Gerald took another drink of brandy.
Christina had wanted to be married. To him, Gerald, specifically. She’d hinted at it. Then she said it outright. She wanted what her parents had. Gerald had pontificated aloud that getting married seemed to fix people in time. When families reconvene everyone falls back into established roles: domineering older sister, easily dismissed younger brother, petulant middle child. Like actors mounting a revival of a once-popular play. Married people were typecast.
What Gerald could not explain to Christina was that he’d always imagined himself a better man, wiser, calmer, more courageous. He still held out hope that might come true, just as he also suspected marrying Christina would render this version of Gerald as his final, flawed self. He wasn’t ready to laminate his personality.
* * *
Somewhere near the end of the bottle of St. Remy, after the Chinese food’s tiny cardboard temples had been emptied, Gerald relocated to the lobby and onto the floor among the pile of empty boxes. They buckled under his weight. The heap made for a surprisingly comfortable Yuletide nest. He noticed, as if from some distance, that he was weeping. Just a bit.
With his eyes shut and the chemical scent of fake pine thick around him, he could almost imagine he was back in another, better Christmas, four years ago.
He and Christina had been dating only a few months. It was a year of firsts, for both of them, and their inaugural holiday as a couple. After putting in time with his own family, he drove to Christina’s parents’ house. Her folks were already asleep, so he and Christina had the whole living room to themselves. The Beach Boys Christmas album twirled on the record player. Gerald and Christina reclined, tangled, on the couch.
They opened presents from one another. She bought him a green knit winter cap topped by a red puffball like a fuzzy cherry. He’d gone all out on a necklace with a thin gold chain and a heart drawn in miniscule diamonds. She put it on. At some point the Beach Boys quieted and they both drifted off. Gerald woke in the 3am dark with her legs snug around his waist and the heart-shaped pendant resting coolly on his cheek. He got up and tiptoed out to his new Datsun in the driveway, but not before pulling an afghan up to Christina’s chin and dropping the needle on the record player so the Beach Boys could run their repertoire for her one last time.
I love that story.