Leaving Amy (Amy #2) (17 page)

“Tom,” I yelled out. He’d disappeared. I looked around for him.

The guy near me wearing the red toboggan yelled out, too. His nametag told me he worked there. “Tom.”

I laughed. He was a jovial kind of guy. He wore a sweater with a lit tree on it. I wondered how it worked. Where were the wires and did it keep him warm without a jacket? I became startled when he jumped, trying to look over the tall pines that were tied by their tops to overhead wires.

“Paging Tom. Your wife is by the spruce trees and needs your assistance.” He was drawing everyone’s attention with his megaphone volume.

Tom stepped around the front of the Fraser firs and looked at me. I bit my lip.
Had he heard this?
I’d pretend he didn’t so I didn’t have to act weird and correct the guy who was confusing politeness with awkwardness.

“Ah, Tom. I’m glad you found her. I think she likes this one.”

Tom nervously messed with his mustache. “Thank you. I see.” He looked at me. “Is this the one you’d like, dear?”

“One thing’s for sure, you always want to please the Mrs. And she has good taste. This is one of our best sellers. The sap isn’t as messy as the others.”

I wished that man would just go and light up somewhere else. Tom and I were not married and we were working through some other issues that involved sticky messes.

“I certainly do want to please her. After all, she’s the one who means the most.”

My lip was officially without feeling. I’d perhaps worn a hole right through the bottom set of my teeth.
Why was he playing along with this charade?

“I’d like this one. Is it all right with you?” I held it out for Tom to inspect.

“Whatever you want.”

Mr. Busybody picked up the tree and threw it over his back as though it were a baseball bat, dragging it to the netting machine. Tom paid the lady waiting at the register. She seemed permanently slumped-over and tired from the day.

“We’ll be right back. Can you hold onto it for a couple minutes?”

The poor woman nodded as she counted Tom’s change back to him.

“We won’t be long. We’re just going over to a pretzel shop.”

I clapped my hands like a toddler. It took very little to make me happy. Warm cinnamon and sugar glopped on a pretzel was one way to do it. I only got it once or twice a year, but it was heaven when I did.

My cheeks hurt from smiling at the girl who took Tom’s order in the pretzel shop.

“Is that all you want, Amy?”

I was confused. “Aren’t you getting one?”

“No, I’m fine. I might stop at Starbucks for something on the way home.”

He was such a party pooper. Plain black coffee. Who bothered to wait in the mile-long line at Starbucks for something you could get at McDonald’s? Tom had to get more variety in his life. A mocha latté or something else, for Pete’s sake.

“Okay then.” I felt my sore cheeks fall.

I took my warm and tasty pretzel from the guy who looked as if he was one foot out the door. He actually rolled his eyes when we walked in the deserted place. I guess he was hoping for the last hour he could text and check email. Perish the thought of waiting on customers.

“Thank you, Tom.” I smiled at him, but he was putting his dollar change back in his wallet and didn’t see me.

“Try it.” I held it up to his lips.

“Amy, I don’t want to.” He lightly pushed my arm away.

“Why have you become so quiet, Tom? Aren’t we having fun?”

He smiled at me. A smile that I knew was genuine. I could see that cute dimple on his cheek. It made me happy. “Of course I am.”

“Come on and try it.” I pushed it against his mouth, knowing once he tasted the sugar combination, he’d take a hunk out of it. Then we’d both be junkies and have to come more than once a year. That’d tick that little boy off. More customer visits to have to contend with.

“Amy—”

When he said it, I pushed it in his mouth. Tom McTavish wasn’t fooling me. He wanted a bite; he just didn’t know what he was missing.

He shut his mouth and chewed. A tiny smile crept under that mustache of his.
Success!

“I knew you’d like it!”

“I didn’t say I like it.” He wiped his mouth with the top of his hand.

“You know you do. Admit it.”

We stepped outside into the cold. I looked over and spied some sugar he’d missed on his mouth. I raised up my hand and started to wipe it. “Here, hold on a second. You missed some.”

That’s when it happened. He first looked into my eyes and then his gaze fell to my lips. And without any warning, he leaned forward and kissed me. I tasted the lingering cinnamon on his lips and felt a warm rush to my cheeks and other places. When I opened my eyes, he was back on his side.

My lips were still parted in shock. It happened so fast…was over so fast. I didn’t even see it coming. My hand was still holding my pretzel, although it looked like a wax figure—not moving, stiff, and white from the cold.

“Amy, I’m sorry.”

I couldn’t talk. But I had to say something. Not talking would draw attention that it was something big. It couldn’t be big. It was a mistake; I was sure he didn’t mean to do it.
What did he do
? Those were lips…they were just seconds ago on top of mine, right? I was pretty certain it was what it felt like it was. It just happened so quickly.

“That’s okay.”

That
’
s okay? What else was I supposed to say?

“It’s just you were—”

“It’s fine, Tom. Let’s go and get the tree before they close.”

I got in the car and waited while they tied it to the roof of his car. I forced myself to nibble the pretzel I had seconds ago waited for as if it were a free pony ride. I could see that this thing with Tom wasn’t going to work anymore.
When Harry Met Sally
was right. There was too much murkiness in the waters of friendship now. Sure, I knew and felt a passive suspicion Tom still liked me, but I thought that was over with months ago. And I shouldn’t have felt like warm pee was streaming down my leg when he kissed me. For goodness’ sakes, I had had more passionate kisses from Mark and didn’t remember that particular sensation. Other types for sure, but what the heck? And what was I saying? This was a “Uncle Tom is here to see you for Christmas; give him a peck on the lips” kind of kiss. Okay, so it wasn’t too uncle-like. Even still, there wasn’t even a tongue-to-tongue exchange made.

