Chapter Text
Christmas time is here
Happiness and cheer
Fun for all that children call
Their favorite time of year
1968
“Schroeder, Honey. Wake up, Dear.” The voice followed a creaking door opening to reveal a pitiful boy in his silent bedroom, letting in the first semblance of light he had seen in fifteen hours.
Schroeder had been sleeping a lot recently. Between worried looks they thought he couldn’t see, Charlie and Franklin joked that he was “hibernating” for the coming winter.
It was the week before Thanksgiving, usually Schroeder’s favorite time of the year, and of course it still was, he loved the cold that drove everyone inside to sit by the fire and watch cartoons while he could sit in the other room at his piano playing the tacky Christmas songs he secretly loved, but something was… off.
The moment immediately after one wakes up, the world is a mystery. What happened yesterday, or last week, or three weeks ago at the drive-in on Halloween? Nothing. Blissful, calm, Lucy-less nothing. Then it all returns at once and you wish you’d just remembered in the first place because now you know why late autumn feels nothing like it normally does.
Schroeder sat up to signify that his mother could exit without fear of him missing the first period bell.
Why was his relationship with Lucy affecting his mood for such an extended period of time? He brushed his teeth. Where was Lucy right now? He put on his school clothes. Did she miss him as sorely as he missed her? He stopped where he stood in the kitchen, breakfast in hand, on the brink of a new realization. Nevermind. Was Lucy still mad or was she just avoiding him out of awkwardness? He left for school.
His friends continued to tip-toe around him all day, now that baseball was over they had little else to do than hyperfixate on what they had been referring to as “The Lucy Situation” and congratulate Frankie on the Minnesota State scholarship offer he had received the week before. The tiny school was almost silent, a great feat for its thin walls and rowdy students on a day so close to finals and break. The kids had off from school that Thursday and Friday for Thanksgiving, so spirits were high… just unusually quietly. Schroeder was probably imagining it.
That persisting silence extended into lunch, settling painstakingly around him as he dragged his tired eyes over material covered in classes months before, his line of sight drifting to black hair and a brown sweater with pumpkins around the neck that sat at a table with noticingly only other girls, loafers tapping the floor in a way that he could almost feel reverberating to the tempo of his own heartbeat. Schroeder wrote another symphony for her in his head, committing it to paper in the margins of a school-owned textbook. The Great Pumpkin Waltz, he later titled it.
It was only at the end of that dry, that frigid November afternoon, that sound came back into his ears and he saw a little color in what remained of the leaves.
The blonde was leaving for the evening, zipping up his coat and wishing Charlie good luck with the abstinence talk he was planning to give his little sister (abstinence from Linus van Pelt, specifically) when he opened the back door, a short-cut to the parking lot, and found a familiar scowl waiting for him. He had never been more relieved in his life.
“I thought you said you didn’t smoke.”
“I don’t.” She nodded at him from where she leaned against the brick half-wall, partially blocking his path forward, cigarette in-hand.
“They’re from your locker.”
“They’re- what? When?” He patted down his pockets to see that his box of Camels had in fact been stolen.
“Didn’t you get my note?”
“What note?”
Her glare deepened, withholding information like an international spy.
“Lucy, what note?”
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter. Happy Thanksgiving.” Lucy looked hurt, once again for reasons Schroeder didn’t completely understand.
He couldn’t let her get away again.
“Luce, wait.” She turned, squeezing her eyes shut for the briefest second, then,
“Do you want to come to Thanksgiving dinner?” She said it quickly, her lips only brushing over the words like they burned her to say.
Schroeder’s face scrunched in confusion, “What?”
“That’s what the note asked. You and your parents, do you want to have Thanksgiving dinner with my family and I on Thursday?”
“Yes.” He was so desperate that the absurdity of the conversation was lost on him for the moment.
“Aren’t you working, though?” After a pause, “Aren’t I?”
“We’ll eat there, I have it all planned out. Just show up. Please.”
She was obviously trying to make up with him. The boy's heart skipped a beat.
What choice did he have either way?
“Okay.” He nodded once and gave a small, peace-offering smile.
With that, she left him standing in the dreary cold, the situation unsolved and the blonde still confused, but with a spark of hope strong enough to keep the frostbite off should it snow right where he stood.
The boy didn’t even consider an ulterior motive.
