The Thanksgiving Gift Pt. 02

This one may be a bit long. Not long ago I wrote The Thanksgiving Gift as a standalone story without any intention of a sequel. More recently I wrote Laundry Day named for reasons that will become obvious where I used the same characters simply because I liked them. I finally had to admit that with just a few minor changes I had written a sequel, made those changes, and here you have part 2 of The Thanksgiving Gift. Part 3 is also written, and I'll be submitting that soon.

I drew from life with great editorial license along with more than a little fantasy. There are more than a few side stories that somehow found their way into this little tale, and I'm not sure whether I should apologize for them. They may be the best part of the story.

The story is set somewhat in the future as you will learn near the end. I should probably apologize for that, but made peace with it and I hope the reader can as well.

There are pieces of this story that have been rattling around in my brain for a time, but it wasn't until now that they started to fall into place. I hope you like it.

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My name is Chris Barton, but that's probably not important. I recently turned seventy and let me tell you that every morning when I climb out of bed that reality is made evident to me. I wake up thinking I'm still thirty-five, but when my feet hit the floor, my knees hurt, and my back is slow to straighten, that's when my body puts the lie to that fantasy.

My wife died ten months ago and for a time my life was in chaos as I seemed to lose direction and purpose. As I came to terms with the new realities of my life, my behavior gradually changed along with my priorities. I'm a creature of habit and I still enjoy many of the things that I enjoyed when I was young, but the balance is shifting. I am embracing my hobbies at the same time that I'm working more either at the office or at home. I am eating more simply than before, and a balanced diet has become beef today and vegetables tomorrow. Plus, I'm hiring the neighborhood kids to do the outdoor maintenance on the yard and gardens, not to mention the snow shoveling, and spending more time in what I liked to call my man cave which is about as far from any man cave as there ever was. It has no television or pool table and no overstuffed leather chairs. It has no bar, but it does have a refrigerator where I keep a few beers and such. I'm not much of a drinker. What it does have is the topic of discussion for later.

Not long after my wife died, I decided that I was ready to start a working retirement. That means that I still enjoy the work, but I want it on my terms. When you get to be my age, what you value most is your time. You grow aware of your own mortality in a way that the young can never appreciate. So I turned in my paperwork, kept my office, and pursued my interests. I'm still productive, but I'm no longer required to teach or sit on committees even though I still get asked. I figure I've gathered some useful experience and insight along the way, so I sometimes agree, but I don't want to be taken for granted, so I sometimes tell them, "Gee, I'm sorry. I'm really too busy right now." It's true enough. Well, it's almost true. Okay, it's a lie, but it's a useful lie and I think my efforts are better appreciated because of it. I figure I've got a few more good years in me, and I want to make the most of them.

It was about six-thirty Monday evening, two days before Christmas 2024, when this tale begins, and I was packing it in for the evening. With no wife to celebrate the holiday, and with gifts long ago mailed to my adult children and grandchildren, there wasn't much to rush home to. Over the weekend I picked up a pound of my favorite coffee beans, a bottle of my favorite bourbon, and the makings of a few good salads that I would enjoy over the coming holiday. I had what I needed for some stew that I would start tomorrow along with some eggs, cheese, and sausage that I would use to make some omelets, but there was no plan for any great feast. Weather permitting, I would spend Christmas Eve on the back deck with my telescope looking up at the stars and contemplating the universe in its great diversity. If the weather was bad, I'd spend it in the basement. I know it's not the usual bachelor holiday, but it suited me well enough.

As I walked to the elevator and rounded the corner, I came face-to-face with my friend and coworker, Margaret Jenkins or Maggie as I've called her for years. If I am seventy, Maggie is... let's just say her not-so-early sixties. She'd kill me if I told you. It's not that she's vain. She's in full-blown denial! Maggie, like my favorite bourbon, is what you might call an acquired taste. She can be loud and sometimes outrageous, or she can be as quiet as a mouse. She is sometimes in your face, and at other times almost painfully shy. It took me years to understand her moods, and I think it has a lot to do with her confidence in some areas and her severe lack of confidence in others. At work, she has no equal, but without the work to shield her I think she sometimes feels vulnerable and unsure of herself. At least, that was what I thought then.

One night while we were both on travel for work, we sat down together each with a glass of bourbon to savor and time to kill, and we told each other our life's story. I'll tell you just a synopsis of her story and I think she will forgive me for that much. She had been briefly married, caught her husband with a neighbor, divorced, and never remarried. Although she has never said as much, I don't think she has ever felt truly loved after that, at least not by a man who was not her relative and not by the time this story begins. I'd been married for much of my adult life, but it had been a difficult marriage, and the scars ran deep. I suppose that's why I could always relate to Maggie. That's enough. There's no point in telling more than that.

So I was headed for the elevator when I ran into my friend with her briefcase over her shoulder, and she was her usual amusing self. "What are you doing working late? Don't you know it's Christmas Eve Eve?"

I cocked my head and grinned. "You're one to talk. What are you doing here this late?"

