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If given the choice, Lucy would not go home for the holidays. And yet she had to. Rerun, her youngest brother, needed her badly. He had never said so, but she knew. No one would be happy alone with Mr. van Pelt on Christmas Day as he drank his way to believing his wife would come back home.
Lucy told Schroeder this at their “college kid” Thanksgiving. As Lucy’s roommate, Mary, carved Oscar Mayer turkey, Lucy had plainly stated, “I’m going back to St. Paul for Christmas.” To her amusement, Schroeder hadn’t even looked up from the roll he was buttering.
“I’ll drive.”
Lucy had practically flown around the dining room table in her haste to get to the young composer. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” She kissed his cheek, and Mary sent her a knowing look, which made her blush and smile. Schroeder wiped her lipstick off of his cheek as she took a seat next to him.
“Be at my dorm, 8:00 am sharp, on the fifteenth. And bring coffee.”
“10:00, you pick me up at Grand Central Station, and I pay for coffee there.”
“Okay. 10:00, but you take a taxi here. With coffee.”
“Fine, my dearest darling. It shall be so, according to your will. I exist only to obey the great William Schroeder, savior of classical music and friend of the little man— The man without a ride to see his dysfunctional family during the holidays.”
“Oh, brother.” Mary and Rick, Schroeder’s roommate, began to laugh.
“Man, I wish I had a chick like you do,” Rick snorted in an oafish manner.
“I don’t ‘have’ Luc—“
“He doesn’t have me,” Lucy said with a glare.
“Be that as it may, you can't deny that taking a girl home for the holidays is pretty romantic,” Mary suggested, a smirk toying with her lips.
“I can deny it, actually,” Schroeder said. “It’s not at all romantic. We literally grew up as next-door neighbors. There is no reason for me to not take her home. It's a long drive, and I wouldn't want her out in the middle of nowhere at 3 in the morning. That’s a recipe for disaster, especially given Lucy’s penchant for disaster.”
“Besides,” Lucy interjected, “it’s always better to have two people during a road trip. If not, who would read the map? You don’t want Schroeder getting lost.”
“Some pretty undeniable facts there, Mary,” Schroeder finished.
“And you claim you’re not dating,” Mary responded dryly.
“Sure seemed like you collaborate really well,” Rick added.
“Hypocrites,” Schroeder mumbled under his breath. Lucy let out a short laugh, high and crystalline. Maybe , Schroeder thought, it wouldn't be too bad to spend a road trip with her if she keeps on laughing.
✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾
Lucy arrived at Schroeder’s apartment at 10:25 in the morning, holding two coffees with a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She wore tan corduroys with a faded, threadbare sweater, and her hair was messy due to her nap on the train, but her blue eyes were as piercing as ever, making Schroeder’s brain short-circuit a bit.
“You ready?” Lucy asked plainly.
“You were supposed to be here twenty-five minutes ago.”
Lucy shrugged. “You were the one who chose to live in Manhattan.”
“And you were the one who chose the time of your train’s departure.”
“You were the one who demanded coffee.”
“Yes, but as well as demanding coffee, I offered to drive you for nearly twenty-four hours.”
“Not in a row, hopefully.”
“You know, I can just stay home— I’ve got a psychology midterm after break that’s supposed to be a killer.”
“No, no,” Lucy protested, allowing partial defeat. “I’ll be good.”
“Great. Car’s downstairs.” He seemed to register the beverages at last. “Do I need to make my coffee before I leave?”
Lucy shook her head, handing him the drink. “Three creams, one sugar. I know you.”
“And you have three sugars and one cream.”
“Great job! You know superficial trivia about me. Come on, let’s go.”
Once in the car, the two sat in traffic for about two hours before making it into suburban New Jersey. “You know, as much as I love the air outside of the city, I kinda miss the crowds.”
“I don’t care if there are crowds or not, I’m just happy about having fewer cars. Traffic–”
“Gives you headaches. I know, sorry about that.”
