Jamie Sobrato - Baby Under The Mistletoe

“It was nothing. I’m always happy to talk over tea.”

“I’ve got an appointment, so I’d better get going, but I’m so glad we talked,” Julia said, standing up.

Soleil followed her to the door, each step closer to being alone again reminding her of the way she’d felt a few minutes ago, when Julia was talking about caring for her husband in old age.

They said their goodbyes, and Soleil closed the door, watching through the window as Julia went to the car and drove away.

Now the house was completely silent, save for the sound of the ticking antique clock in the living room.

Tick, tick, tick…

Julia’s absence left a gaping hole that was sucking Soleil toward everything she didn’t want to feel.

She walked upstairs to the baby’s room, hoping to distract herself with one final coat of paint. Physical activity would make her feel better, keep her mind off negative thoughts…

In the purple room with the empty crib and the basket of baby gifts, she was sure she’d feel soothed. This was the safe haven she was creating for her baby. This would be the scene of countless happy hours in her future.

Just her and the baby.

Together.

Alone.

They’d have each other, but…

She recalled what Julia had said, about ties that couldn’t be undone, and the ache within her grew more and more unbearable until she couldn’t help but cry.

She sat in the middle of the hardwood floor, put her face in her hands and cried for what she didn’t have.

A partner, a lover, a father, a friend.

A family.

Sure, she and her baby would make a family, and they would love each other. But it would be lonely the same way her own childhood had been lonely, and someday she’d be bitter and alone, the way her mother was bitter and alone.

Yes, she was on the road to becoming her mother, when what she really wanted was to be more like Julia, warm and open and loving.

She was exactly like her mother, whom she couldn’t even share a house with, without having a major fight.

Was she dooming her poor baby girl to the same fate, by not being able to break out of her mother’s mold?

She was crying so hard drool formed a long ribbon from her lower lip to the top of her pregnant belly, and she felt more pathetic than she ever had in her life.

She was alone, feeling sorry for herself, and utterly pathetic.

All she needed now was a whiskey bottle and a penchant for angry poetry, and she could change her name to Anne Bishop Junior.

JULIA DELETED everything she’d just written. Nothing sounded right.

The main problem was, this wasn’t a matter she should have been handling via e-mail. And the other problem was, she was terrified to call Frank Fiorelli again.

She tried again.

Dear Frank,

I’m so sorry to have ignored your calls and e-mail.

I had a family emergency, and-

No, too stilted.

She ought to pick up the phone and call. Or maybe go to see him.

But it was the day before Christmas Eve, and she didn’t know his address. She knew where his studio was, but would he be there today?

She had to try. If he wasn’t there, at least she could leave a handwritten note to tell him she’d stopped by, which was better than an impersonal e-mail. Yes, that’s what she’d do.

Julia jumped up from her desk chair. If she hurried, she could make it to Guerneville by four o’clock. Then maybe, if Frank wasn’t at his studio, she’d call him and let him know she was in town, see if he wanted to meet for a drink.

Her stomach knotted as she hurried to the bathroom to check herself in the mirror.

Same silver-blond bob as always, same brown eyes. She added a bit of lipstick, and her face instantly brightened. Then she grabbed her coat and headed out the door.

An hour later, she was parked in front of Frank’s gallery. A light was on in the upstairs studio, she could see from the street, and her hour-long case of butterflies became twice as intense.

During the whole car ride, she’d told herself he wasn’t going to be there, and yet…

The light was on.

The gallery was open, and she could see through the window that Frank’s daughter was busy helping a customer. A handful of other customers milled about the space, creating a welcome diversion for Julia to walk in and go straight up to the studio without having to explain her rudeness.

She made it through the gallery without being spotted, and she climbed the stairs to the sound of someone hammering in the room above.

When she reached the landing, she saw Frank wearing a pair of work goggles, poised over a table, nailing one piece of wood to another.

“Hello?” she called.

Frank looked up, clearly surprised at the interruption.

When his gaze landed on her, she expected to see annoyance, maybe even anger, but all she saw was confusion, and then…A tentative smile.

