Of all who give and receive gifts, such as they are the most wise. Everywhere they are the wise ones. They are the magi.
His name began to disappear around Thanksgiving. He knew by Valentine's Day, it would be gone; lost like the sun in November, leaving only a grey mourning.
She had forgotten how to use the oven just before Thanksgiving too and rather than face the anxiety growing from that confusion, he thought it best that he cook the turkey for Christmas dinner. At Thanksgiving she had been able to help, sitting at the table in their small kitchen and giving him directions around oven temperature and time and doneness. That was when she began to call him Tom. Their friends called him Tom. Neighbours called him Tom, old work buddies but she, she had always called him Thomas; “My Thomas”.
Her apron hangs around his neck, the hem landing just below his belt. He stares at her back as she stares at the Christmas tree. She use to be so happy getting the tree; all three kids in the car, the dog bouncing from back seat to front.
“You need to get the turkey in the oven. The kids will be here at five and we need to have the turkey out by then so they can put the casseroles in the oven. We will need the space in the oven.” He turns and heads back into the kitchen. Bends over and peers into the oven, the turkey is turning brown, not quite golden yet, more like the pale brown of his work boots. He rubs his chin, feeling the bristles on his palm and his calloused hand on his chin. “She’s in there Del. Don’t worry, I’m on it”.
“Who?” Della looks at him over the back of her chair, her hands in her lap, pulling at her fingers, her ankles crossed. “What are you talking about…? What are you…?” She searches for words. After sixty years, he can tell by the shape of her mouth, the slight movement of her lips that she has lost what she is thinking, misplacing her thoughts in the jumble that use to be as ordered and as neat as her pantry. "The turkey, Del." He wants to find them for her, wants the moments over all those years where she knew him like... “The turkey Della. The turkey is in the oven. I just called her “she” you know. Like the way I called my trucks “she” right? Remember, when old Thomas here, called his trucks “she”?
“Yes. Thomas. Yes. I remember. You better get the turkey in the oven. The kids will be here at five and we need to have the turkey out by then so they can put the casseroles in…” Her voice trails off and she looks at her hands in her lap pulling at her ring finger. Her bottom lip disappears, sucked under by her teeth.
Thomas turns and goes back into the kitchen, opens a cupboard and stares. Rubs his chin again, tucks it into the collar of his plaid shirt. “No kids this year Della.” he says to himself, rummaging for gravy mix. “No kids this year, Del. None at Thanksgiving. None at Labour Day. Can’t remember the last time.
“The turkey will be done in time for the kids” he yells out of the kitchen over his shoulder.
“That’s good…”
“It’s Thomas. Thomas.” he mumbles, as he looks into the oven for the third time.
He sets the table, placing four settings around the oval, candles in the centre. Della stares at her hands in her lap, glances up as he places a setting of wedding silverware in front of her. She pulls at her ring finger again, twisting the knuckle. She looks up as he places a plate in front of her, picks up the fork and runs her thumb along the tines. “Turn on the lights..ah. Turn on the lights.” Thomas finishes with the table and moves over to turn on the lights. He has them on a timer, set to go on at dusk but she has been wanting them on earlier and earlier.
The timer rings in the kitchen, the turkey is finally ready.
After dinner, he clears the plates and Della stays at the table twisting her fingers, blinking at the Christmas lights. Thomas rinses the dirty dishes and places the two clean ones back in the cupboard. He catches his reflection in the window above the sink. His sleeves are rolled up. He has bags under his eyes and even in the night reflection he can see that his skin is a tired grey. He stares for a long time and then drops his head, chin to chest. It’s then that he sees her ring. Her engagement ring, the one he gave her all those years ago, sitting on a saucer beside the hand soap. “She lost it so many times. I had to take it” he says to himself as he begins to scrub the roasting pan.
With the kitchen clean, Thomas turns off the light and heads back into the living room. Her back is to him, facing the Christmas tree, her shoulders are thinner, her head hangs below them and he can see them tremble slightly.