“When I move to New York, I suppose I’ll just take the subway.”
Schroeder turned to her swiftly. “When you move to New York?”
“You didn’t know about this? I’ve wanted to move there for a few years now. You know, it’s just the way I was born— I need to live somewhere fast-paced.”
“More like somewhere you could get murdered any second.”
Lucy grinned. “But you’ve got to admit that’s a little thrilling, right?”
“I thought you wanted kids. New York’s probably not the best place to raise them.”
Lucy shrugged. “Just because we grew up in the suburbs doesn’t mean our kids have to. You know, Schroeder, plenty of native New Yorkers grew up there. It’s what makes them native New Yorkers.”
Schroeder didn’t really pay attention to her last two sentences, his mind still reeling from Lucy’s mention of “our kids.” She probably just meant the next generation in general (Vassar had really brought social issues to the forefront of her thought) but for the first time in his life he sort of wished she had been talking about their kids. He didn’t want kids yet, of course, but he was beginning to suspect that he might want Lucy.
✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾
“I can’t believe that we’ve been driving for ten hours,” said Lucy, taking a sip of her Coke. “You know, we should probably start to look for motels now. There’s no rush to get home.”
“Truer words have never been spoken,” Schroeder agreed. He glanced over at the young brunette beside him, her expression clearly perturbed. “Hey,” he said, nudging her shoulder, “you need to vent?”
“It’s just that my dad’s— my dad’s issues have not gotten better as of late. We figured, ‘You know, it’s been eight years, he’ll be over it by now,’ but he isn’t. He’s still as broken as he was the week after mom left, and quite frankly I don’t think it’s that good for Rerun, or for Linus, or really for me.”
“Is Linus coming home for Christmas break?”
Lucy scoffed. “No. I don’t blame him, honestly, but there are certain things you do for family. Even if you know every bone— no, every cell in your body will hurt should you do it. Dad might have been absent for a while, but he still raised us. He provided us with food and clothes and toys, even when he and my mother were up until three in the morning fighting. It’s not like he meant to keep me up, too. And he definitely didn’t push my mother away, either. She left .
“I suppose she deserves credit where credit is due. She didn’t want to be my dad’s wife, and so she isn’t, and she didn’t want to be our mom either, and so she will never have been. She is my mother in the clinical sense only. And you know what really gets me angry?”
“Everything?” Schroeder guessed.
“Of course not. It’s that I want my mom to be home, you know? I’m sure you do. Not Emily, of course, she missed that chance. But I sort of wish my dad married again. I know I was a teenager during his normal healing period—God, I guess I still am— but I wouldn’t have been one of those ‘You’re not my real mom’ teenagers. You know, I know my real mom well— I’m more like her than I’d like to admit, and God, you’re easy to talk to.
“I forgot how easy to talk to you were! When we were teenagers, I was just thinking of, like, how to get you to take me to prom, but you’re so easy to talk to. And you have such pretty eyes and… I did not mean to say that last part.”
“It’s fine, Luce. Your eyes are pretty, too.”
“Why must you insult me so?”
“I’m telling the truth—”
“Look, Schroeder, I appreciate the sentiment. And I appreciate you letting me talk at you. God, that must have been a thousand words.”
“I’d guess closer to two hundred and eighty-six.”
“You want a turn? Get everything off your chest?”
“Sure. Might be healthy.” He paused, and Lucy looked at him expectantly. “Um, well, you know my mom died.”
“No…” Lucy deadpanned. She made a motion for him to go on.
“So, my dad remarried when I was sixteen, which you obviously know, since you were at the wedding. And Mila’s fine, I guess. She’s young, about eleven years younger than dad. She seemed really happy to marry him, too, which was great, and she was way better than my aunt, who you know was around after my mom died—”
“Aunt Pruneface, right?”
