Part Four

* * * * *

         “How was shopping earlier?” Tristian asked, slipping his jacket off and letting it dangle from one hand while he looked for a place to stash it. He was in the apartment entryway, the door just having shut behind him.
         Lena rolled her eyes. “What you’d expect at this time of year. And Jina wants to compare every single price so she can get the best bargain . . .”
         Tristian grinned. “Yeah, I should have warned you about that. Distance means nothing to her if it saves her a few bucks. How many times did you crisscross the mall?”
         Lena sighed and made a face. “Oh God, I stopped counting at six. If I’d kept counting then she’d still be locked in my trunk.”
         “With something like that, the only way to win is to run the clock out, basically,” Tristian explained, looking around casually. “Keep stopping for coffee and when you do, keep her talking as long as you can. You’ll still waste all day there but you won’t spend as much time walking around.”
         Lena laughed. “Yeah, I’ll have to try that next time, but . . .” her face became suddenly serious. “What if she wants to go back?”
         Tristian gave her a pitying look. “You’re on your own there. But that should buy you enough time to plan ahead.” He met her returning gaze with a matching stare of his own. “What? I can’t think of everything.”
         Lena sniffed. “That’d be a first.” She turned away quickly, as if surprised at herself. Tristian didn’t appear to notice, craning his neck around a corner, his jacket flung over his shoulder.
         Lena, one hand on her mouth to hide a smile, watched him for a few more seconds before walking over to him. “You can stop looking for a place to hang up your coat.” It didn’t seem to throw him off his course. “Here.” She grabbed it out of his hand before he even realized she was that close, tossing it onto the nearest couch. “That’ll work. Besides, I’m just glad you took the damn thing off for once.”
         “I had to, I’m under orders,” he replied mildly. The windows only showed darkness, maybe broken by a few stabs of holiday lighting from nearby buildings, twinkling and distant from the world they knew.
         “If I come home one more time to find you standing there like you’re about to leave I’m going to kill you isn’t exactly an order.” Lena arranged the coat so that it was a little neater, propping it up in the corner of the cushion. The way it puffed up suggested a sagging person, relaxing or settling into a final relief.
         “Let’s just say your best friend has a way with being persuasive. And a knack for backing up her threats.” The two of them were taking turns pacing around, one pulling the other along by their presence. Tristian was wandering past the windows still, a hand occassionally going out to touch the glass. His shadow cast no shadow, it was lost in the opacity.
         “One day the two of you are going to have to come clean about your sordid past together.” Lena was letting her fingers brush along the edge of the couch. The two of them were maintaining the same distance apart but it wasn’t clear who was coming to and who was going away. “I suspect she’s been leaving stuff out.”
         “Oh, you have no idea,” he said, his gaze sliding to her without moving his head. “When we get some spare time I’ll have to tell you all about it. But make sure you clear a day on your calender. The story about how we were never in the supermarket when the bear got loose could take hours just on its own.”
         “What . . .” Lena gave him a sharp look before seeing the ghosted smile starting to form on his face. “Ass,” she mouthed, playfully hitting him on the arm. “You have to warn me when you just start making stuff up.”
         He gave her a pained looked and rubbed his arm. “I never took you for the gullible type. Must be the weather.”
         “Oh, don’t you start, too. I’ve been good, haven’t complained once.” She swayed back a little. At some point the gap between them had become quite narrowed. Nobody could tell who had taken the first step. Somehow they were near the entryway to the kitchen, the soft light from inside spilling out and framing them in half-silhouette. “Today.” Laughing, she put one hand on his arm, removed it just as quickly. “Jina says she’s buying me a portable space heater to strap to my head.”
         “That’s true friendship. I can’t even come close to that.” Abruptly, he turned away, sweeping across the apartment with a long legged stride. “The two of you did a good job decorating the place, though.” He looked up. “Whose idea was the candy canes hanging from the ceiling? I’ve been ducking them ever since I came in.”