With the kitchen clean, Thomas turns off the light and heads back into the living room. Her back is to him, facing the Christmas tree, her shoulders are thinner, her head hangs below them and he can see them tremble slightly.
He turns quickly, moving back to the kitchen, back to the sink and places his hands on the counter. He straightens his arms, locking his elbows. Finally, after a long time, he lifts his head, seeing his grey reflection in the window, he gives one slight, sharp nod and rolls down first one sleeve and than the other of his plaid shirt.
“Wasn’t that fun?” he says, entering the living room. “Wasn’t it great to see the kids again?” He claps his hands together and wrings them together. Della looks up. She lets go of her fingers. “I mean, it’s a shame they had to leave so early but it was so good to see them. David seems very happy with the new job. Don’t you think?” Thomas stops to see if she will join him on this new path. Will she go with him? He looks at her. She is staring at the Christmas lights outside the window. “Don’t you think Della? Wasn’t it good to see them?”
Della turns towards him. Pushes her chair away from the table, smoothing the front of her skirt as she stands. “Yes. Yes it was great fun. David seems very happy.” The dimple that has been there for all of the sixty years arrives with her smile. “It really was wonderful, …”
“And can you believe how well Karen is doing? That new apartment of hers sounds really nice. We will have to go and visit her, don’t you think?” He looks sideways at Della, peering out under shaggy, white brows. “Don’t you think?”
“Yes. Yes, that would be nice. I’d love to see it? Where is it?”
“Oh, you know now. Come on. She’s been in Toronto for the past year and a half. Remember?”
“Yes. Yes. Of course. Toronto. Of course. I’d love to see it. It was very nice seeing her tonight, right? Tonight?”
“Fantastic. Really good. Hey Della, since the kids had to leave so early, what do you say we open presents now. Tonight. Ok? Remember our first year together how we opened our presents Christmas Eve? Remember, we had tea and laughed?” A small crease appears on Della’s brow and then slowly, the corners of her mouth turn upward.
“We did? We did that?” She looks sideways at Thomas. The way she looked at him when he knew she was about to join him in some mischief. She reaches out and touches an ornament hanging from the tree. “Happy Christmas Mom” written in glitter glued on years ago. “Funny I can’t remember what we do?”
“We did. We opened them that way our first Christmas. Let’s open presents before we go to bed. That way we can sleep in. Ok?”
Her fingers are still touching the ornament. It is rough to her touch. She pushes back her long brown hair, flecked with grey and leaves glitter on her cheek. “Who? Who?” Della says.
“John made it. I think it was in grade 1. He may have used a little too much glitter, don’t you think?” Thomas sees her profile, the glitter on her cheek. The corner of her mouth turns up. She gives a slight nod, turning her face towards him. “Let’s open presents.”
They sit facing each other; the tree between them. Thomas begins by opening his presents. He opens the shirt and the socks he bought. Opens the stocking that he has filled with chocolate and an ice scraper and at the bottom, the cigars that she would never buy, leaving them unseen in the bottom of the stocking. “Thank you Della. You got my favourite stuff. Thank you. Your turn” he says to Del, again seeing her profile, that beautiful mouth. “Open your presents.”
Della peels the paper from parcels wrapped by hands unaccustomed to tape and ribbon. New gloves, a box of Turtles, a sweater. She smiles after each but only looks at the tree. “Thank you. These are lovely. “ And then stares into her lap, wrapping paper by her slippers.
“I have one more gift for you Della.” Thomas rises, crosses to her and kneels at her feet. He reaches into the front pocket of his jeans and pulls out her ring. He holds it between his index finger and his thumb, holds it up to her eyes, raises her chin up from her lap. “It’s for you Della. Thank you for such a wonderful Christmas and thank you for such a beautiful family.”
Della looks at Thomas, trying to decide if she should continue on his journey. Her eyes focus on his fingers, picking up the light in the diamond she has worn all those years, its band thinned by years of dishes and diapers, hospitals and schools, pain and loss. She holds out her ring finger and he slips it on, twisting it slowly so it can slide over her swollen knuckle, to rest in the groove that has been its home for over sixty years.
“It’s beautiful. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful.”