Schroeder laughed. “Yeah, that’s what you called her. But Mila is my mom’s carbon copy, just, you know, more German. She didn’t pressure me into show business, which is great, but at that point I already wanted to start building a good rep, which meant her main benefit was pretty useless to me at the time. And now, too.
“Yeah, I guess it’s mostly the age thing that bothers me. And, you know, my mom was only twenty-one when I was born. It kinda makes me feel like all my dad ever saw in my mom was her blonde hair, youth, and lack of professional ambition. I suppose Mila’s just a reminder of that. Yeah.”
Lucy smiled. “Well, I guess we just proved that I am much more loquacious than you.”
“I don’t think that’s much of a surprise.”
“I hope you do know that you can talk to me anytime. I like it when people feel like they can trust me.”
“Oh, so you can lure them into a false sense of security in order to bite their heads off?”
“Ha, ha. No, that’s not it. I guess I just like being useful.”
“I know what that’s like.”
“Yeah.”
A few moments of comfortable silence ellipsed between the two until pink neon lights hit the windshield.
“Motel ahead,” Schroeder said.
“Perfect.”
Schroeder pulled into a nearly empty parking lot. “Looks like the kind of place you’d be murdered,” he quipped, popping the trunk.
“We’re sharing a room if they have one with two beds.”
“So forward, Ms. van Pelt.”
“I was hoping to not die on my way home to see my baby brother and deeply troubled father, but if you think it would be improper…”
“Oh my God. Fine, Luce. But if the woman at the front desk looks at us weird, it’s not my fault.”
Lucy moved a ring on her middle finger to her left ring finger. “Now she won’t. See? We’re engaged.”
“Congratulations to us on our fake engagement. Now get your stuff.” Lucy pulled an overnight bag out of her duffel, and Schroeder grabbed his backpack. The two walked to the front desk, where a woman sat, chipping her nail polish.
“Hey,” Schroeder started, “Can we get a room for one night?” Lucy sent him a look. “Preferably one with two twin beds?”
Lucy’s ring farce seemed unnecessary, though, because the woman didn’t even look up from her nails. “Sure.” She spun her rolly chair with her feet, and walked to grab a key. “Have a nice day.”
“Two fifteen.” Schroeder read, leading Lucy to the stairs. He unlocked the door, and Lucy instantly laughed.
”Who decorated this room? My eyes are burning!”
The room was indeed ugly. It had neon-orange paneling nicely offset by white walls and bedspreads that seemed to be a patchwork of different shades of egregious pink. “No wonder it was so cheap.” Schroeder blinked rapidly, trying to rid his eyes of the hideous colors.
“Okay, I’m going to brush my teeth and shower and stuff. You can change in here, I’ll leave the key.” As Lucy closed the door, Schroeder began to wonder why he was hurting to be away from her for even a minute. He changed silently, pondering.
As kids, Lucy had always flirted with him. Shamelessly. She’d phased out of it by the time ninth grade rolled around, but she’d still come by his house until the summer after sophomore year. It hadn’t surprised anyone that they’d grown apart with age. They still hung out in group settings, and in senior year they realized they’d be the only person the other knew in New York state.
Schroeder had been the person who helped Lucy move, and Lucy repaid the favor by decorating Schroeder’s dorm in Manhattan. Spending Thanksgiving together had been obvious, as neither of them felt like going all the way back to St. Paul for the holidays.
Besides, Schroeder, for the first time ever, had missed Lucy. He felt better when she was around, and when she was gone he hurt— not enough to incapacitate him, but enough to make a difference. His mentor had begun to criticize him for a “lack of creative spectrum,” but Schroeder hadn’t yet understood what he meant.
God , he realized, those songs were about her. I’m in love with her, aren’t I? The sentiment hit him over the head quite suddenly. In five seconds, he started to understand something he supposed he’d known for a while now.
Three sharp knocks came from the door. “Schroeder, let me in. I promise I’m not a murderer.” Lucy came through the door, her hair sopping wet. She wore brown flannel pajamas, and took his breath away for the second time that day.