—
Thursday came around quicker than he’d expected, and with a new song to play and the opportunity to make peace with Lucy imminent, Schroeder got out of bed earlier than he had in weeks. That morning, his mother handed him a modern-style suede suit for the occasion. She was more than a little excited at the prospects of being invited to dinner by a female friend of her son’s. His dad even grunted a good morning, an omen of good fortune. Over his eggs the young man breathed a premature sigh of relief.
The day’s brief sunlight was waning when Schroeder led his mother and father from their car into The Lexington.
“This is a nice place.” Richard seemed impressed, and Schroeder failed to suppress his quiet glee.
“How much you make in an hour?”
“A dollar fifty.”
“Huh.” Gears were almost visibly turning in the man’s head.
“I don’t see why you and Lucy couldn’t have just taken off today.” His mom huffed as they gave their coats to the greeter.
“Because - I’ll just take mine, thanks Nolan. - Lucy’s paid hourly on top of tips today, and it’s in my contract to perform on holidays.” He lied through his teeth, he’d had off for Thanksgiving. Lucy was wrong about his schedule, but he’d sure as hell asked to come in after her proposal.
“Hard working, that Miss van Pelt.”
It almost felt like a compliment towards himself.
“Well, you’re both staying home for Christmas.” His mother huffed before her face brightened at the sight of the van Pelts sat waiting for the Feltons at a dark wood table for eight.
“Where’s the waitress herself?” Luckily, the blonde’s similarly-haired mom voiced this concern for him after her initial reunion with the girl’s parents.
“Oh, she’s off working. She promised to eat with us, don’t worry Schroeder.”
Lucy’s mother had greyed a bit in four years, both in skin and hair, but the leathery woman still smiled in the same quiet, understanding manner she’d had when he was a kid.
They exchanged pleasantries, Schroeder was able to slip away after a quick hello, taking note of more than one person’s absence as he fled.
No one acknowledged Rerun. As well as Schroeder knew that he wouldn’t come, it still felt wrong to celebrate with an unset place at the dinner table. He wondered if this is how Lucy felt at every night’s dinner since she was eight.
Still no sign of the girl as the boy sat down at his piano. Granted, the place was pretty busy for a holiday that’s supposed to be about home cooking and sitting around the fireplace with loved ones, but times were a-changing and Schroeder had the great pleasure of extra insecurity in his playing now that his and Lucy’s parents were all about to hear him perform for the first time since middle school.
Schroeder took his place and breathed the usual cleansing breath, a telltale sign, Lucy had pointed out once, that he was nervous. He warmed a little at the thought.
He started off with his newest, The Great Pumpkin Waltz, then switching over to a little seasonal Tchaikovsky, and finally his Raven, a classic. He must have been feeling sentimental… or just forlorn.
The clapping was modest and kind, with an air of enthusiasm from some more than others. He smiled, bowed, and returned to where his family sat, more anxious than he had been before his shift.
“You played The Raven.” Immediately, he noticed that Lucy had joined the group and was sat next to her mother and brother, leaving the spot in front of her open to the boy.
She must have switched outfits, her all-black work uniform exchanged for a confident, brown skirt and jacket to go with a cream colored, bow-tying blouse underneath. The two kids were, humiliatingly, almost matching.
“I did.” Was all he said, taking his seat and nodding to his father across the table, wordlessly.
“You haven’t played The Raven since we were fourteen.” He realized with a gulp that she was right.
It was like the girl had fallen into a state of shock, a piece of her well-laid battle plan gone array.
“How special! It’s so great to hear you play again, Schroeder. You’re still so wonderful! Isn’t he, Anthony?”
“Yes, yes. Great work.” Lucy’s father was a disinterested man, Italian in features but Lucy in eye color, wearing a rumpled work suit and eyebags that gave one the impression that he’d just escaped hell’s human resources office.
He eyed Schroeder’s own dad like a model car, with his fresh blazer and sharp cologne.
Food was already on the table, an identical plate of turkey, mashed potatoes, boiled vegetables, and a buttered roll at every place, no doubt the ordering of his stubborn mother.
“That family in the green over there tipped me a whole five extra dollars for complimenting the mother’s broach.” Lucy was nervously making conversation, an endeavor Schroeder couldn’t help but admire her for.
Not enough to partake himself, of course.
“Do you have any aspirations beyond being a waitress, young lady?” The question came pointedly from the blonde’s father, his way of telling the girl across the table that he was fed up with this particular subject.
“Lucy’s going to be a lawyer’s assistant like I was before I was married.” Her mother bobbed her head proudly.
