Love Letter

Lynne:

It is like I am in a movie when we step into the rink, and the lights come on as we step through to the rink. It could not have been rehearsed any better. Ian is close to the sweetest person I have ever met, and when he falls straight on his back, I feel my heart tug a little. This was a night of many first. I giggle when he tells me that it is his first-time ice skating.

"Here," I say, taking his hand in mine. "Watch my feet, okay?" He looks down and watches my feet. It is a lot like roller balding, I want to say, but I have no clue if he has ever done that either since he has lived in New York his whole life.  So instead, I showed him how my dad taught me to ice skate. Once he can get a few strokes down without falling over.  Whoever was behind the lighting mechanics starts up the Christmas music, and we skate to Frosty the Snowman.

"Do you like snow?" he asks while trying not to tumble into me from behind.

I shake my head yes, wondering if my eyes are sparkling as much as I think they are. In one swift move, he flicks his hand out toward the concession stands. I am wondering what he is motioning for, and then I see it. Fake snow is falling all around us. I am skating all around it, enjoying that it is not as cold as real snow. I love how the blades feel underneath my feet, and I admit to myself for the first time that I have missed ice skating. I feel like I have not been skating forever, and I stop to see where Ian is, and he is standing on the far side of the rink watching me with a smile on his face while holding onto the side for support. It was a plus that he wasn't as confident as usual. I skate over to him – "Thank you," I say, smiling more than I had in a long time. A shiver goes through my body, and Ian notices.

"Are you cold?" he asks.

"I didn't think so until I stopped," I say, grinning.

"Do you want to keep going?" he asks, waiting for my response.

"Yes and no," I say, "yes because I don't know the next time I will have this whole rink to myself, and no because I want to know what else is in store for me."

"What else?" he says, laughing. "Come on" he grabs my arm, and I help him to the side.

"It gets easier the more you do it," I say. He bends down on the bleacher and helps me switch from my skates back into my boots. I wait as he does the same.

"Hot chocolate?" he asks me, looking over, and I shake my head. We head to the concession stands and get a cup each, and put lids on each one. "Okay, back to the car," he says, the smile still on his face. On the way back, he stops and grabs the ice skates next to the bleachers. I thought we would be taking the skates back to the rental place, but he surprises me once again when he carries them to the car with us. He must sense my confusion and says, "they are your skates" he says. He points to the back where my name is stitched on the heel of them.  Wow. I know they had to cost him at least a hundred dollars, if not more, along with shipping here, and the stitching had to cost more too.

"Thank you," I say, finding myself speechless again.

"I like that," he says.

"What?" I say.

"You not having any witty comebacks for me," he says, smiling. "Plus, now you can show me up at the Rockefeller Center since we are both New Yorkers.

"How come if you have lived in New York your whole life, you have never been?" I ask curiously and try to distract myself from the idea of us ice skating in New York together too. Settle... Anything could happen from now and then.

"It was a tourist thing..." he says, shrugging. "How come you have never gone – you enjoy it and are good at it."

"I don't know," I say truthfully. But my second thought that fleets through is that it was because too many memories would come back with it. But tonight, I didn't sit there moping over the memories of my family and dad doing this. It brought back how much fun I did have fun; it made me remember my dad the way he would have wanted me to. I imagined he would have sat me down throughout the last few years and said, "Lynne, you can't quit living just because I died." We drive in the car with Christmas music playing in the background. The silence doesn't feel awkward with Ian. I like that we can sit silently as if we have known each other longer than we already have.

It has been about ten minutes when Ian breaks the silence. "No guesses this time?" he asks as to what the surprise is. I shake my head, trying to figure out where we are. A few minutes later, we are pulling into a tree nursery.

I look at him – "You are getting me a Christmas tree?" he shakes his head like a kid who just received a puppy for his Birthday. "How are you getting it back to your place with this car?" I ask, dumbfounded.

"Yee of little faith. Plus, it is not magical if you know how I do it," he says, getting out of the car and opening the door for me. I tell him thanks while we start walking through the snow to pick out a tree.

"There are many to choose from," I say, shocked since it is Christmas Eve.

"Well, do you want to be modest with it? Or do you want to go big?" he asks, eyeing me, and I feel like he is taking in my amusement on this date.

"In between," I say, sipping the hot chocolate that I had brought with me from the car. The liquid was still warm, and it felt good traveling down my throat, keeping my body warm. We walk through the isle of trees with Ian bumping my side with his as we casually walked through, looking at the trees.  We are about five rows down when I spot the tree I wanted. Ian must think the same thing since he stops and stares at the same one I am; he lets out a low whistle. 

"Sir, we will take this one," Ian says to a guy behind us who I did not even know was there. If this were the month of October, walking through the tree nursery would have been creepy. I would have been scared, but since it was Christmas Eve, the nursery was magical; it was full of hope. Ian slips him money along with a white piece of paper. "Thank you," he says and takes my hand, leading me back to the car. 

"Is everyone on your salary tonight?" I ask jokingly.

"Oh him?" Ian says, pointing back at the tree man "he is the same guy from the rink," he says, laughing, and I know he is pulling my leg. When we are back in the car, Ian says, "dang."

"What?" I ask, concerned.

"I have to stop and get gas... I am not used to driving. I forget that you have to fill these things up. Oh, the perks of cabs," he says.

"And subways," I add. It is nice that he understands and enjoys New York life. My sister always complained about the walking – they preferred driving to where they had to go. Their biggest complaint was where they would put their bags while shopping. I fixed this problem the last few times and hired a town car to drive them around to stash their bags in the trunk.  

"Right you are," he says, pulling out of the tree nursery, and I can tell he is looking for the nearest gas station.

"Take the next right," I say. He listens even though most guys, I feel, would second guess me. We have to get on the interstate to get to a gas station that will have to pay at the pump. Since its Christmas Eve, I had a feeling some gas stations would be closing up early around Light Falls.

"I'm glad to have an insider with me on this date," he says. This time we talked the whole way to the gas station and back to my house. The most exciting part of our conversation was when he said he had never picked out a tree before.

"Wait, wait... You have never gone ice skating," I say, counting off on my hand, "and you have never picked out a real-life tree. Please tell me you have filled a car up with gas before." He hesitates after I ask about the gas, and I know he is bluffing on this one. "I feel like I have helped you cross off two things on your bucket list," I say, pleased.

"Bucket list?" he asks, confused. "I am way too young for that."

"You have to have a mental bucket list, at least," I say. He shakes his head no as we pull up to my house.  "You have never had where you sit there and think: hmm... I want to go sky diving, ride a horse, become a crossdresser?" I say, adding the crossdresser in as a joke.

"Well, maybe on our second date we can go sky diving and on our third date we can ride a horse. However, I draw the line at helping you become a crossdresser because, well, I just won't. It would be a crime you changing anything about yourself," he says. My face is crimson when he talks about our second and third date, and I am shocked by how much I want there to be a second, third, fourth, fifteenth date with him.