets.

  The plan is to meet at my house (I figured this was a good way to show Ned where I live, just in case) and try to be on the road by ten since it’s about a forty-minute drive to the tree farm. That’ll give us at least two hours to hunt down the perfect tree, grab a bite to eat, and get back here without being late to work.

  Ned arrives just before ten. I invite him inside and ask if he wants a cup of coffee to take.

  “Sounds great,” he says. I pull out a couple of travel mugs and we’re set.

  “I’m not that experienced at driving on snow,” I admit as we go outside.

  “Want me to drive? I’ve driven on snow a lot. I snowboarded all through high school and drove up to the mountains almost every weekend.”

  I consider this. My dad has a strict policy: “No one drives your car but you, Magdela.” But then, my dad’s not exactly around to enforce this rule anymore. I look at my ’96 Neon, which I dearly love, and imagine how it would look if it slid off the road and hit something.

  “Sure,” I tell him, “if you’re really good on the snow.”

  “Yeah,” he assures me. “Trust me, I’ve never wrecked yet.”

  Just the idea of wrecking is a little unner
ving. I buckle my seat belt, but as I observe Ned’s careful driving, I begin to relax. This is going to be okay.

  “Can you believe this snow?” I say as I look at the blanket of white. “It’s so beautiful. I hope it sticks around until Christmas.”

  “I heard there’s another storm system coming in a few days,” he says as he gets onto the highway that leads out of town. “Could mean more snow.”

  “Cool.” I sip my coffee and think that today is going to be perfect.

  We talk all the way to the tree farm. Ned tells me about his mom and her husband and how they invited him to meet them in Hawaii for Christmas. “Mike has a condo in Maui,” he continues, “right on the beach.”

  “Man, everyone else has all the luck. My friend Claire just told me that her parents are going to the Caribbean for Christmas break. Life is so unfair.”

  “I think it all balances out eventually.”

  “So are you going to go then? To Maui?”

  “I gotta admit, it sounds really tempting.” He sighs. “But the thing is, my dad and his wife also have invited me to come stay at their place for Christmas.”

  “Oh. So are you going there then?”

  He just shakes his head. “I don’t think so. It’s like whichever one I choose, the other one’s going to be mad. I’m like a man without a country—or a home, for that matter.”

  “That’s tough.”

  “Yep.”

  “If it were me, I’d go to Maui.”

  “What if it was your dad and his girlfriend inviting you?”

  “Oh.” I frown. “That would be different. I would definitely not go to Maui.”

  “See what I mean? It’s complicated.”

  “Well, it won’t be for me,” I tell him, “because as far as I’m concerned, my dad and his bimbo do not exist. I would never be tempted to spend a holiday or even a few minutes with them.”

  “Don’t be so quick to write him off, Maggie.”

  “Why not?” I turn and look at Ned, reassured to see that he’s really focusing on the road. “My dad’s a total jerk. He cheated on my mom. He broke her heart. He’s hurting our entire family. I don’t see why I shouldn’t write him off.”

  “Yeah, I can understand how you feel that way—in the beginning. But he’s still your dad. It’s pretty hard to pretend like he doesn’t exist. Like, what if you needed him for something?”

  “Like what?” I demand. “What could I possibly need from that man?”

  “A kidney?” Ned chuckles, and I start to laugh.

  “Yeah, right.”

  “You never know, Maggie.”

  “Well, it’ll be a snowy day like this down under if I ever go begging for one of Dad’s kidneys. I think I’d rather die.”

  Ned changes the subject after that, and before I know it, we are there. I’m a little surprised at how expensive these trees are—nearly three times what I would’ve paid at the crummy tree lot—but, I tell myself as I shell out the cash, this is worth it.

  Ned carries the saw, and we go get our “free” hot cocoas and wander around for a while as we wait for the next wagon to return. Then we pile on, along with a family of two parents and three little girls and an older couple, and ride on up to where the trees are growing.

  “It’s like Currier and Ives,” says the older woman as her husband takes a picture of the big red barn with his camera. The little girls giggle and roll around in the hay behind us, just the way my sister and brother and I used to do, until the youngest girl gets a candy cane stuck in her hair and the other two quietly try to undo it before the parents notice.

  The wagon stops, and Ned helps me get out—so polite—and then we walk around examining the trees.

  “They’re all so pretty,” I say at first. “It probably doesn’t matter which one we choose.” But as I look more carefully, I realize there are a few differences. Some are taller and thinner, some are full and stout. But I know that my mom likes a tree that’s about six feet tall and full. So I tell Ned this is what we’re looking for, and after nearly an hour, we find the “perfect” tree. Ned cuts it down and we carry it back to the wagon stop.

  “It smells so good,” I say as we walk through the snow.

  “I think I’m going to be smelling it all day. I’ve got the pitchy end.”