She exhaled and slumped like she was exhausted, rolled her eyes to the ceiling, and said, "My washing machine broke. I went shopping for a new machine last night, but it won't be delivered until the end of the week what with Christmas and everything. So I have a car full of laundry and I'm headed out to spend the evening at the laundromat. I haven't done that in years!"

"Wow! I can't remember the last time... Do you have enough quarters? Do they even take quarters anymore?"

"Yeah, they take quarters. It's $2.50 for a load in the washer, and about $1.25 to dry. I had to look it up online." She laughed quietly at her own situation. "I must have 4 or 5 loads at least."

I remember laundromats as being horribly boring, and I had no reason to think they'd changed. That's when I had an idea, and I immediately knew that I liked this idea very much!

"Why don't you bring your laundry to my place? My machine is still working. You can do as many loads as you need, I'll fix us dinner, and we can talk or watch television or listen to music or whatever you like?" I surprised myself when I realized how excited I was at the prospect of having someone to spend the evening with.

"I don't want to be any trouble."

"You're no trouble. Dinner for two is no more trouble than dinner for one." I looked at my friend not wanting to seem too desperate, but it was time for some hard truth. "If I'm being honest, and you know how I hate to be honest, it would be a real treat to have some company. I normally just go home and fall into my routine. With you, I'll have someone to talk with."

"... as you fall into your routine." There is a sarcastic streak that runs deep in my friend.

"Yeah!" She always knows how to make me smile.

She seemed hesitant and if I was reading her face correctly, she seemed almost concerned.

"Sorry. I don't mean to put you on the spot. If you don't want to do it, I understand."

That seemed to wake her from her thoughts.

"I was just thinking about some of my clothes that need washing. I'd be mortified if you saw them."

That gave me a brief laugh.

"I mean..." She frowned. "... we girls want to seem naturally sweet and pure without ever trying, but we never let the men see what it takes to get that way or what we're like at the end of the day." She looked genuinely embarrassed and then said, "Some of my things are pretty awful."

I'm slow sometimes, but I was getting the picture. It was hard not to laugh.

"Okay, you can keep the door closed and I won't peak. It's really the first-floor bathroom, but I can make it upstairs if I need to." I guess we were both admitting to things we'd rather keep to ourselves.

"Are you sure? I really don't want to be a burden."

"I'm very sure. And you won't be a burden; you'll be a blessing."

That earned me the smile I wanted. "Alright. I'll follow you home if that's okay."

We were walking out the door when we noticed there were only three cars in the parking lot and two of them were ours. "I think we work too much."

Maggie's reply was simple and to the point. "No shit!"

Then it hit me. I didn't have the makings of a decent meal in the house.

"Ah, I just realized that I need to hit the store on the way home. I can give you the address or you can join me in selecting dinner."

Now she was getting back to her normal confident self. "Oh, if I'm eating it, I intend to have a say in what we prepare." That's the Maggie I know, and to be honest about it, the thought of doing a little food shopping together appealed to me. There is something very real about walking the food aisles together and deciding on dinner. It's domestic. This was starting to sound like fun.

I should take a moment to fill you in on what has happened since Thanksgiving. I threw a traditional Thanksgiving dinner for all the orphans in the department and a bunch of their friends that turned into a multi-ethnic potluck dinner. By "orphans" I mean people who either had no place to go for Thanksgiving, had family living too far away, or students from other countries where the holiday wasn't practiced. It was a great night, and I spent the last few hours with Maggie by my side. Since that night, we'd been having longer conversations and sitting together over coffee from time to time. She had become the bright spot in my day.

As I contemplated the two of us preparing dinner together, I started realizing in a not-so-subtle way just how much alone I'd been since my wife died. If I am being completely honest, I was feeling too much alone even before she passed. I think my wife lost interest in me a long time ago. It was then that it dawned on me that Maggie might be needing this evening as much as I was. Living alone can become not so much a struggle as a bad habit, and like all bad habits it needs to be broken.

We picked up two tenderloin steaks, some butternut squash raviolis, and dinner rolls. I had some vegetables in the freezer and the makings for a nice salad. I was low on butter, so I solved that problem because the steaks would require a little pan sauce, and I planned to finish the raviolis in sage butter. It was going to be a rich meal. We then grabbed two bottles of wine before checking out. I completely forgot about dessert.

I gave Maggie my address just in case we got separated, but we drove at a leisurely pace and found our way to my place together. No sooner did she pop the liftgate and I was confronted by the scale of the problem. Maggie drives a rather large SUV, and the back area was wall to wall, front to back baskets of clothes needing a wash. That's when I remembered that the machines at the laundromat all took double loads compared to household machines.

I was looking at what had to be seven or eight loads of laundry at the least and stuttered, "Ah, ah, how... how long did you say your machine has been broken?"

I shouldn't have said it. She was embarrassed.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have imposed. I let a lot of laundry from late summer and fall pile up since I knew I wouldn't be wearing any of it for six months. Maybe I should go to the laundromat after all."