         “Kind of both of us.” She crossed her arms, watching him study the place. Her eyes would sometimes drift toward his hip, where a stubby black object hung attached to his belt. But he never made a move toward it, or acknowledged it, and her gaze nevr lingered long. “We’re short and everyone we know is pretty much tall, so we thought it would drive them nuts.”
         “That’s a good way to encourage visitors.”
         “You still came, didn’t you?” A little teasing but a little bit of a question wrapped inside.
         “Like I could stay away.” But it didn’t sound like the answer to the right question. He was in front of the tree now, examining it in a way that made Lena blink and try to focus. When we don’t look the same. She wouldn’t let herself finish the thought. “Besides, you’re leaving, when . . . tomorrow?”
         “Yeah, bright and early.” Her expression spoke to how much she was looking forward to the prospect. “But it’s just a long plane flight, I’m used to it. You haven’t told me what you’ve been up to lately-“
         ”This tree came out nice,” Tristian murmured, standing up smoothly. She hadn’t even seen him go down. That’s how quick he could move when you weren’t looking. He absently flicked at one of the branches, letting one of the shinier ornaments catch the light, abstract refractions playing out on his face, the wall. “Which reminds me, I’ve got a story for you . . .”
         “Okay, listen.” Her own voice sounded unnaturally loud in the apartment, especially compared to his quieter tones. “This has to stop.” His confused expression nearly made her laugh right then. “I know this is probably what you’re used to, but I am not standing around in my own home all night. So one of us has to sit down and the other has to follow suit. Now.”
         “Well.” Two steps took him toward the couch. His open jacket still watched them both, the slump of its shoulders perhaps indicating a bit of jealousy. “Maybe I was being polite and waiting for you.”
         “Oh?” They were at opposite corners. “A proper hostess doesn’t ever sit first. Who taught you manners?”
         The next step was mutual. He wasn’t much taller than her, but it felt that way. She imagined the object at his hip purring, but that was ridiculous. It wasn’t alive. He had told her that more than once. “A long line of Jacart family traditions. Hard for me to break.”
         “Yeah, I can tell you’re all very stubborn that way. What are we going to do about it?”
         Inches now. As one measures distance. He was all voice and her line of sight was out. “If one of us can’t go first, maybe it’d be best if we went at the same time?” There was a lightness to his voice that he rarely had, that made her breath catch a little just to hear it.
         Stop, he’s just. Shoving the notion aside, Lena gave him a skeptical look. “Think you can manage it?”
         “I think the better question is, can you?” He never looked ready to fall down ever. You could push and push and he’d never topple. And there were some days when she . . . no. “On three, then?”
         “Deal.” No need to shake hands, we’re all on the honor system here.
         “One.” Who started the count? All over the world the numbers were going up or coming down. But here it was just her or him or him and her and what number did that make? They could hover suspended in a stasis forever or finally make a move. But were those the only options?
         “Two.” Was that her knees, buckling, dropping? She said she would never let that happen. It was too important, to say when to stand and when not to. Let it go down when the time was right, when it was decided. Not on his order or hers or anyone else’s. When the time was right.
         But was that him moving with her, at the same speed? So that it never seemed like they were tumbling at all?
         “Three.”
         Elegantly matched, they fell.
         He bounced a little more than she did, already adjusting himself so that he was sitting back and slightly toward her. Lena basically landed as her posture dictated, legs going up slightly, body sinking back. But when all was said and done, there was little separating their shoulders. His arm over was over the back of the couch, just there. Neither of them called attention to it.
         “That better?” The object at his belt was hidden now, buried in the folds of the cushions. Or maybe it was never there, just an assumed presence. The final reminder.
         “Much.” She crossed one leg over the other, toward him.
         “So what’s in store for Christmas once you’re home?”
