“Your arms and back are going to be sore tomorrow,” I predicted. To my eyes, she looked tired, but I couldn’t tell whether it was because she was sick, or because catching London over and over before she fell was understandably exhausting.
“I’ll be fine,” she said. “London’s not very heavy. But she is a chatty little thing. She talked and talked the whole time. She even grilled me on what my favorite color of fish was. I had no idea what to tell her.”
I smiled. “New York will probably seem restful by comparison. You’re leaving tomorrow?”
“Yeah – I can’t wait,” she said, perking up. “I’ve told Liz that our first stop is the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree. I want to get in the spirit of the holidays.”
“Text me some pictures,” I said.
“I will,” she promised. “By the way, I know what I want for Christmas,” she said pointedly. “From you.”
“Do tell.”
“I’ll tell you when I get back. But here’s a little hint: I want to go somewhere with you.”
“Like a trip, you mean?”
“No,” she said. “Not a trip.”
“Then where?”
“If I told you, you wouldn’t be surprised.”
“If you don’t tell me, then how can I do it?”
“How about you let me figure that part out, okay?”
With her skates off and her shoes back on, I saw her cast a last, wistful look toward the rink. It was getting crowded now, filling with children, groups of raucous teenagers, and a few nostalgic adults. By Marge’s expression, I knew she was thinking to herself that she was never going to have the chance to skate again.
Today, I realized, hadn’t simply been about teaching London to roller skate, or making a memory that London might hold on to forever; Marge had begun the process of saying goodbye to the things she loved, too.
Marge and Liz were gone for six days. While they were away, I worked long hours, wanting to get as much done on the new ad campaigns as possible, but mostly trying to keep myself from dwelling on my sister. As promised, she’d texted me photos of the Rockefeller Christmas tree: one of her and Liz together, and another shot of her by herself.
I had the pictures Photoshopped, printed, and then framed, with the intention of giving one set to Marge and Liz as a Christmas gift, and keeping another set for myself.
Meanwhile, I was contacted by two more law firms, including a small firm in Atlanta that had stumbled across my recent work on YouTube. As I started to put together the requisite presentations, I found myself reviewing the past six months.
When I’d started my agency, it seemed as though all my worries were business- or money-related, and at the time, I’d found the stress overwhelming. Things, I’d thought, couldn’t get much worse, yet I could distinctly remember Marge reassuring me that everything would turn out fine in the end.
She was right, of course.
On the other hand, she couldn’t have been more wrong.
The holidays continued to approach.
“What are your plans for Christmas? With London?” Marge asked me. It was Sunday afternoon and she’d just woken from a nap, but still looked tired. We were on her couch, where she’d wrapped herself in a blanket, even though the house felt warm to me. She and Liz had returned from New York the day before, and I wanted to see her before London returned from Atlanta. “Have you and Vivian discussed that yet? Christmas is only two weeks away, you know.”
As I stared at my sister, it seemed to me that she’d lost even more weight since I’d seen her at the skating rink. Her eyes had a sunken look about them, and her voice sounded slightly higher and thinner, somehow.
“Not yet,” I said. “But again, it’s falling on one of her weekends.”
“Russ, I know I’ve said it before, but it’s not fair for you not to have any holidays with London.”
No, it wasn’t. But there wasn’t much I could do about it, so I attempted to change the subject.
“How was New York?”
“It was amazing,” Marge sighed. “But the crowds… wow. There were lines down the block just to get into some of the stores. The shows were fantastic, and we had some truly unforgettable meals.” She mentioned some of the musicals they’d seen and restaurants where they’d eaten.
“It was worth it, then?”
“For sure,” she said. “I had the hotel arrange a couple of romantic evenings while we were there, too. Champagne, chocolate-covered strawberries, rose petals trailing to the bed. I’d also brought along some new lingerie to show off my newly svelte figure.” She waggled her eyebrows. “I think I blew Liz’s socks off.”
“Why didn’t you want her wearing socks?”
“Really? That’s your thought process?”
“When my sister starts talking about her love life, I choose to retreat into naïveté,” I explained. “It’s not like I share details about my love life.”
“You don’t have a love life with Emily yet. And if you ask me, it’s about time you did something about that.”
“We’re in a good place right now,” I insisted. “We talk every night on the phone, see each other for coffee. And we went out on Friday night.”
“What did you do?”
“Dinner. And karaoke.”
“You did karaoke?” That caught Marge by surprise.
“She did. Then again, it was her idea. She’s pretty good, too.”