That shook me from my stupor. "No, no, it's fine. We'll just do however many loads it takes. I was just a bit surprised. That's all." Then, trying to recover the fun we'd been having, I said, "Why don't you give me two baskets that aren't too personal, and I'll carry them up the stairs along with the food we bought. Then you can get started with the laundry and I can get started on dinner."

She was still looking at the back of her car. "It is awful, isn't it? I just let it go until it sort-of developed a life of its own."

I couldn't help myself. I saw the opportunity and I took it. "You mean you think you may have evolved life in one of those piles?"

She turned and looked at me with an unspoken "What?" before dissolving in laughter. "No, it isn't that bad. Maybe a mouse or two, but nothing worse than that." With that, she loaded me with two overly full baskets, and I began the slow walk of carrying them up the steps to the first floor. Now, please don't ever tell her that I told you this, but two baskets of soiled clothes rise just about to my nose, and those two baskets were very much in need of a wash. I was beginning to think that my friend who normally had it all together might be just a bit of a... No, never mind. A woman is entitled to her secrets. I'll just say that I was glad I didn't faint going up the stairs.

I dropped the baskets in the laundry room, showed Maggie where the detergent was kept, and headed for the kitchen. Emptying my pockets in the tray I used for that purpose signaled that I was home, and then I set about pouring two glasses of wine, grabbing a few bits of cheese from the fridge, hunting for that last pack of crackers, slicing one apple, and setting out a passable plate of nibbles to keep us going as we would take our time making dinner.

Maggie got the first load started and then we sat down to contemplate the evening. "I have frozen peas, green beans, carrots, Brussel sprouts, and corn. What appeals to you, and do you like your steak rare, medium, or well done?"

She thought for a moment and said, "Definitely green beans. Do you have any almonds?"

I did and with the mutual decision that good steaks should not be abused with anything beyond medium rare, I started the process of preparing the steaks. Salt and pepper to cover, hot pan with a little butter for flavor and oil to stand up to the heat, brown all the surfaces, and then into a hot oven for four-and-a-half minutes on each side. The raviolis got started with a fast boil and then into a hot pan with melted butter and sage. The green beans went into the microwave last. While the steaks were in the oven, I managed to assemble a passable salad with some crumbled blue cheese, a few croutons, and store-bought poppy seed dressing. It was bachelor cooking. The steak came out and rested before I set about making the sauce as the green beans steamed in the bag. A little wine in the pan with the steak drippings to deglaze, some butter and a little brown sugar at the end, and then all that remained was to pour it over the steaks. We spooned up the green beans with a little added butter and some almond slivers, buttered a few rolls as if we needed more butter, and sat down to eat. It must not have been too bad because Maggie finished every bite, and I started thinking that maybe I knew how to cook! Well, a man can fantasize, can't he?

Every single man, and every single woman as well, needs to have three foolproof meals they can prepare. The first is dinner for the girlfriend. She'll sit nearby and watch, maybe comment, and it doesn't need to be perfect. It just needs to be good, and she'll be impressed that you tried for her. The second is breakfast for the same girlfriend. If she wasn't delighted the night before, then breakfast won't save you, and I'm not talking about dinner. The third meal is the tricky one. You need to be able to prepare a meal for her parents. The day will come when they want to know that you can take care of their little girl. It doesn't matter how old she may be, she is still their little girl. If her parents are passed on, as are Maggie's, then there are siblings, nieces, and a host of relatives to impress. If you can buy and cook a meal, you're on your way. The tricky bit is that this meal requires you to be able to converse and cook at the same time, but there's a good chance they will be sitting with their daughter in the other room discussing other aspects of the boyfriend, so you can't hide in the kitchen the entire time. You need a good casserole side dish that will be cooked in the oven, a sophisticated protein that is quick to prepare, and a dessert that her mother will enjoy. It needs to be good, but not too good. Don't make it look easy. Her mom will appreciate that it took some effort. Men have been trying to solve this problem for generations. Good luck.

The dinner I prepared for Maggie was one such meal I'd prepared many times for my wife and family. It isn't fancy, but it works. If I were truthful about it, and you already know that I try to avoid the truth whenever possible, I'd admit that I was surprised by how hungry I was on this night. It had been a long time since I'd had a reason to fix a meal with more than one component. It had been a long time since I had someone to cook for. We were finishing the last of the meat when we heard the washer ding and the spin cycle end. Maggie excused herself and five minutes later she was back with the sound of both washer and dryer running in the other room.

"Why don't we pour another glass of wine and take it into the living room?"

Maggie agreed and I was soon settled onto the couch with the contended feeling of a meal in my belly, wine in my glass, and the good companionship of a lovely woman on the sofa next to me. I'd been missing this feeling for a long time. We were soon so engrossed in conversation that we almost missed the sound of the washer and dryer ending their cycles. Maggie again excused herself, took a few extra minutes to fold something although I never knew what, and was back before long to continue our conversation with the sound of the washer and dryer once again running in the other room.