“Julia? What a surprise. What brings you here?”

She could feel herself blush. “I owe you an apology,” she said.

He put down the hammer, took off his goggles and rounded the table.

Julia took a tentative step forward, and Frank closed the distance between them.

“What happened?” he said, not unkindly. “I was worried you’d decided I was a pervert or an ax murderer.”

“Oh, no!” she said, appalled all the more. “It wasn’t you at all.”

“Then what? I was really hoping to see you again. I’m glad you’re here, in fact.” He smiled gently, and Julia got her first inkling that everything really was going to be okay.

“I was hoping I could explain everything over dinner,” she said. “My treat.”

Frank’s expression transformed into a frown, and her stomach twisted up. Oh, dear. She’d been too forward.

“Call me old-fashioned,” he said, “but I never have gotten used to a lady paying for dinner. At least not the first few times around. But we can work that out later. I know a nice little Italian place around the corner.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I hope I’m not interrupting your work.”

He waved a hand toward the table dismissively. “You’re rescuing me from another evening of utter frustration,” he said. “I haven’t done a single good thing since you disappeared on me. Typical self-centered artist-I nearly managed to convince myself you vanished because you hated my art so much.”

He laughed, and Julia melted.

“I love your work,” she insisted. “It’s actually a little early for dinner. Would you like to have a drink first?”

“Absolutely,” he said, but before she could turn and head for the stairs, he took her hand in his.

He clasped it between both his hands, and he gave her one of those smiles that started in his eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said.

Julia smiled back. “Me, too.”

SOLEIL HADN’T WANTED to spend Christmas Eve alone. But when the invitations had come from friends, and even Julia, to have dinner with them, she couldn’t bring herself to say yes, either.

She didn’t have the energy to go out and face people and pretend everything was okay when it wasn’t. And her mother had made plans with old friends for the evening.

So Soleil would stay home, maybe watch a movie or read a book, and contemplate her last Christmas without a child. From now on, the holiday would be a big production, and she tried to tell herself she was savoring the freedom to do nothing this one last Christmas Eve.

She had just turned on the Christmas-tree lights when she heard a vehicle coming up the driveway. Past the tree, she could see West’s car in the distance, and the tiny knot of dread that had been growing inside her all day transformed in that instant into something that felt like hope.

No, not hope.

Joy.

No, not joy.

Love.

It didn’t matter why he was coming now-to deliver a gift for the baby or tell her he was leaving or berate her for being a fool for not being willing to move to Colorado. There was one thing she had to tell him, consequences be damned.

She ran to the door and left it open as she bounced across the porch and down the gravel road toward the car. He stopped when she neared, stuck his head out the window and peered at her, looking confused.

“Is everything okay?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I mean, no, everything’s not okay.”

He turned off the car and got out, staring at her belly as if it might hold some answer.

She took him by the shoulders and looked into his eyes. “I love you, West.”

“What?”

She’d never seen him look so stunned-and she’d had some pretty stunning news lately.

“I. Love. You.”

“Does that mean-”

“No, it doesn’t mean I’ll come to Colorado.”

“That’s not what I was going to say.”

“I love you, and I don’t know what to do about it. I can’t ask you to give up your career any more than I can give up my life here.”

He smiled, still looking a little stunned, a little confused.

“You could move here,” she said. “Help me run the farm. I could expand the program if I had you helping. We could help take care of your father if you were here.”

He laughed. “You just took the words out of my mouth.”

“Marry me,” she said.

“That’s supposed to be my line,” he answered, taking a small black velvet box from his pocket. “And this belonged to my mother.”

He opened the box, revealing a gold ring.

“Is that a yes?” she asked, her voice nearly catching in her throat.

Could this really be happening? Had he just said he’d move here?

“Of course it is. You’re the only woman I ever want to love. Aside from our daughter, of course.”

“But…the Air Force. What will you do?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll retire early. My life is here now, with you and the baby. Ever since I saw that ultrasound, there’s been a little voice in the back of my head whispering to me what I need to do.”