I’m in love with her, his heart rejoiced, she’s perfect.
“Ah! It’s so much worse than I remembered! God, my eyes recovered just in time to get hacked to death again. Well. I suppose it will be better with the lights off.” She flipped the overhead off, climbing into the bed farthest from the door.
“Um, could you keep a lamp on? I haven’t brushed my teeth yet.” A small lamp sent out its halo into the sacred night air, and Schroeder grabbed the key to go.
“Goodnight, Schroeder.”
“G‘night, Lucy.”
By the time he came back, Lucy was fast asleep. He gazed at her briefly in the lamplight, setting down the key. Before going to sleep, his last fleeting thought was simply, pretty.
✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾ ✾
Lucy arose in the sweet silver silence that is a winter morning. The air surrounded her—slightly chilly, like a cape made of ice crystals that had been lined with fur. She glanced over at the sleeping form across the room.
His hair seemed to be able to pick up the warmth of the sun, greedily sucking the golden light out from the rest of the room. Lucy got out of bed silently, padding across the tan carpeting. She touched his hair lightly, jolting suddenly when her sleep-ridden brain remembered the date.
“Schroeder!”
Schroeder had not been expecting such a harsh wake-up call. He blinked slowly, eyes adjusting to the hideously decorating room surrounding him. He felt elation all of the sudden because Lucy was standing in front of him. I love her, he thought. “Luce? What is it?”
“Happy Beethoven Day! Isn’t it tradition to give me gifts?”
“Isn’t it tradition for you to make me cupcakes, Lucy?” Schroeder loved to say her name now. Lucy, Lucy, Lucy. He could say it all day long.
“Well, I didn’t cook, but I have a granola bar in my bag. Did Beethoven like granola bars, Schroeder?”
“Probably not, but it will have to do.”
Lucy fished the granola bar out of her bag, and sat on Schroeder’s bed, unwrapping it. She split it evenly in half and gave him the bigger part.
“To Ludvig van Beethoven. May his music live on forever!” Lucy cheered.
“Hurrah!”
Schroeder moved the granola bar to his lips but stopped suddenly.
“What is it?” Lucy asked. “I didn’t poison these, you know.”
“I know.” He took a bite to please her, his eyes fixed on her face. “Lucy?” Lucy looked at him quizzically. “You’re really pretty.”
“Please, Schroeder, stop teasing me.”
“You’re insanely beautiful.”
“Say what you mean.”
“I say you’re pretty and I mean it. You’re pretty. Alright?”
Lucy smiled. “Fine.” They ate their granola bar halves in silence for a few more moments. “Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I kiss your cheek?”
“Sure.” Schroeder shuffled down the bed, leaned over, and kissed Lucy’s cheek lightly. She laughed softly.
“Schroeder?”
“Yeah?”
“Can I kiss you? Like, on the lips?”
“As in, a romantic kiss?”
“Yeah. That okay?”
“Definitely.”
Lucy leaned closer to him, her chapped lips drawing closer to his. She kissed him suddenly, and was met with a thrill of elation when Schroeder kissed her back. Lucy pulled away suddenly.
“That was a great Beethoven Day gift. I love December 16th even more now.”
“And I love you—” Schroeder paused in the middle of his sentiment. Lucy looked at him sharply. “What was that, Schroeder?”
“I’m in love with you. A little bit. I was in love with you last night, and I love you more today, and I think I’m going to become a little bit more in love with you every day for a long time. Is that… cool?”
Lucy smiled. “Yeah. I love you too, you know. I kind of thought that I didn’t have to say it.”
“So we’re in agreement,” Schroeder laughed.
“I suppose we are,” Lucy agreed.
“There is one thing that would make sure we were in agreement.”
“What?”
“You could kiss me again.”
“All you had to do was ask.” Lucy leaned in, and kissed Schroeder for what would only be the second time in a lifetime together.