Things were moving along swimmingly, so of course I had to make a blunder. Maggie had excused herself to go upstairs to use the bathroom, although I'm not entirely sure why she didn't use the facilities in the laundry room, when I heard the sound of the washer and dryer reach the end of their cycles. Thinking only that I should help, I walked into the laundry room, filled a basket with dry clothes, and proceeded to transfer the wet wash into the dryer. I was about halfway through that task when I realized that I was holding a handful of Maggie's unmentionables in my hand and froze. They were lovely and pink. Not overly sexy, but still feminine. I was standing there like a fool looking at the panties in my hand when I heard a voice say, "See something you like?"

I quickly tossed them into the dryer, turned, and tried to explain that I was just trying to help.

She suggested that she should finish the transfer and that I should retire back to the living room. I didn't argue. When she finally joined me, picked up her glass, and gave me that withering stare, I thought I detected just a hint of amusement in her eyes. I wasn't quite sure.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

That got me a decent smile and a "No harm done, but if I knew you wanted a look, I'd have brought my sexy pieces."

I took a deep breath. "My heart barely survived those. I don't think I'm ready for the sexy ones."

She was chuckling by then, and I guess I was forgiven, although now thinking back to it I wonder if it was set up? No matter. A woman never divulges her secrets.

We continued our conversation ranging from one topic to another as I had my favorite play list playing in the background. It wasn't particularly romantic music; it was just an assortment of folk and country songs with some classical and pop thrown into the mix. A lot of it was the music of my youth set to be played in random order and not too loud.

That brought us around to the subject of music. After comparing what we liked and some that we didn't, Maggie asked, "So what did you think of the Grammies this year?"

I gave a dramatic cough, cleared my throat and said, "I'm sorry. I think I just threw up a little." That got me the big laugh I was going for. "What can I say? If the accusation is that I've lived a few years and know hit from hype, then I'm guilty as charged. I'm just not ready to listen to someone sing about some real or imagined romantic injustice when they're still waiting to get their driver's license."

We were in agreement, and the topic turned to classical music. Maggie knows classical music and I knew she played the violin, but I didn't know she was a serious student of the instrument. I should have guessed it since Maggie is the sort to take everything seriously. Personally, I lean toward chamber music and solo performance with an emphasis on classical guitar, and that led us into a discussion (well, singing the notes, actually) of the few duets we knew for violin and guitar. Whenever required, she would disappear into the laundry room where I was never invited to help and return to continue our fun.

It was well past eleven and approaching midnight when she noticed the clock on the mantle. "Oh jeez, I had no idea how late it is! I should be going."

The words left my mouth before I had time to think. "Why don't you stay?"

That earned me a questioning stare.

"I have two guest rooms upstairs. You can have your pick. In the morning I'll fix us some breakfast, we can do some more laundry, and then maybe we can take a walk in the woods or go into town. It will be Christmas Eve, and the shoppers will be in a panic, but it'll be fun. That is, unless you have plans?"

Her eyes never left me as she continued to think. Finally, she said, "Okay. At least I know I have plenty of clean clothes to wear!" She smiled at her own joke, and so did I.

We headed down to get the remaining baskets from her car, and as we reentered the house she stopped at the closed door by the stairs. "What's behind there?"

"Oh, that's my man cave! Want to see?"

"Chris, please tell me you aren't one of those predictable men who has a room with overstuffed leather chairs and a giant television where you watch football all weekend. I thought better of you than that!" She was mocking me rather than criticizing.

Now she was the one getting the stink eye from me. "I thought you knew me better than that!"

We both set down our baskets. I flipped on the light and opened the door, and as I walked into the room, I was left with the distinct impression that I'd left her somewhere behind me. Turning around, I found Maggie standing in the doorway looking shocked.

"What?"

"When you said you have a man cave, I thought you meant..."

"... a man cave? Yeah. I used to call it my playroom, but people got the wrong idea."

Walking further into the room, past the shelves where I stored assorted household goods like light bulbs, batteries, and lamps for when the power went out, we walked into the majority of the left half of the basement and were surrounded by saws, braces, chisels, and assorted tools with a half-finished Windsor chair under construction and resting on the table.

"I didn't know you're into woodworking!"

"Yeah well, it's hard to work in a lab where people build custom high-end electronics and then brag about cutting one board into two smaller boards. It just doesn't get me any respect."

"What have you made?"

"I've made most of the furniture upstairs including the sofa we were sitting on. I made the beds along with most of the tables and chairs. The builder installed the cabinets."

Maggie seemed genuinely impressed. Then as she turned toward the second smaller bench to her right to examine a half hull model I had been carving, she stopped and stared through the glass door into the other half of the basement. "What's that?"

"Oh, that's my fish room. I like to breed and raise tropical fish. I know... I'm a geek. You're not the first one to tell me."

"I didn't say that. Do you mind if I look?" All the while, she never took her eyes off that glass door and the tanks beyond.

I stepped around her, opened the door, and invited her in. Her eyes seemed to get bigger as she looked along the short row of tanks and then around the corner to take in the rest of the room. "How many tanks do you have?"