         “Oh, nothing special,” she muttered, twisting a little. “Some relatives come over on Christmas Day for dinner. My mother’s a pretty good cook although she busts her butt for days making it. I used to help her, back when I lived there. My sister’s not as good at it and believe me, that’s all I hear around this time of the year.” She finally settled in, or felt like she did. It was quiet now, or didn’t sound like talking. “A bunch of cousins come over, my father doesn’t have any siblings but my mother had a bunch and ever since my grandmother died we kind of became the main house. Everyone eats dinner and we sit around to watch whatever’s on TV. We used to put on a Christmas movie but two of my cousins just started either finding or bringing these terrible movies. And they make everyone watch it . . . but we don’t really watch it. We make fun of it or once in a while turn the sound down and make up our own dialogue.” She stretched, reaching back so that she was almost grasping the back of the couch. But then she felt the weight of his arm nearby and drew back. “It’s . . . nice to have everyone there. Especially now, since I’m not home as much as I used to be.”
         “Do you miss it?”
         Lena frowned. “A little. But I like being out here, too . . .” there was so much dangling she refused to let herself say. “And I do get to go back, so I don’t miss too much. There’s more to catch up on.” She elbowed him a little, although he ducked back just enough so that she swung wide, somehow gauging it. “But you’re doing it again.” At his questioning expression, she added, “Letting me do all the talking. Come on, I spilled, what’s your family do?”
         “Oh, us?” He shifted all too lightly, casting a glance at his jacket. “It’s mostly just the three of us around here, we generally spend most of the day running around right from the morning. The family’s scattered and we don’t really have a central place to go . . . so we try to catch everyone. It’s a long day but . . . you don’t notice when you’re in it.” There was a shadow in his eyes, a masked eclipse that refused to bend light. “As a kid, that’s all I remembered, just dashing in and out of houses. Like we were Santa’s helpers. During the years it snowed that’s really what it felt like.” He glanced down at her to see if she was still listening and when he saw that she was, did his best not to register surprise. “And in the middle of it all . . .” a debate raged across him briefly and which side won was impossible to tell. “My father used to drive us out to a place on the way between two of my aunts’ houses, this one point with a good overview of the area. And we’d sit there, he and my mother and me . . . we’d watch the sun go down.” His lips became a thin line, caught somewhere between laughter and memory. “My father always said everyone likes to watch a sunrise, but a sunset gave you a chance to look back, see the day shutting down calmly and quietly, remind us that life was more than just scrambling around. My mother used to tell me that it was just too damn early for him. But we’d stay there for a bit and just . . . talk. Because it was the one quiet moment of the day with just the three of us.” He shifted again, bringing one leg up so that it was resting on the couch, his knee almost touching her. But he kept staring outward, toward the dark. “We haven’t done it in a few years. It’s just been . . . busy. Or I’ve been . . .” He didn’t let the thought finish and Lena wondered if it was even meant for her.
         “Maybe this year, you should start again.” It came out of her without warning, and she almost wanted to pretend she had said nothing to see if he noticed.
         But he did. Smiling at her, he said, “Maybe we should.” It was the way he said we that hit her somewhere taut, compressing the room slightly. It wasn’t a terrible feeling but she hadn’t been expecting it either.
         “You should come to ours one year . . .” The instant it was said she wanted it pulled back, cursing herself for saying something so ridiculous. Her family was across the country, why would she even suggest it. “I’m sorry, that was stupid, we’re so far away . . .” Even trying to smooth it over just made her feel more foolish. Why am I reacting like this, it wasn’t even that bad. Jesus.
         “Well,” Tristian said, leaning a little closer as if imparting a deep secret, “I do know people for whom distance isn’t exactly a problem.”
         It was said so matter of factly that the notion of it didn’t strike her for a few seconds. Oh, she thought then said it outloud as well. “You, ah, you could then. Couldn’t you?”
         “Factor in the time difference and doing yours and mine would be a breeze.” Maybe for the first time since she’d met him he seemed relaxed, completely at ease. Even the latent quivering that often seemed to be nesting just beneath him was gone for the moment, the sense that he was waiting to react and was wondering why he’d been waiting this long. Why does he come back? Her own voice, asking the question that nagged at her every time she lookked up at the sky and wondered whoever thought it looked sterile and gone. Some days it was all too close.
