A Baker's Dozen of Christmas What-Ifs

The Test

The Twelve Prompts of Christmas - Prompt #6, a second entry

A flashback

***********************

Dee ruffled absent-mindedly through the stack of scarves on the thrift-store table. It's not like she had anybody to shop for. Over the past year, things had gone from bad to worse in her six-year marriage, and she knew it was her own damn fault. They weren't even living in the same borough any more. He was in Queens, and she was back in Manhattan, sharing an apartment with her sister. The only time they saw each other was at the counseling sessions.

Well, there was no way she could afford Manhattan prices for Christmas presents, so she had grabbed a train for Queens to check out the thrift stores, hopeful for something new and sister-ish or mom-ish. She'd been doing this every Saturday since Thanksgiving.

She sidled over to the sweater rack. She always checked out the sweater rack. She never really knew what she was looking for, but somehow she kept gravitating to the sweaters.

There was a time when sweaters were really important. God, don't go there. Don't think about it, Dee!

Too late. She could see it all play out again in her mind's eye. Just like always. She felt like the worst human alive when she remembered their last Christmas.

-

It was a test. He was supposed to fail. She felt completely justified. There were never gifts during the year. Just one on her birthday, and one for Christmas. It was obvious he never bought them himself. They were always his sister's taste, always in a Macy's box, and always one-size-fits-all. His sister worked at Macy's. Come on, Lou. Can't you be even a little original?

It shouldn't hurt so much. She knew he was working temp during the day, rehearsing with the band every night, and performing every weekend. Sure, his schedule was packed. But that doesn't mean you treat your intimate like a chore that you delegate to your sister. You obviously don't care, and honestly, I hardly care any more either.

This year, she was as obvious as she could get. Of course he won't have picked up the hint—he never has before.

"You know, Lou, it gets so chilly at the dance studio. I need a cotton sweater that I can just drape over my shoulders, but that can button up the front as a top. I've looked around, but I haven't seen one that does the job. I see it in holiday red. And chunky cables with pockets, like those Irish sweaters. Oh well. Maybe after Christmas I can check out the sales." She couldn't have been more obvious. And when he failed, it would be a relief to finally let him know the hurt that had been building up.

Christmas morning. Just the two of them, sitting under their little tree.

Lou held out a large box to her. He was obviously pleased with himself. She pretended to look excited. Gotta give him credit—he's putting on a good show.

She's opening the box, folding back the tissue paper, and all she can see is red. Fire-engine red. Lipstick-red. Holiday red. Cable knit. Cotton. With big pretty buttons. Oh, God. And pockets. Size six. No!!

She unfolds the sweater and holds it up. She's trembling. She feels flushed. Lou is saying something.

"...I looked all over for it. I finally found it in a little boutique in Great Neck when we had our show up there."

No!! He wasn't supposed to find it. He wasn't supposed to look. He never tried. He never listened. Tears were streaming down her face. Her throat was thick. She started breathing faster, choking. It's perfect!! It's God-damned perfect!!

"It's all wrong!" She pushed it off her lap. The hurt on Lou's face was like he'd been pierced by a thousand daggers. Dee stared blindly through her tears. This wasn't supposed to happen like this. Now you will never know how you hurt me!

"I-I-I can't! It's just all wrong! Take it! I don't want it! Give it to your sister!"

She sprang up and ran out of the room and locked herself in the bathroom.

-

Dee was practically throwing the sweaters along the rack, one after the other, not really seeing them. Tears streamed down her face. All she could see was colors. Purples. Blues. Greens. Red.

Red.

There was a red sweater on the rack. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve.

There was a red cotton sweater on the rack. Fire-engine red. With buttons. Cable-knit. And pockets.

Could it be?

Size six. Oh, Lou. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. Why couldn't I just tell you? Why did I have to hurt you like that?

-

Dee bought the sweater. She wore it every day. At first it was a way of punishing herself. But she really did love the sweater. She was wearing it at their next meeting with the marriage counselor.

"Dee." Lou nodded curtly. Then he registered what she was wearing. He raised an eyebrow.

"Lou. I'm going to tell you about it when we go in." She took a shaky breath, her voice sounding very small to her own ears. "You have to know—It was perfect. There's so much we need to say, but this... this was perfect. And I'll never forget that."

THE END