Lucy’s neutral expression never faltered.
Surprisingly her father raised his eyes for the first time to chime in,
“Or a doctor.”
Schroeder’s father gave an almost-inaudible scoff at that. Lucy remained unreadable.
“Yes, well, she’s an ambitious girl either way. Very bright.” Schroeder’s mother did her best to divert attention before anyone could retaliate against her husband’s mockery.
It was odd, being talked about as if you weren’t there. Schroeder tried unsuccessfully to catch Lucy’s eye.
“Schroeder’s quite the genius as well. I assume he will be studying music?” Schroeder had never known Mrs. van Pelt to be a cruel woman. That is, until now.
“No, no, of course not. He’ll be on a sports scholarship and studying business. Far more sensible than music.”
“Oh, what a shame. He has such a talent and-” Before her mother could finish, Lucy finally spoke.
“Are you deaf?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard him play, correct, Mr. Felton?
To Schroeder’s horror, the debate club tactics were being employed.
“Yes, Young Lady, I did. That doesn’t change-”
“He was recruited, you know. People come here just to hear him play.”
“Recruited? By who?” Schroeder’s mother turned to speak directly to him for the first time that evening.
However, Lucy wasn’t letting anyone else finish a sentence.
“How can you not believe in your own son? How can you do this, sending him off to do something he doesn’t care about when you know how great he could be. How great he already is.” She finally let her gaze rest on Schroeder for just a second.
He knew then that all was forgiven. Eye for an eye, something like that. He should be upset that she’d exposed his recruitment, but they were even now, and he could lie once they’d returned home.
“Lucille, please.” Her father growled low.
Schroeder was catapulted back into reality. Mortification filled his stomach, turning the turkey to cement.
This was it. Her big “I’ll get him to change his mind.”
How right he had been when he told her nothing would work on the man.
“You heard him. He wrote almost all of that performance himself, you know.”
“You did? Schroeder, you must tell me about that process-” Lucy’s mother’s final attempt at diplomacy, turning to Schroeder with a face saying, “make her shut up, please”.
They all knew nothing would stop the girl until she’d made her point.
“I- he deserves something more than what you want for him!” Her face was red at this point, her volume loud enough to elicit a frown from the manager across the dining room.
Maybe this outburst was about more than just him. All the anger on his own behalf faded away at the thought. They were one in the same, Lucy and him. The two understood each other in a way no one else wanted to. Inconveniences, they were. Too much yet too little.
He found himself smiling.
“Lucille, go back to work.” It was her mother this time; Schroeder had never heard anyone use her real name seriously before that day.
Lucy looked like she was going to continue to protest, but her eyes shifted up and caught the eyes of the boy across the table, grinning like he was the princess she’d won in battle.
Everything would be fine.
He didn’t need his father’s approval to conduct his life.
The simple realization stayed with him for the rest of time, all because that fantastic girl had decided he was worth sticking up for.
He looked down to avoid getting scolded for his pleased expression as Lucy excused herself from the table.
That night, he counted his earnings with the notion that he just might have to pay for school all on his own.
—
A quiet truce had been forged. The two would attend school, glance at each other's backs in the hallway, praying the other would turn around. They would go to work, smile from across the room, and say nothing more than what was necessary, and go their separate ways.
Really, it was a stalemate.
Shyness was not something Schroeder expected from Lucy (or himself in relation to her), but autumn drifted wistlessly into winter, and that’s what he got.
Luckily, it didn’t last too long. He knew in the back of his mind that it couldn’t have, knowing Lucy.
It was eight at night, and Schroeder was finally clocking out. He pressed his time card into the machine and took his leave, his hooded coat buttoned as high as it went. Fist closing around the freezing metal door handle, the boy wished not for the first time that especially-cold winter that he had gloves. It was this wish that enveloped his mind as he retreated into the parking lot, getting only a few steps into the dark expanse of concrete before he heard his name yelled from The Lexington's staff-exit door. Well, not his name, rather,
“Beethoven!”
He squinted in the dark,
“Lucy? Wha-” That’s all he could get out before the girl was before him, jumping up to hug the taller, bewildered boy.
Her grip was strong, stronger than his own, probably, but the blonde didn’t mind. If anything, it was better to conserve heat in the freezing weather, he thought as his body reached its highest recorded temperature at their points of contact. He wrapped the arm she didn’t have locked at his wide around her back, resigning himself to whatever twisted fate this was.
She let him go after the longest minute in history, only moving away by a few inches.
