“To this family, it means optimism.” She gets a tear in her eye as we study photos of decorations and swaths of linen. She turns her head as if crying is a bad thing, and I put an arm around her shoulders. “It’s perfect, Momma,” I say, and I don’t know who’s more shocked. “I mean Mother.”
“When you were a baby, you called me MomMom and then just Mom, but I’ve become quite used to Claire.”
“What about Marv?”
“Best not.” She shakes her head. “My dear father used to call him Marv and they detested each other. He prefers Father, or Papa.”
Stiff, all-business, no-nonsense Marvin never mentioned that he’d prefer that I not call him Marv. I feel bad and resolve to work on it. But I guess I don’t feel so bad that I resolve to stop telling stupid jokes. I think he secretly loves it when I do, especially corny riddles.
The day of my wrist surgery, I open my eyes and see him and Claire standing at the end of my hospital bed. I’m groggy and whisper, “Déjà vu,” and for the first time, I hear him chuckle. I like the sound of it and ask, “What did the buffalo say when his son left?”
“Close the gate,” Claire answers.
“Good try.” I shake my head. “Do you know the answer, Marv?” Then I remember he doesn’t like being called that. “Sorry I called you Marv. Should I call you Father or Papa?”
“I won’t know you’re talking to me if you don’t call me Marv.” Then he says without cracking a smile, “Bison. The buffalo said, ‘Bison.’?”
The next afternoon Donovan drives me to Hawthorne and helps me from the car and into the house. It’s Thanksgiving and the whole family is there. Old Edie wants to know what happened to my arms and why my hair isn’t brushed. Claire and Marv are as formal as always, and it’s actually Burton who is the first to ask how I’m feeling.
My left forearm and hand are bandaged and held in a metal splint. The right is wrapped with gauze and tape; both hurt like heck. “Like a robot,” I say, and hold my arms straight out in front. Rowan is the only one who laughs, and I think maybe the pain pills might be to blame for how funny we think I am. When the medication wears off, nothing is funny and the pain is worse than when I woke up in El Paso. By the time I leave Hawthorne two days later, I can manage with my right hand and wrist. The hardest part is wrapping my arms in cellophane to take a shower.
Magnus doesn’t seem to care about my pain or limitations; he still needs a bush and a dog treat. I’ve learned my lesson about winter survival, and carefully dress in a wool coat, furry boots, a hat, and a scarf. The hardest part is getting Magnus into his blue parka. As we leave the Book Cadillac, I catch my reflection in the glass doors and sigh. There’s no way to look cute in a blizzard. I know people around here say there can’t be a blizzard without snow, but the wind seeping into my bones feels like a blizzard to me.
It’s a Sunday and the park is filled with people and dogs. Magnus picks his favorite bush, and I watch skaters in a rink set up in the middle. Lots of kids and laughter, and I wonder if Edie ever stood in this same place, watching people in the same rink. I wonder what she thought of it all. I wonder if, like me, she saw families and wanted that for herself someday.
“If it wasn’t for your dog, I wouldn’t have recognized you.”
I don’t have to look across my shoulder to know who’s standing beside me. I recognize that voice, even in a crowd of people. “It’s freezin’ out here.”
“Wait until January,” Oliver says. “Your lungs freeze in January.”
“Great.”
“Didn’t you just have some kind of surgery?”
Now I look at him. He’s wearing a dark blue parka the same color as Magnus’s. It’s not even zipped all the way. His cheeks look chilled, but I don’t think he notices. “Are you checkin’ up on me?”
“I’m meeting friends.” He lowers his gaze to my coat sleeves. “I don’t live far from here, on Griswold. How’re your wrists?”
“Good. Better, I think. I had a vein graft and my tendons worked on, so hopefully I can use my left hand again. My right wrist was mostly cosmetic.” Magnus finishes his business and sits on my feet instead of the cold concrete. “It’s been a few days, and I’m feelin’ better.”
Oliver turns his attention to the huge Christmas tree at the end of the rink and casually asks, “Have you found someone to teach you to kiss?”
“Not yet.” He’s not fooling me. He’s a lot more interested in my answer than he lets on. “But I’m hopin’ to find someone real good at it before Christmas.”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Why Christmas?”
I carefully pick up Magnus with my right arm. “I’ll need practice.” As I turn to leave, I add, “For when you kiss me under the mistletoe.” I can practically feel his eyes watching me as I walk away. He might not have been thinking about kissing me on Christmas, but he is now.
Both Oliver and I are wrong about blizzards. They actually start December 5.
The first time I see Michigan snow is when Meredith and the kids and I are leaving Santa’s Magic Forest. It rarely snows in Marfa, and is more like a dusting that usually melts by noon. The only Blizzards come from the DQ and have Oreos or toffee chunks. I’ve never seen the fat flakes drifting toward my upturned face and resting on my cheeks and forehead. Rowan shows me how she runs to catch flakes on her tong
ue, and I am enchanted.
Despite jolly music and wreaths hanging from lampposts, it doesn’t feel like Christmas to me without the Glorious Way Evangelical holiday bazaar, sweet baby Jesus’s Nativity in Momma’s front yard, or lighted antlers on pickup trucks. I try to get in the holiday spirit and liven up the penthouse. I buy a real tree and make some ornaments out of colored paper and tissue and put a big tinfoil star on top. The tree is only three feet high, but it makes the place smell like Christmas and puts me in a festive mood. Then Magnus ruins my holiday joy because he won’t quit hiking his leg on it. He doesn’t pee on the palm trees in front of the windows. Just the one tree that lift my spirits, and I have to have it dragged out to the dumpster.
By Christmas, any enchantment has worn off. Michigan is frozen. The snow is piling up, and the sleet is like needles in your face. People’s eyebrows freeze. Overcast skies block any hint of sunshine and, on the rare occasion the sun does pop out of the clouds, it might warm up a degree or two.