         A few reasons. Those dry tones, with a bit of lingering spark at the edges. She could look at Tristian and hear it. No often how hard she tried, it was impossible to separate. A few reasons.
         “It doesn’t . . . hurt at all? To go like that?” She had always told herself she wouldn’t ask him too many questions, to make him think that the reason she talked to him was because of that, his life, that she had some kind of fascination with what he dragged along in his wake. Or he was the one pulled along with it. “I mean, that one time at the restaurant, it was so fast and I wasn’t ready for it . . . but it wasn’t that far so I just . . . I assumed . . .” the recollection threatened to spiral from the depths and tear the rest of the evening to shreds. None of you are. She forced it to stop only with an extreme force of will.
         “You don’t even notice it. Most times it’s like . . .” He went to snap his fingers and failed. Why doe he come back? The fact that he couldn’t made her want to laugh a little, dispelling the cloud that had been beginning to settle. A few reasons. His family. “It’s instantaneous. One place, then another. No matter how far, everything becomes close. I mean, I get sick a little bit. Sometimes.” The last bit spoken quickly. “But most people don’t.”
         “Oh, really now?” His friends.
         “Hey, I’m not good with rollercoasters either. But I’m getting used to it. Slowly.” His gaze sought the upper edges of the apartment, perhaps trying to memorize it. Like he might go at any second. All of a sudden Lena didn’t want him to have only this memory, this isolated instance, when all the rest of his life was whirling away. It was better than that, she wanted to say. It could get better. If everything in the way just got pushed aside.
         “Maybe one day I’ll have to try it again.” She ignored what her own stomach was trying to tell her. “When I’m ready for it.” His life. The road was already yawning but didn’t want to be tugged along just yet. “But not this year.” His life.
         “Next year, then?” Hovering just on the cusp of the edge of a promise. When the fall comes again you won’t let anyone stop you.
         And. No. “It’s an idea.” She was smiling and he was there and the voice in her head was him and didn’t sound anything like him, the faces blurring together and maybe finally beginning to separate. And. No. No. “We’ll have to keep it in mind.”
         “I’d like that.” Just as simple, a featherweight left settling on her. He was closer. And you. He wasn’t closer.
         “We’ll call it a pact, then.” And you. Stop. Stop. It didn’t seem right to just shake hands on it and here he was, while her sweater tightened around itself, stray flecks of fluff finding their way into her nervous fingers. “The two of us and . . .” And you. Can you. You can can you just come can you can you come over you
         why does come back
                              he’s looking right at
you.
         Lena jumped up so quickly that she was afraid the couch might topple backwards. “I, ah, I got you something. For Christmas.” If he had a response she didn’t hear it, already into the kitchen and back out again, holding the wrapped gift in both hands. It was vaguely squarish in shape and didn’t look heavy at all.
         “Oh, come on, you didn’t have to . . .” he was saying, trying to muster up the defense even as she plopped down on the couch, maybe an inch closer than before. Or an inch further. When the gap was narrowed, the littlest changes were hard to notice. You went down by degrees.
         “Don’t even . . .” she warned, practically shoving it into his lap. She tucked one foot behind the other knee, putting her hands together on the couch as if trying to warm then. “I don’t even want to hear it from you. You’ve been there for me all year and been a great friend and . . .” How are you going to finish that, Lena? How can it end? “. . . and you deserve at least this.”
         He had no words for her immediately. “Thank you.” When the word came, the quivering began to return at the edges, the quiet surprise that anyone even noticed him standing there. Some semblance of relaxation forced its way back into him again as he held the package up, examining it. “What is it, though? It feels fairly solid like . . .” he went to shake it.
         “Come on,” she said, slapping him lightly on the leg. “I don’t have all night, you know. Some of us have to catch a plane.”
         He gave her a look that said okay. Part of her braced herself for the flush of the sword as he sliced the gift wrap off, but he simply slid one finger along the edge, tearing a neat line.
         What emerged was a notebook, a pair of them actually. Plain composition binders, white pages and blue lines, the type they’d give you in high school and expect you to have filled by the end of the year.