There they stood unmoving, Lucy staring up at him like he’d personally hung the moon.
What is going on? It was becoming a common question.
“I got in.” The girl said quietly, like the message was sacred and fragile, a bubble ready to burst at any second.
“To Columbia?” He immediately recognized the familiar triumphant grin that illuminated the night.
“Yes.” Even quieter.
“Lucy… holy shit… that’s-”
“I know!” She squealed and hugged him again, too quick this time for the boy to react.
“Well, don’t look so shocked.” Her smile faltered like she really valued his opinion.
“I’m not. I knew you’d get in. I’m just- wow. Lucy, I’m so happy for you.” He gave a lopsided grin, brushing off the statement like it didn’t bring tears to the girl’s eyes and a swell to her full heart.
“I don’t know how I’ll be able to pay, let alone interview for financial aid.” She looked down, her posture sagging.
It must have been the cold air that made him do it, but he took Lucy’s gloved hand (because of course she’d thought to wear gloves) and squeezed it once before letting go.
“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out.”
“We?” She glanced up then, her face a mix of a smirk and something more genuine, more fond.
“Fine, I’ll figure it out on your behalf.” He joked.
The black haired girl grinned madly,
”That’s more like it.”
Schroeder only rolled his eyes and laughed once before giving a final congratulations and offering the girl a ride home, which she graciously accepted.
Nothing was finished or fixed, but for now, all was well again.
—
In quiet conversation, the two discussed between waiting tables and performances, rides home and passing in hallways just what their plans were. Both kids were deliberately going against their parent’s wishes, in looking into alternatives to the path that had been created for them, but also in discussing anything at all. The blonde boy’s father had taken to a quiet sort of hatred towards Lucy, and would practically seethe when her name was brought up in conversation. He didn’t take criticism well. In his son’s defense, Schroeder had warned Lucy about this the first time she’d brought up defending his honor.
And that was a whole other beast. The train of thought returned to him for the millionth time since Thanksgiving, this time during a particularly boring economics final exam.
Lucy had defended his honor, however unsuccessful the initial goal was, and in doing it, helped him grasp the idea of his independence.
Whenever he thought too much about it, Schroeder’s insides got all squeamish and he started to feel his neck heat up.
People didn’t do things like that, selfless things. But, he supposed, that was Lucy’s nature, to put all above herself, to get her way through any means, especially if her “way” was helping someone she cared about.
Someone she cared about.
He was someone she cared about. What a thought, that someone like Lucy could care about quiet, moody Schroeder Felton.
Okay, this was not helping. The heat was creeping onto his cheeks now.
Perhaps even more than his undeniable pleasure in being championed, was the happiness he felt in the notion that Lucy had taken the time to stand up for herself, even if indirectly. He supposed that was his job, as someone who she cared about and someone who cared about her.
He frowned, eyes still blurring somewhere between the chalkboard and the clock ticking down to Christmas break hanging above it.
How was he to defend her back, the girl who was her own protector, the advocate for all? He would certainly defend her honor if her own parents ever broached the topic of their daughter’s potential in the boy’s presence, but he doubted that would happen.
There had to be another way to support her, to repay… no, to return the care she’d shown him. To reciprocate with something other than words. Music was far superior to words, but what use is music to a girl who he’d write a symphony for at the drop of a hat?
This had to be special, something he couldn’t just create.
Actions speak louder than words… or melodies, in this case.
He most definitely failed his economics final, but an idea had taken root in his mind by the time the high school had been let out for break.
—
Christmas Eve was festive, even in a house as stoic as the Felton’s. The entirety of Saint Paul was as holly-jolly as it got. Multi-colored string lights were everywhere, decorating houses (including his own), street signs, the Lexington’s piano one evening before Schroeder shut that down. Second only to the ambiance of autumn, Schroeder could never deny his love for the Christmas season. It had snowed twice since school had let out, burying the world in pure white, a blank canvas, a new start. They were about a foot buried as of the night before, and Charlie had dragged the boy out to build a snow fort for nostalgia’s sake earlier in the day.
That night, Schroeder sat by the fire and observed its flickering dance to the Nat King Cole record that drifted lightly from the kitchen. Somewhere in town, he thought somewhat sadly, there was a group of kids preparing for the Christmas Pageant with a tiny tree and an enthusiastic little girl to rally them together.