He got into the car and I held the remnants of my pretzel, thankful I had something to do with my hands.

“Listen, Amy, I don’t know what happened back there. The last thing I want is to have you feel uncomfortable with me.” He stared straight ahead—thankfully—and didn’t look my way.

“I don’t feel uncomfortable with you.” Little did he know, I felt more comfortable with him than I had with anyone. Weird kiss and all.

“I’m glad to hear that.” He took a deep breath and sucked in his stomach. We rode home with little to nothing to say.

After all the packages were brought in and Tom wrestled the tree in the house with slight help from me, I went to my room, feigning tiredness. The truth was I wanted to rip open all the packages and begin decking the halls. I just suddenly felt sad in my heart. Unsettled was maybe a better word. The whole thing with Tom creeping up again made me edgy. I couldn’t shake the moment for some reason. It kept knocking on my brain, switching on the replay button so I could relive it all over again in slow motion, until I could taste the cinnamon sugar and feel the pressure of his lips.
Make it stop.

I took a shower and waited until I didn’t hear anything downstairs. Usually he watched television before going to bed. There was no noise coming from the living room now.

I crept down the stairs and tiptoed into the living room, marveling at the massive tree in the corner. It looked so incomplete without lights, tinsel, and balls. Like a tall shrub loitering about, all dark and out of character. I needed to fix that. And Tom would appreciate the fact he didn’t have to help. Although he was a good sport about today, I felt he was aching to just call the party event planner and move out until it was all over with.

I was finished stringing the lights when I looked up and saw Tom in the middle of the room, watching me. I jumped and gasped out a small peep.

“Tom, you scared me. I thought you’d gone to bed. And I couldn’t sleep knowing there was a naked tree in your living room. I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, I couldn’t sleep. I had hoped a mindless hour or two of television would coax me to sleep.”

“I don’t think television is going to help you.” If I knew Tom the way I think I knew Tom, it was what happened back at the pretzel shop that was causing a malfunction in his REM state. And the sooner we hashed it out, the better. The last thing I needed was any kind of tension between us. He was literally the last person on this earth I could count on for normalcy.

“I think we should maybe talk about what happened.” I plugged the lights into the receptacle and stood back in awe. It was beautiful. It took ten strings of lights and the ladder from the pantry to complete it. I only almost lost balance three times. I’m such a klutz.

“It’s amazing, Amy.”

“Thanks. It’s not half bad, if I say so myself.” There was a mixture of white lights and multi-colored. A perfect blend. One strand blinked slowly, which made it particularly beautiful.

I climbed out from all the bags and tossed cardboard to go and stand where he was. After admiring the twinkling splendor, I escorted him over to the sofa.

He sat down, pulling at his pajama pants.

“So this is what you wear to bed.” I took a look at his ensemble.

He had always come to breakfast completely dressed. I imagined…well, never mind what I imagined he wore to bed. This was something I could believe. It was a white T-shirt (of course) with striped pajama bottoms. He wasn’t wearing socks. The image shocked me. He actually had feet that lived inside those shoes? New ones didn’t just snap onto the bottom of his legs every day?

“Yes, this is it.” He looked at me. “And this is what you wear?”

I, too, never came to breakfast without being completely dressed. And after I went to my room for bed, I usually stayed there. Now, I suddenly was aware I was in my gown. It went down past my knees; 100% cotton; the color, white as well; accompanied by a pair of bobby socks. I hated cold feet.

“Indeed it is.”

He shook his head.

“So, Tom, about what happened. I can’t afford to have any discomfort with us.” I looked at him, willing him to look back. He played with a string on the sofa. “What happened was…what would I call it? It was…it was…well, I’m not sure what it was, but it was a mistake.” I rubbed my hand on my gown.
Where was a pretzel when you needed something to do with your hands?

“Amy, I know you don’t see me as anything other than a friend. I—”

“That’s not true.”
Say what? What did I just go and blurt out?
He seemed as confused as me. His head was doing that half-tilt, like a dog waiting for you to just toss the treat in his mouth.

“You see me as something more?” He stretched out his head, waiting for my brilliant answer.

“It’s just that I don’t allow…”
No, that doesn
’
t sound good.
“I don’t… Tom, I just see you as Tom. Like your parents’ friend who comes every year for a visit. You love him to death, look forward to his visit, but it would be perverted to see him as a love interest.”

He rubbed his chin, trying to grapple that hot mess. I waited to see how it digested. Personally, it gurgled up in my own throat.

“Perverted.” He rubbed some more. “I see.”

“Not perverted. I don’t even know why I said perverted. It’s just I don’t allow myself to think of you as anything else.” I moved up and tucked my leg under me. “Tom, you’re my refuge. My one person I can go to when the world is crashing around me. I can’t screw up with you. I’d have nowhere to go if I did.”

I lowered my head, hoping he’d see it as a sign of desperation and just throw me the bone I needed. I needed uncomplicated with him.

“What if we didn’t screw up, Amy?” He gave me a deadpan look.

Oh boy. Why didn
’
t I just stay up in my room? That darn tree. See if I put lights on you again. You can stay all dark and un-Christmas like the next time.

“Tom, this isn’t even something we should be discussing. I only brought it up to sweep it away.”
Huh
?

“I see.”

“Stop saying that. You see what? I’m dying here, Tom.”

“I see that you may see me as something more than a friend. I see that you’re just scared.”

“Oh dear Lord.” I drew enough air to blow up a bouncy house. “Tom, I’m going to be moving out in a few weeks in order to go and pretend…”
Tell me I didn
’
t just say that. Damn you, Freud.
“What I mean is…”

“You said it, Amy—not me. You’re going to pretend to be a happy wife, work at some sort of foundation, and always wonder why Wesley’s late for dinner.”