         “Hey . . .” he said, a little unsure at first. “How did you know I needed to take lecture notes?” The lightness of his voice belayed his confusion.
         “No, it’s, ah . . “ suddenly it seemed like the dumbest gift idea. But she forced herself to forge on. I’m right about this. “It’s for when you go . . . away. To take with you.”
         “Oh.” Then, as it dawned: “Oh. Oh, wow. Okay, I can use this, that’s great.” He tapped one of them against his knee. “Though Jina’s the writer, you sure she wouldn’t be better off.”
         “No, there’s . . . there’s a trick to them.” She took one away from him, flipped it open. “I remembered how you tried that one time to . . . to keep in touch. So with these, you get one and whatever you write in here . . .” She reached over to the coffee table, grabbed a pen and scribbled, Merry Christmas Tristian on the first page. Then she closed it, praying that it did what it was supposed to do. “Okay, now open yours.”
         Looking at her with some skepticism, Tristian slowly opened the notebook. At her angle it was impossible to see the page in any detail. Lena had to resist the urge to lean forward and grab it from him.
         He stared at it for a second without any expression at all and her stomach sank a bit. He’s going to think this is one big joke. Dammit.
         But then he tilted the book toward her, so that she could clearly see written on the first page, in her handwriting, was Merry Christmas Tristian.
         All the breath left her suddenly, a ringing chiming uncontrollably in her ears as she sat back, nearly fell back.
         “How . . .”
         “I don’t know.” Laughing as she said it, trying not to let the laugh take over her body. “Oh God, Tristian, I don’t know . . .”
         “Did you ask . . .” the names without names hovered between them.
         “I did.” The words were a rush, she was losing track of them as they ran away. “I’m sorry, but he was here and I didn’t know what else to get you, so I asked him to make it. But . . .” There was no other way to finish. Why did everything have to always have an end?
         “You asked him to make this?” He was flipping through the pages in wonder, as if expecting other words to be written there. Or for it to disappear entirely. “And he did.”
         “Yeah. I don’t know why, I . . . he just did.”
         “Lena, this is . . . this is amazing. I never would have . . . and he just made the two . . .”
         “Yeah, anyone can have the other one, it’ll work for any of us he said. That way if you want to give it to your parents or . . .”
         “It’s staying right here, I hope.” There was no chance of arguing with it and Lena found a little part of her letting go at that statement. Yes. “You’re going to keep it, right?” The question was in more than just his words.
         “Yes. If that’s what you want.” Saying it felt so automatic, like they had discussed it already and this was just a formality.
         “Good, good.” A part of him had stabilized again, the blurring disjunction of phases had stopped and she had no idea what that even meant. She’d have to write it down. When he looked at her again it was as honest as she’d ever seen him, every guard down. “Thank you. Seriously, Lena.”
         One of them hugged the other, it wasn’t clear who. His mouth was close to her ear and his breathing was sedate, a calm channel out of time with her heart. It went on for hours, for seconds, maybe even less.
         “No problem.” Her voice gone weak. “You deserve it.”
         “Maybe.” And it was as close to an admission as any of them would ever get. He took both notebooks and put them neatly on the table. “I’m not sure how I’m going to be able to top that but . . . I got you something, too.” He unfolded himself from the couch, reaching over into his jacket. Two items emerged from it, seemingly pulled from the depths. A plain white bag that he also placed on the table, and a medium sized box. That he handed to her without comment.
         The box didn’t feel heavy at all. Maybe it leads into another dimension, she thought impishly. Opening it only revealed crumpled tissue paper at first.
         “I’d like to point out that the folds in the paper mimic the complex quantum mathematics involved in a tesseract,” Tristian told her quite seriously. “I spent a lot of time on that.”
         “Oh, shush,” Lena shot back, her smile dampening the impact. “I’ll only believe so . . . oh.” With a quiet rustle she had moved the paper aside and found the contents. Wordlessly she looked at Tristian as she pulled the first object out.