He smiled at the memory but felt a little sick at the thought of that same girl, all grown up and in his living room exactly… he glanced at the clock, one hour. They’d just finished dinner and though it was awfully late, as his mother had grumpily pointed out, Lucy wouldn’t be home from her family’s annual Christmas visit to Rerun until ten.
She had insisted on seeing him that night, lamenting,
“Christmas is strictly a religious holiday in the van Pelt household. The only reason we don’t stay with Rerun for Christmas Day is because of Mass. We don’t belong to any church in Minneapolis.”
Lucy had previously explained during one of their more vulnerable car rides home from work that her mother had gone through some sort of anti-religious spell after Rerun’s diagnosis, but seems to have recovered her faith since, much to Lucy’s inconvenience.
So, here he was, waiting for his mother to finish putting away the mashed potato leftovers and retreat to bed like his father minutes ago, all so the boy could make a fool out of himself.
Dinner hadn’t been half bad. Sometimes, if he squinted, Schroeder could pretend his family was normal, and in many ways they were. A mother who cooked and wore heels, a father who worked hard at the office and beat his son at home, and a quiet, obedient son. Unfortunately, that son harbored no love for finance or football. He supposed to some, a more supportive few, this might be just as normal. He’d given up wishing for those people long ago. Dinner that particular night had been nice, though. Warm and enjoyable, his Dad had even laughed at one of his sarcastic jokes. His Mother never looked happier than she did at Christmas, treating Schroeder as if he were just a little boy with talk of presents and Santa.
He wished he could help her now, putting away washed forks and plates, but she’d insisted on doing the task alone. It was days like these, when he was home with nothing to do but play for her while his father was away and the stores were too packed with last minute shoppers to get her groceries (she’d gotten them days before, anyhow), that he really loved his mom. She was slight and generally unopinionated, everything the other woman in his life was not, but he played to the same rapturous applause and fierce support from both. His mother was his quiet advocate, and her son was more grateful for her than he could admit. Maybe the holidays were making him sappy.
He sighed, sappy was more than he could handle with the nerves tying knots in his stomach.
Finally, his mother clicked off the kitchen lights so that the only illumination in the living room came from the glowing, heavily ornamented Christmas tree and a faint yellow light from the distant entryway. He stepped into the other room and played a simple tune in the dark as he waited, just to keep his fingers busy.
The boy glanced up as he heard a polite knock on the door, the visitor not daring to use the bell at that time of night. His intestines seemed to jump and his eyes grew wide. He crept towards the sound, looking over his shoulder to the stairs, paranoid about his sleeping parents and their insistence that the kids’ gift exchange be “quick and brief”.
A final adjustment to his sweater and regret over his wool socks and informal pants turned into a wish that he’d made more of an effort as he opened the door to find a vision in blue.
Her nose and cheeks were rosy, her hair held behind a pair of homemade, knit earmuffs, and her shaking body perfectly fitting a festive dress under a light blue peacoat. The boy felt like he’d been the one outside, losing the feeling in his fingers and toes, his face glowing red.
“Are you gonna invite me in or keep staring at my runny nose?”
“I- Yes! Come in, sorry. I’m… sorry.”
She looked up at him, laughing lightly as she stepped inside. She shrugged off her coat and handed it to him after pulling out a gift wrapped in a deep purple, his favorite color. He hadn’t told her that.
God, I’ll never be able to beat her. Schroeder was losing their little, secret game more and more each day.
“Huh. Your house is nice from this entrance." She surveyed the living room, grinning at the excessive decorations.
“My mom likes Christmas.”
“I can see that. I remember some of this from when we were little.” She grabbed a stuffed elf from the mantle and raised its little hand to wave at Schroeder as he took a tentative seat on the couch.
“No, come sit here, under the tree.”
She placed her gift in the pile, right atop a present addressed to his father in his mom’s tidy handwriting.
The blonde rolled his eyes with a smile and took a seat on the carpeted floor beside Lucy, the girl twisting away from him to warm her hands by the fire. It took all he had in him to clear his throat instead of staring again while the light outlined her shining form.
When she turned back, she frowned,
“Where’s my gift? You didn’t forget did you?” He had to tread carefully here.
“No, I got you something… just, how about you go first?” He gestured towards his gift.
“Okay…” Lucy narrowed her eyes as if he wasn’t quite out of the woods and she expected something spectacular.
Well, she would get it.
“Here.” Her fiery gaze changed to excitement as she picked up the rectangular package and handed it over.
There was no label, instead a “Beethoven” written in marker over an entire side of the wrapping.
