Christmas Date

by Sharon Mollerus

She answered two ads that day. One read: “SHM ~35 loves camping, commitment, church, children.” The other was: “SWM 55+ tender, experienced, always single, books and travel.”

With José, she camps and hikes in national parks. They stand at the base of an enormous redwood, old as sin, and try to see the top through the mottled sunlight. They sing for choir practice Thursday night, attend community church Sunday morning and have brunch with the congregation at the coffee shop. He wraps her close to his chest, a field of black curls, and she’s always the first to let go.

With Darren, she flies to the Cayman Islands and Cabo San Lucas, packing her bikini and high heels. When he asks what she’s reading, she recites the back cover of a New York Times Bestseller paperback. He is sparse of flesh and hair, and his bones creak at the hinges. He winds her in close and spins her back out.

The day before Christmas, Darren buys her a dress with a pearl-beaded bodice. At José's that afternoon, they drink spiked eggnog by the lighted tree with clinging tinsel and a manger beneath, and the Christ Child waits aside in a box until starlight. That evening over a candlelit French dinner in a private suite, Darren tells her he’ll always love her and never possess her. Christmas morning, José processes out the mute figure, drops him from the sky into the trough, and proposes with a tri-diamond ring.

On Christmas afternoon, she returns to her one-bedroom flat, where there are no pictures on the wall, no food in the cupboard, and no presents. She makes no phone calls and gets none. As she naps on the sofa, the afternoon sun slides back down behind the hills. At dusk, she wakes to see the colored bulbs blinking along the street, making lighted bridges of the houses. The reindeer lift up over the lawns with silver bells on their harnesses, elves labor with mechanical hammers, and giant kings process with heavy golden gifts. She pulls the shade down and orders a miniature pizza, diet coke and salad for home delivery.

She takes a walk as she waits for dinner and meets her neighbor: SWM, 44, just divorced, interested in music and sailing. Jim plays sax, teaches music history at the junior college, and spends Sundays on his boat with his two school-aged children. He wants a companion for weekend evenings when he performs at the clubs.

2005