Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106798 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 534(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
When our bellies are topped off with pecan and pumpkin pie, we return to the main room to open presents.
“Everything okay?” I lean closer to Emersyn and whisper in her ear.
She clears her throat and nods several times. “Just a lot of … kindness.”
“That’s good, right?”
Again, she nods.
Kindness. She’s doesn’t have much experience with it, and that’s its own tragedy because now she doesn’t know what to do with it. Kindness is the hardest thing to accept because it requires true vulnerability to feel it. Emersyn is afraid to be vulnerable, to truly feel.
“My goodness … someone had help wrapping presents. I was going to say something when you arrived.” Mom picks up one of the gifts Emersyn rewrapped and hands it to Dad.
“I take offense.” I attempt to feign outrage, but I can’t keep a straight face. In fact, my cheesy grin, the one that shows all my teeth, seems to be my go-to when I’m with Emersyn.
While giving her a quick glance to admit she did a great job wrapping the gifts, I rest my hand on her knee and give it a gentle—playful—squeeze.
She stiffens under my grip, and her face turns red, matching the color of her off-the-shoulder sweater. Did I overstep again? She’s my wife, but I’m not allowed to touch her leg, right?
My fucking brain, crippled with unsorted emotions, runs amuck. I don’t know what to do with these feelings—the ones that include Suzanne, the ones that have been driving my generosity toward Emersyn, the ones that exist for the sole purpose of destroying my sanity.
I don’t love Emersyn, but like feels inadequate. I’m doing this for Suzanne, and clearly for Emersyn, but I’m doing this for me too. Suzanne was right; it does feel good to do something selfless, to make someone’s life better. But here’s the crux: I don’t want to just make anyone’s life better; I want to make Emersyn’s life better because it’s making my life better. And that realization scares the hell out of me.
“Well, look at this.” Dad unwraps the gift from me and holds it up. It’s an umbrella with an animal head carved in wood on the handle.
“It’s a James Smith & Sons,” Mom says. “I bet someone was in London.”
I grin and return an easy nod.
My family continues to exchange presents. Mom opens hers next. It’s painted linens and a one-off porcelain pitcher in a unique glazed rose color from a shop I visited in Notting Hill. Aaron opens his two bottles of Jensen’s Gin from Bermondsey and wastes no time twisting the lid to one, despite Mom’s exaggerated eye roll.
As the present opening continues, I revel in the moment. I gobble up every glance Emersyn gives me. She assumed the gifts to my family were predictable—things they put on their lists—but I’ve surprised her.
She pinned me as predictable when I’m anything but.
The final gift of the night is for me. A reverent silence blankets the room as I open it. I don’t like silence or people staring at me. And I definitely don’t like my mom blotting a rogue tear from her cheek as I remove a black book from the box. My entire heart catapults from my chest to my throat when I open to the first page, the only one that seems to have anything on it. As I read it, Emersyn leans toward me to read it too.
Zach,
Make plans, my love. Life is too short.
Yours,
Suzie
“It’s a little black book,” Aaron says.
Cecilia nods. “She wanted us to wait until Christmas to give it to you.” Again, she blots another tear and smiles as I glance up for a split second before thumbing through the blank pages of the planner.
The muscles in my jaw work overtime to keep my emotions in check. There’s not a soul in this room who hasn’t seen me cry over Suzanne. I’m better now, not awesome, but fully functional. I’m moving forward. Do I have to make actual plans?
Aaron jumps up and disappears for a few seconds before returning with a pen in his hand. He plucks the planner from me, flips to the first Wednesday in January, and writes: 7 pm - drinks with your favorite brother.
This brings a tiny smile to my face.
Then my mom takes the journal and pen and sets a date for Brunch with Mom on a Sunday in February. Dad adds Golf with Dad on a Friday in March. And when he stands to hand the planner back to me, Emersyn steals it and the pen then turns to a page in January.
Take Em to the airport.
After she hands the journal back to me, I stare at her words on that day. “Thank you,” I whisper.
I’m not sure who I’m thanking.
My family?
Emersyn?
Suzanne?
By some miracle, this Christmas isn’t awful. The loss of Suzanne’s presence is felt, but it hasn’t robbed everyone of their Christmas spirit. As we gather our belongings and say our goodbyes, I take a minute to observe Emersyn interact with my family. They adore her.