He opened it gingerly, wanting to cherish the moment.
Finally he pulled away the lady piece to reveal,
A book.
Not just any book.
He read,
“Making Music Your Own, A Lined Musical Composition Book for Professional Composers".
He could have cried. And he did, a small tear that he wiped away before the girl even caught notice, or if she did, she didn’t say anything.
It was perfect. Thoughtful and practical, just what he knew what to do with, something he could use and think of her. Perfect.
“Lucy… I-”
“Great, right? I had to search three stores.”
“Yes. Great.” He knew he sounded stupid but he was stumped, no words felt like enough. How could he express all he felt? All he’d been feeling, he realized.
What was he getting himself into with the girl?
“My turn!” Lucy sat up, putting her hands in her lap expectantly.
“Should I close my eyes while you go get it?”
“Oh, sure, yeah.” He hadn’t expected to give her the present right away, maybe explain himself first, but this could work too.
“Wait here.”
The boy was practically flipping up the stairs, his anxiety almost blinding. Grabbing behind his dresser, he felt the envelope in his hand and suddenly it all became real. He was really doing this. She was really going to do this. The thought alone was enough to motivate him to complete his mission.
“Okay, open.” He placed the stuffed paper in her open palms.
“What…?” She opened the envelope to see stacks of bills, the countless nights of tips and paychecks from various gigs and The Lexington, blood sweat and tears over months.
“Schroeder, I-” She looked confused, almost hurt.
He realized what it must look like.
“Lucy, wait, listen.” She peered down, her eyebrows still furrowed.
“Hear me out,” He placed a desperate hand on her arm, causing her to glance up at once, “Please, Lucy.”
“Okay.” She sat back, setting the money down, suddenly solemn.
One hundred better ways to have done this flashed in his mind, but it was too late. He just had to salvage what he could, he would beg her to accept the money if he had to.
It was reckless to give away the entirety of his savings, he knew that, but he didn’t quite care because didn’t Lucy deserve it more than anyone? He’d do anything to get her what she deserved, just as he knew she’d do for him. Step one was to get her to New York, and he could do it. So he did.
“You need to interview for financial aid at Columbia, and you were all worried about it, so much so that you got that little line in your forehead whenever I saw you, so I thought ‘Hey I can figure out this whole paying for college thing when it comes time, but Lucy’s in right now… so’. Now you can go to New York, at least for a day or two! And I know it’s stupid and a bad gift, but I’ve never been very good at gift giving so I guess the real gift here is returning your face to its regular state. Not regular, I don’t mean to say your face is regular, it’s pretty! I just-”
And then his life changed irreparably. Forever. Never to be the same again. It was like a flip had switched, a giant, bright red and flashing switch that said “Oh, so this is what that was!”
Lucy’s face was on his, her hands on the back of his head, in his hair, as he stumbled backward, his seated position not secure. He couldn’t have cared less. Apparently, neither could Lucy, because she kissed him until his hands were around her waist and he suddenly felt a wetness on his cheek. She removed herself from him, and in his frazzled state, it took a moment to realize the girl was crying.
“Hey,” He guided her up and to the couch, an arm around her shoulders as she cried into his neck, the lights from the tree reflecting colors that made her tears glisten.
“I’m fine, I’m so sorry, Schroeder. It’s not you, you’re perfect. You get me this beautiful, thoughtful gift, and I cry because my boyfriend broke up with me a month ago. I’m a mess right now, I’m so sorry for whatever that was. I'm sure it was uncomfortable for you. I’m sorry, I’ll leave.”
“No, no, Lucy, sit down.”
She sat silently, wiping residual tears and looking paler than she ever had, even in the dead of a Minnesota winter.
“You and Shermy broke up? Why?” He asked before thinking better of it and quickly backtracked,
“Sorry, I didn’t mean- I meant to ask, are you okay?”
She smiled weakly, and he was in pieces.
“I will be.”
The two stared for a little bit, but no jokes came this time. Longing stuck like an icicle in his heart.
“I’d better be getting home, it’s late.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“No, I’m okay, Schroeder, really. I don’t know how to repay you for the money. You’re perfect, Merry Christmas.” She smiled and all he wanted to do, gutterally, more than anything in the world, was to take her back into the beautiful light and kiss her downturned mouth until it turned back up.
Instead, he let her leave without another look back.
“You’re perfect, Merry Christmas.”
Schroeder’s Christmas was anything but merry.