  “Sorry,” I tell him. “Do you want to switch?”

  “No. I like the smell. They should bottle it as cologne.”

  I laugh. “Eau de Pine Tree?”

  We ride the wagon back to the parking lot, get the tree securely tied onto my roof, and drive back the way we came.

  “How about getting lunch at that little café we saw along the way?” Ned suggests.

  “Okay,” I say. I don’t tell him that it’s the same place Dad used to take us kids to and that it’s probably going to take me down memory lane again.

  But as we park and go inside, I remind myself that today is the making of a brand-new memory. Perhaps thinking of how Ned and I came up here to get a tree together will block out all the memories that include my dad.

  I insist on treating for lunch since we came out here for my sake in the first place. Ned is reluctant but finally gives in, saying, “Okay, but I get the next one.”

  I smile and agree, wondering, Does this mean there will be a next one?

  Then Ned carefully drives us back home. But as he pulls my car into the driveway, I see an all-too-familiar Explorer pulling up right behind us. I quickly get out of the car, but not fast enough for my dad to miss the fact that Ned, not me, is the driver.

  “Magdela,” he calls as he comes toward us, a frown on his face. “What are you doing?”

  I glare at him. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

  He looks at Ned as he climbs from the car. “Who is this?”

  I make a halfhearted introduction, and Ned reaches out to shake my dad’s hand, which my dad offers in a reluctant way. I want to slap him.

  “So why is someone else driving your car, Magdela?” He is using his fatherly voice now, trying to appear as if he’s the authority here.

  I just shrug. “Because it’s snowy and I haven’t had that much experience—”

  “Did you go all the way to the tree farm?” my dad demands as he sees the tag on the tree. “In this weather?”

  “Duh.” I glance toward the house now.

  “It wasn’t that bad,” says Ned in a congenial way.

  But my father ignores him, turning to me instead. “You know my rule about the car, Magdela.”

  “I didn’t know that your rules applied anymore—I mean once you started breaking them yourself.” Then I turn and start untying the tree. Ned helps me, and my dad just stands there watching us.

  We have the tree down now. “Let’s shake the snow off and then take it to the porch,” I tell Ned, ignoring my father.

  Soon we have the tree on the porch, and my father is still standing in the driveway.

  “I’m going inside,” I say to Ned. “You want to come in and have a soda?”

  “Sure.” He turns to my father and waves. “Nice to meet you, sir.”

  “You didn’t have to be so nice,” I tell Ned once we’re inside and the door is closed.

  “Well, he’s not really the enemy, Maggie.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Okay, I know it feels that way to you, but he’s not my enemy. And I’m guessing he just wants to protect you.”

  “From what?” I demand as I take off my parka.

  Ned laughs. “From older guys like me. From other people driving your car. You know.”

  “Someone should protect me from him.”

  Okay, so it was an almost-perfect day. And it’s not Ned’s fault that my father showed up and acted like a jerk, so I won’t hold it against Ned that he wants to be civilized around the jerk. Ned can’t help it if he has better manners than my father does.

  I peek out the window in time to see the Explorer driving away. “I wonder why he came here in the first place,” I sa
y as I get us both a soda.

  “Maybe he was just passing by.”

  “I doubt it. This isn’t on his way to anywhere.”

  We finish our sodas, and Ned offers to help me set up the tree. “You have to make a fresh cut on the trunk,” he tells me, “and then put it right into water.”

  “Are you a tree expert?”

  He laughs. “No. The saw guy told me that when I took the saw back.”

  “There’s probably a saw in the garage—that is, unless my dad has removed all his tools, although I don’t know where he’d put them in his town house.”

  We scavenge around the garage until we find an old saw, and then I go to get the tree stand ready. Before long, we not only have the tree set up in the living room but we start decorating it too.

  “Mom is going to be so happy,” I tell him. “Last night she was really bummed when I didn’t come home with a tree. I told her that the only ones left were too pathetic, not to mention a fire hazard, and that we might just have to go without a tree this year.”

  “You didn’t.”

  “Well, I thought it would be cool to surprise her. I mean, not only is this not a dried-up old tree-lot tree but it’s absolutely beautiful.” I stand back and admire it.

  He nods his approval. “It is a good-looking tree.” Then he glances around the house. “Your place looks really Christmassy— very festive.”

  I laugh. “Thanks! Claire and I did most of the decorating, to help Mom out of her funk, but we used only about half of Mom’s decorations. Trust me, if Mom were her usual self, this place would be really festive.”

  “Well, I think festive is fun. Your mom has the right idea.”

  “So have you decided what you’re doing for Christmas yet, Ned?”

  He just shrugs.

  “Well, if you’re seriously not going to Maui and you don’t want to pass off that option to me, you’d be more than welcome to spend time with us. You already know my mom and most of the rest of our family. Why don’t you just hang with us for the holidays?”