Could you ask someone to marry you after just three weeks of dating?
Would she laugh you out of the room? Run, and never come back?
You’re good enough, right?
Maybe not. She’s the most amazing person on earth.
Michelle’s eyes could smile for her if she had been born without a mouth.
Her laugh wasn’t infectious, it was a designer drug and Pete Welby was addicted.
Rob was the one who had the right idea.
“Make it through one holiday season,” he told Pete. “Ask her what she wants for Christmas. Do the family thing. If it’s still golden then, untainted, wondrous…shit, I’d still wait at least a year…”
Pete took the advice, mostly.
“Mitch, what do you want for Christmas?”
Her smile struggled to hold then faded. Pete hadn’t seen the look before.
Her eyes darkened. They still sparkled, but there was gauze in front of them now.
He reached for her hand but before he made contact the smile was back, more brave than genuine.
“I’m a weirdo, I don’t exchange gifts,” she said, then she chuckled, and the sound was delightful, but…different.
“I want to get you…” Pete started, then caught himself.
“You deserve a nice gift.”
“Super sweet,” Michelle said, “but no thanks. If we’re still together on Christmas-”
Pete’s gut turned to a forest fire. He audibly choked trying to repeat the word “If.”
“Relax, “Michelle said. “I hope we will be. I think we will be. But I’m not a gift girl. Don’t get worked up. We can go out to dinner, or give a mutual donation to the Ruth Ellis Center or something.”
Pete nodded affirmative, agreeable. His mouth said “I’d like to get you something spec-”
The smile vanished. The dark gauze again.
“Why don’t you like-”
Michelle reached and rubbed the hair on Pete’s right arm. He wondered if it had been standing up from fright.
“It’s a long story, and it’s kinda painf-”
“I wanna hear it,” Pete blurted, before the word painful had registered.
Michelle patted his arm. It felt…condescending.
“You don’t have to tell-” Pete started.
Michelle shook her head.
“Ok, you should know why, I guess. Just promise me, promise me a thousand times over you will not get me anything. I’m not going to get you anything and I’m not going to accept anything you give me.”
Pete just nodded.
He thought there might be a tear hiding in the corner of her eye, and if he had caused it he wanted to set his own feet on fire.
“When I was a kid I spent all summer trash picking bike parts to make my little sister a bike for Christmas. Our dad…he meant well,mostly, I guess, but he was kind of a dirtbag.”
“I’m sorry,” Pete said and Michelle’s head shake shut him off.
“I wound up buying the derailleur with money I made at Darla’s Resale. Everything else I trash picked and assembled in my best friend’s garage.
Painted the bike Susie’s favorite color, Kelly Green, got neon streamers for the handlebars and Kelly Green grips.How in the world I found Kelly Green grips in the trash I’m not even sure. It was like it was meant to be.”
Michelle paused, bit her lip, exhaled.
“So I hid the bike behind a huge pile of leaves I raked behind the garage.”
Pete had to fight the urge to guess, out loud, that the bike got stolen.
“Couldn’t wait to give it to Susie. Come down Christmas morning, there’s a brand new bike next to the tree for Susie. Our dad won it at a raffle at Mulligan’s Pub.”
Michelle hung her head.
Pete started boiling his brain to think of something, anything to say and couldn’t.
“I got a guitar,” Michelle said. “A used acoustic that someone wrote Eddie Van Halen Rulls on with red nail polish.”
Michelle laughed that magical laugh.
“To this day when I see the word rules spelled out in any context, I hear “rulls.”
“Anyway, I brought my sister the bike I made for her. I almost didn’t want to, but I didn’t want her to think I didn’t get her anything.”
The darkness reappeared on Michelle’s face. It was heavy this time. Thick. She smiled through it, but Pete could feel it.
“I’m sorry your sister didn’t like the bike you made for her,” Pete said.
“She loved the bike I made for her,” Michelle said, the smile back in full force.
Pete smiled too before confusion reclaimed his face.
“So why don’t you…”
Michelle drummed her fingers across Pete’s forearm.
“Our dad was really mad that Susie liked my bike better than the one he got her. She was so proud I made her a bike…”
Pete smiled at Michelle but she didn’t seem to acknowledge it. She chewed her lip like it was gum.
Looking up at the ceiling, Michelle said “Our dad told Susie that Darren Carmichael probably built the bike for me. Susie asked him why Darren Carmichael would build a bicycle for me to give to her. He told Susie it was because Darren Carmichael wanted to fuck me. I was 14. Susie was 11. I double dead goose swore to her I built the bike myself. She kept riding it. Our dad sold the bike he won, and never got either of us another Christmas or Birthday gift.”
Michelle sniffled, shook it off, smiled.
Pete leaned and hugged her like he was never gonna let her go, like they were going to be in that position permanently.
She hugged back then finally pulled away.
Pete reached deep for some courage.
“So, what, hypothetically, if someone got you an engagement ring?”
Michelle’s lips went flat and she grabbed Pete by the jaw, her head cocked at an angle, her eyes glaring. At least Pete thought it was a glare, he had never seen that look from her before.
“No gifts. Ever. I’m serious. Those are the rulls.”
***
You, dear readers, don’t have to give me anything for Christmas. But I’m not gonna be mad or break up with you if you give a donation to the Ruth Ellis Center, the charity linked in the story. There may be a similar charity near you if that’s what you would prefer. Thanks.
Photo by Sylas Boesten on Unsplash
Some people really don’t deserve children.
This one was a gift. Thanks, Jimmy.