"I think it's 46 now. I'm about out of room unless I want to crowd the tanks together, but I like being able to step back and take it in. I figure if you can't see and enjoy the fish, then what's the point in having more? Plus, sometimes you need to reach around the back of the tank and a little extra space between the racks and the wall makes the hobby more enjoyable."

She was nodding and walking slowly as she examined each tank. "The shelves go floor to ceiling."

"Yeah. If I fasten them to the ceiling, they become a lot more stable. Nobody wants a bunch of fish tanks falling over, especially in a tight room. You know water weighs more than eight pounds per gallon. Those tanks back there are just ten gallons each, but those against the wall are forty and these are sixty. That's a lot of weight forcing all that glass at you if the rack tips over."

"And you have plants growing in and out of the tanks!"

"Yeah, plants make a lot of the fish feel safe and I learned that some house plants will grow up the racks, dip their roots in the water, and just make the place look a little more interesting. They catch enough of the light from over the tanks to grow and sometimes they bloom."

"You have big tanks and small tanks. Is that for big fish and small fish?"

"Somewhat, but mostly the small tanks are breeding tanks where I grow up the baby fish until they are big enough or numerous enough to require a bigger tank to grow."

"It's incredible! How long have you been doing this?"

"Oh, I got into it when I was in grade school, then I got out while I was in college and got back into it after graduate school. Dorm rooms and moving around tend to kill the hobby."

"This is fascinating. I've always wanted to keep fish, but somehow, I never found the time or space to do it."

"I could help you set up a tank, or a few tanks if you want to get into breeding them."

"I'd like that!" She was visibly excited. Who'd have thought...

As we got to the far end of the room, we came to a pair of simple chairs with wooden frames and canvas seats. They are made light so I can move them around the room easily, but I keep them in front of my big 150-gallon tank. In the summer they reside inside the back door and get carried out to the back porch, but I take them to the basement for winter, so I have a place to sit in the fish room.

"What are those?! You really do keep big fish!"

"They're venustus. People call them giraffe cichlids because of their coloring. They're mouth brooders."

"What are mouth brooders?" She seemed almost shocked by the term.

"The female carries the eggs in her mouth where they hatch out. Once they are ready to be free swimming, she spits them into a crevice between the rocks somewhere."

"She doesn't eat them? I thought all fish ate their young."

"If I don't get her out of the big tank before she spits, the others will eat them. Then if I don't get her out of the brood tank within about twenty-four hours of her spitting them free, her maternal instinct vanishes, and the babies become just another source of protein for her."

"That's awful!"

I was laughing. "I sometimes tell my friends when they complain about their lives, 'At least your parents didn't eat you!' They never get the joke."

Maggie got the joke. "And you keep these chairs here so you can sit and watch the tanks?"

"It's a great place to drink my coffee on a cold winter morning. Sometimes I sit here with my laptop and a glass of bourbon at night and work."

"I could spend a lot of hours here!"

"Then maybe we should! I keep the bourbon in the fridge in the workshop. I can run upstairs to get some glasses."

"Well, what are you waiting for? Go!"

I have to admit the girl isn't subtle. "Ice or neat?"

"Oh, ice please."

I grabbed two baskets of dirty clothes, carried them up to the laundry room, grabbed two glasses with some ice cubes, and headed back down to the man cave. I poured two glasses of bourbon and found her sitting in a chair enjoying the show in the big tank.

"Are they all giraffe fish?"

I stood there looking at the tank for a moment. The truth is I can be slow in remembering the scientific names. "No, the venustus are the blotchy ones. The lithobates are blue. Those purplish fish are rustys, and I have a few yellow labs just for the color. I wanted to get some borleyi. They're red sides with blue faces, but I don't think I have room in that tank."

"And they all get along?"

"Pretty much. They're all from East Africa and the Rift Lake region. Some species are known for their aggression. Unlike humans, the vegetarians are often the more aggressive species because in the wild they need to defend their little patch of algae."

"Oh, she's pretty!"

"He."

"He?"

"Yeah, in the fish world, it's the boys that are pretty."

"Huh!"

I don't think she was impressed by that bit of information.

We spent the next hour sitting in those chairs, sipping bourbon, and watching the fish swim. I showed her some of the Tanganyikan species that I'm partial to along with the peacocks, some rainbows, and a few others, and she seemed to enjoy the time we spent that way.

It was one in the morning by the time we climbed the stairs, left our glasses in the sink, and climbed the second flight of stairs to the bedrooms. She chose the guest bed she preferred, and I showed her where my room was located hoping she wouldn't notice the glimmer of hope in my eyes. Then we said goodnight. I was in my shower when I heard the shower in the hallway bathroom start, and for just a moment I allowed myself to wonder about the scene I was not allowed to see. I was reminded of an old saying that young men shower at night while old men shower in the morning. Apparently, whoever came up with that figured the young men had a better chance of getting lucky. I was drying off when I remembered that we forgot to turn off the laundry room light, so I threw on a pair of sweatpants and headed for the stairs when I nearly collided with Maggie coming out of the bathroom. She was freshly washed, and a bit disheveled, but to my eyes she was lovely. It was almost comical as she seemed momentarily embarrassed, and I felt a need to explain myself until we again said goodnight with her going to her room and me headed down the stairs to turn off the lights.

My task took only seconds before I was again climbing the stairs. Walking past her bedroom door and I paused, wanting with every fiber of my being to knock on that door, but good sense won over my impulsive thoughts, and I headed for bed. I didn't want to ruin a lovely evening by doing something stupid. It was better that she felt safe and comfortable so that maybe someday in the future she might stay again.

I was soon in bed with the blanket pulled 'round me and thoughts of Maggie dancing in my head. There's a poem in there, somewhere. It was good to have a woman in the house again if only down the hall, and before long I was asleep and dreaming pleasant dreams.

As was my custom, I awoke shortly before the alarm with the sun coming up and was soon dressed and quietly headed down the stairs. It had been two years since I'd prepared breakfast for a woman, and I wanted this one to be good. As I quickly made plans, I rounded the bottom of the stairs only to see that same woman sitting there quietly watching me with a granola bar in her hand.

"Do you normally sleep this late?" She had such a smug look on her face, and yet I could not help but smile.

"Only after I've given late night tours of my fish room." It wasn't much of a retort, but it earned me a big smile.

"What's for breakfast?"

"Well, it's pretty bleak if you don't like eggs."

"I love eggs!"

"In that case, we have fried, scrambled, poached, and omelets with an assortment of additions including some bacon, ham, pepperoni, turkey slices but I warn you that I have never put turkey on eggs, cheddar, parmesan, feta, and blue cheese, and I might have a sausage left over from two days ago that's still good."

"You put pepperoni on eggs?"

"I put pepperoni on everything! I add it to my cobb salad if I don't have something better."

"What's something better?"

"General Tsao's Chicken from the hot bar at the food store goes great with blue cheese! I would have added it last night, but they were all out."

There was that look again. I've been getting that look from women all my life!

"So what do you recommend?"

"Well, I like a country omelet made with pepperoni and parmesan cheese, although feta will do in a pinch, and some buttered toast on the side."

She seemed uncertain, but eventually said, "Okay, I'll try that."

I was quietly chuckling to myself as I got out the pan and prepared the ingredients.

I had to jerk her chain just one more time, so without turning around I said, "Although, my favorite omelet is chili and cheddar, but I don't have any leftover chili right now."

"Hell yes!"

That stopped me in my tracks. I turned and in genuine amazement asked, "You also like chili and cheese omelets?"

"I love them! I can't eat them too often or I'll be big as a house, but one of those will power me through the entire day."

I turned back to my work laughing quietly to myself thinking, "It's just one surprise after another with this girl."

Breakfast turned out well and Maggie seemed to enjoy the pepperoni and feta omelet. We ate it with buttered rustic toast and some good dark coffee, and I was told in no uncertain terms that I was not to wimp out with some mild, lightly roasted, cinnamon-flavored coffee that wouldn't keep her warm through the day.

Maggie waited until after breakfast to start the next load of laundry. Between loads she helped me align the spindles on the Windsor chair I was making, then glue and pull it all together with cords that can adjust to the ever-changing curves, and all the while she was taking peaks into the fish room until I finally prepared two more cups of coffee and we adjourned to the wood and canvas chairs to sit, sip, and enjoy the view.

Maggie had a hundred questions and at one point asked, "What are those?"

"Those are perhaps the most common fish in the hobby, but I kept them as a kid, and they still have a soft spot in my heart. They're called neon tetras. They are silly cheap, but they school together like they are now and with a tank full of plants they can be lovely to watch."

She was nodding the entire time I answered her question, and I got the distinct feeling she liked them.

After sitting there for a while, and with her coffee almost gone, she said, "You know it's Christmas Eve." She said it like it had just quietly slipped into her mind like one more irrelevant fact.

"Yep."

"I never thought I'd be spending Christmas Eve like this."

I looked over at her and asked, "Are you disappointed? Did you have plans?"

She turned slowly to look at me and in a matter-of-fact tone said, "No. I think this is just about perfect."

I had to agree.

We talked about plants for a time, both in and out of the water, and I began to see her gardening experience coming out. Her questions soon exceeded my knowledge. Then in time we found our way back up the stairs, started a new load of laundry, and thought about plans for the second half of the day.

"Why don't we go into town, fight the crowds, and enjoy all the activity. Then when we've had enough, we can run away and get back to the peace and quiet?"

She seemed to like the idea and ten minutes later we were headed out to brave the insanity, and insanity is what we found. It was nuts! With nothing to do and no pressing needs, we just enjoyed the carolers and all the activity around us until it suddenly dawned on me that I wanted to get this woman a present! Now how was I going to do that without her knowing? I needed a distraction.

"Would you like to get some coffee?"

"No. We have better coffee at home."

"You hungry?"

"I'm still burning off breakfast. Are you hungry?"

"Couldn't possibly." That response earned me an odd look.

In desperation, I decided to lie. "Damn it!" I was grabbing my pants pocket. "I can't believe it. I left my keys in the car. I'll run back. Why don't you head up to the herbal store and see if you can find some good tea for after dinner?" With that I was off running toward the car before she had a chance to answer. That earned me about ten minutes and still I had not a single good idea. So like men everywhere since the beginning of time, I ducked into the jewelry story. A man in a jewelry store with too little time to make a decision always spends more money than he intended, but I was soon away with a very nice set of earrings in my pocket already gift wrapped, and my wallet about $120 lighter.

I caught up with her headed into the herbalist.

"Find what you were looking for?" She chuckled as she said it.

"Yeah. They were on the console." She was still chuckling quietly, but I wasn't getting the joke.

We found some good smoky black tea, decided we'd had enough of the crowd, and headed for home. All the way to the car she seemed to have a secret she wasn't sharing, and I was beginning to believe that I may be as slow as I sometimes felt. At least I had the presence of mind to stop at the food store on the way home to find something for Christmas Eve dinner, and together we decided on fish. Yeah, I know what you're thinking: "Fish in the basement, fish on the stove..." It's not the same fish. We got a lovely salmon filet that we planned to have with Brussel sprouts, some baby potatoes, and a nice salad, picked up two more bottles of wine, decided we didn't need dessert, and headed for the peace and quiet of home.

Something happened that afternoon that didn't register right away. From the time I asked her if she wanted some coffee, and all the while we were shopping for dinner, Maggie referred to my place as "home". It wasn't "... your home." It was just "home." I finally noticed it when we were checking out and she said, "When we get home, how about I cook dinner tonight?" I took it as a friendly dig at my cooking, but that wasn't it at all. Yeah, I'm definitely slow.

Well slow or not, I recognize the obvious when it hits me in the face, and that afternoon as we walked out into the cold what was hitting me in the face was snow. It was the first snow of the season, and it was just beginning to fall. We took a minute to stand there, hand in hand, and together we admired the quiet beauty of it. Somehow, when snow is falling all the world seems to grow quiet. Then without saying a word, she smiled at me and squeezed my hand. That was the signal, and we resumed our walk to the car.

Once home I asked what we should do, and she suggested that we could hang out in the man cave while she'd do a few more loads. So, that's what we did. It was soon evening and time to start dinner. Maggie managed to cook the salmon and the potatoes in the oven at the same time, which is the sort of thing I've never been able to do well, and before long we sat down to a first-rate and absolutely delicious meal.

We were enjoying dinner, between sips of wine and savoring the taste of salmon with a sweet balsamic vinegar glaze, when it occurred to me that I didn't know the first thing about how the evening was going to end. If I didn't do something, she'd be off for home before I could say anything.

So I manned up, looked her in the eyes, and said, "Maggie, I've enjoyed spending today with you. Would you consider staying here again tonight? I'd love to wake up Christmas morning to share the day with you. Holidays alone are such a lonely affair."

She looked at me unflinchingly and in a tone that was half playful and half serious said, "It's about time you said something. I was starting to think you wanted me to leave."

I just shook my head and said, "Not at all. I want you to stay as long as you like. This house is much more alive when you're here. Hell, I'm more alive when you're here!" Okay, it wasn't the smoothest line, but I meant it.

Remember I told you that she could be shy when she didn't have the shield of work to protect her? That's why her next action surprised me so much. She slowly leaned forward and gave me a peck on the lips. That was it. It wasn't a passionate kiss. It was just a peck. The more passionate kiss came from me in return. So much for not expressing how I felt.

Dinner was a quieter affair that night with sly glances and quiet laughs for no particular reason, and then without either of us saying a word we set about rinsing the dishes and placing them in the dishwasher together. We cleaned up the kitchen, grabbed two glasses with a few ice cubes, and headed down to the fish room. I should probably mention that winter was coming on with a vengeance at this point and the fish room is kept at about seventy-seven degrees. They don't call them tropical fish for nothing. So in the dead of winter with sub-zero nighttime temperatures more the norm than the exception, I often spent the evening down in the fish room enjoying the fish, and the plants, and the warmth, and it seems that Maggie was quickly adopting the same behavior. Sitting together, sipping our bourbon and talking about many things, we spent the remainder of the evening enjoying each other's company and the tropical climate of my basement.

Well, that wasn't all that we did. If I could get two kisses over dinner, I had hopes that I could get more and I wasn't disappointed. The kisses grew longer and more frequent once I moved the two seats together.

We took our time drinking the bourbon, and long after the ice had melted, we decided to call it a night. We wandered up the two flights of stairs, remembering to turn off the lights as we went, and I got one last, long kiss before we headed for our separate rooms. Showering that night, I could hear her in the other bathroom. As much as I wanted to join her, I was more than prepared to take my time and build trust.

I guess trust had been built, because a few minutes after I'd pulled the blanket up around me, I heard the creaking hinge of my bedroom door and saw the light shining down the narrow hallway. She was soon standing before me with a robe to keep her warm and her hair wrapped in a towel. For that moment she said nothing and just looked at me, but Momma Barton didn't raise no fools. I pulled the blanket down, moved to the far side of the bed, and waited for her to join me.

There was doubt painted across her face. "I'm not young anymore, Chris."

"Neither am I, Mags."

"What if I disappoint you?"

"You couldn't." I thought for a moment and got out of bed. "Maggie, intimacy at our age isn't about hard bodies and athletic prowess. It's about being close to the one you love and appreciating them the way they are. It's about sharing an experience that transcends the moment. And sometimes it's about working together to solve problems like weak knees or a sore back to accomplish what we both want." That made her laugh. "We're not young anymore, Mags, but we're not dead yet! Come to bed with me."

She had just one more protest to offer. "It's been a long time."

"Me, too."

"No, I mean a very long time."

"Come to bed, Maggie. We belong together."

I took her hand as we began to walk toward the bed. Letting go of my hand, she opened the robe and let it fall to the floor. The towel followed. She wasn't naked underneath, but if I had my way she soon would be.

We slipped into bed together and squirmed just a bit until she was nearly under me. She felt warm and soft against me.

"I've been spending a lot of time these past two days thinking about all the years we've known each other, all the conversations, all the work we've done together, all the understanding we've built over the years... You belong here, Maggie."

"I'm here now, Chris. I'm here now."

With that I pulled her still closer and kissed her with all the tender desire I had pent up inside me. She wrapped her arms around me and returned it all. That was the beginning, and it became a night with all the intimate passion and joy two senior citizens could generate. For one night, and it turned out for many nights more, we were no longer seniors. We were just lovers of a certain age who shared with each other our hearts, bodies, and souls. She allowed me into her world, and I learned her secrets that I hold in my heart to this day.

The next morning found us slow to rise. There were negotiations that needed to be concluded. She needed to tell me that I shouldn't feel obligated. I needed to tell her that I wanted her in my bed every night. Then she needed to stop crying. Lastly, we needed to make love one more time before climbing into the shower where we drained the hot water tank by taking perhaps the slowest and longest shower in history.

It was a white Christmas and for a time we stood together by the window and admired the beauty of the world. After breakfast I gave her the earrings I'd bought and apologized for lying to her, then promised I would never lie to her again. She didn't seem to believe it, but I think she knew I would only lie to buy time to do something surprising for her. Then she told me she knew all along that I hadn't left my keys in the car because I wouldn't have been able to lock the doors if I had. That part was embarrassing. In return, she gave me a small wooden carving of a seal. It was so simple and organic as it seemed to rise out of the wood and remain a part of the wood at the same time, and I treasure that simple gift to this day. It sits next to the computer in my home office where I can see it as I work.

We spent the better part of a year moving back and forth between my place and hers until we decided we were making life too difficult for ourselves. She eventually moved out of her condo and into my house once I made room for her and her things. We both simplified our lives enough to make two lifetimes fit into the same space. I should have done that sooner. Then we were married eight months later. There was an abundance of giggles and laughter at the wedding with a few stories that could not be told in front of the grandchildren. It seemed that everyone was amused and encouraged by the sight of two senior citizens standing up to take vows of fidelity. I heard one young wag comment that he was impressed that the bride made it down the aisle without a walker, and I gave serious consideration to starting a brawl at my own wedding. I know a few of the younger ones were placing bets on whether the marriage would be consummated, and I didn't have the heart to tell them that I was getting more sex than they were. Young people think they invented intimacy.

I suppose that in the years since that first Christmas we have both slowed down just a bit. We are both semiretired now where we visit the office less and hit the gym more. At our age, it's less about working to build and more about working to avoid losing. The home office has two desks and more computers with a greater selection of books on the shelves. I like it that way. She got into the fish hobby in a big way and now every new purchase is a negotiation. There are only so many tanks and a great many species, but we find ways to make it work. Maggie has gotten into woodworking in a big way, too, and especially carving, so I signed her up for some formal courses to keep her safe. We now give away a lot of the furniture we make and some of the carvings, and we've become a sort of Johnny Appleseed of the fish hobby helping teachers start tanks in classrooms in the region where we gift them fish to get them started. There are dozens of future biologists in schools within a two-hour drive who are putting fish eggs under the microscope, future farmers growing live food that fascinate them almost as much as the fish, and future gardeners raising aquatic plants, and they are all surpassing our skills. It's gratifying to see.

Now at the end of the day, after the table has been cleared and we've sat in the basement sipping our bourbon, we head off to bed together where we find that two senior citizens can still express their love and devotion in ways that would make the young ones jealous. Life is good.

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I suppose that some readers will ask why I have a tendency to make my lovers "a bit long in the tooth" as they say. There are several reasons for this. One is that there is a vulnerability that comes with age, and I like the idea of vulnerable people giving value and confidence to one another. I also like the idea of two people who are drawn together finding companionship and commitment despite the sometimes challenges of age. Lastly, I like to remind the young guys out there that we older guys aren't dead yet.