         It was curved and small and sinuous, a deep purple and almost transparent, the apartment lights catching it and melting all over the surface. The way it bent suggested it only had one edge, like a Moebius strip, although the ends weren’t connected.
         “Where did you get this?” she asked softly, holding it up for a closer look. “It’s beautiful.”
         “I, ah,” he slid forward a little, gingerly grasped her hand around the wrist to rotate the object. “I was thinking, if you wanted . . . I could probably get a nice chain and make it part of a necklace.” When her eyes met his, he instantly went back, as if retracting. “I would have done it already but I didn’t have time and . . . I didn’t know if . . .”
         “That’s a great idea. No, really it is.” She grinned as she regarded it again. “Oh, wow, how did you do this?”
         He inclined his head toward the box. “Why don’t you check the others out first?”
         Each one was lifted out in turn. Each one was different, swooping shards rendered into new shapes. A green dog, glistening like stained glass and sitting up to beg. An azure cat, lithe body curled up as if sleeping and shot through with streaks of crimson. A pink ballerina almost too delicate to stand properly and succeeding anyway, one leg swept outward and an arm gently outstretched, trying to touch someone just out of reach. Musical notes combining into a tune that couldn’t be heard, not here and not today. A jagged wild piece, reds and oranges fighting inside for domination, colors that almost moved when turned in the light. A few, small others: a horse in full gallop, sparkled hair caught in a wind nobody felt. The cool blues of a nightshot sky, tiny grooves indicating a series of falling stars, a hill rolling up against the foreground. Two shadows on the bottom perhaps indicated two people lying there, watching the busy and unchanging vista. Or maybe it was just her imagination.
         That piece was the last one, and the largest, lying at the bottom of the box. Lena stared at it, hardly seeming to breathe, before finally putting it on the couch between them.
         “Tristian this is . . . where did you get these?” Her voice was soft, perhaps afraid that too much noise might shatter them, or break whatever bubble of time they were trapped in. “I’ve never seen anything like them.”
         “Do you like them?” He picked up one, the jagged shape, turning it over in his hands like he was trying to summon a new memory. Or maybe he saw a streak in it that hadn’t been there before.
         “Yes, I . . . you could say that, yes.” She rearranged them on the table, sitting back to get a better look. “You still never said how you made them. Or is that a trade secret?”
         “No, it’s . . .” he bit his lip, trying to think of how to explain. He started to reach for one, perhaps hoping that might do the talking for him. Finally he said, “I used this.” And tapped his hip.
         “What do you mean, your . . .” But, no, it wasn’t his hip. It was the object clipped there, the stubby device that everyone said was a weapon, even though no one really knew for sure. “That? Tristian, but you said that was a-“
         ”I know.” Even though his face was somber, there was a tense, excited energy coursing through his body. “And it is. Trust me, I know. But I . . . I didn’t know what to get you, Lena. I had no idea.” If she closed her eyes and only listened to his tone, she might have heard him say, And the bomb was about to go off and we were out of options. Someone had to stay behind. That rigid sense he had, that it all had to go proper. Oh, Tristian. It was only a gift. That’s not why I-
         He leaned forward, the smoothness of it so sudden that she forgot to draw back. Nimbly, he plucked one of the figurines up, holding it carefully with the fingers of two hands. “I was sitting in my kitchen trying to figure it out. Out of the corner of my eye I saw an old small plate that I rarely used. I picked it up and . . . saw something else.” The meter of the notes wasn’t possible and maybe it was what he heard in his head all the time, dancing hand in hand with the improbable. “So I took the sword, thinned the blade and tried to bring it out. I think I wanted to prove to myself that it was good for more than . . . than what it’s for. And once the first cut was made, I . . . just kept carving.”
         “And . . . you got this?” She went to take it from his hand but his laugh stopped her.
         “Oh God, no, I got a mess the first time. My house is now a mess, it took me a few tries to get it right.” He put the notes down, picked up the horse. “But when I did . . . it suddenly became easy. This was part of a soda can.” He indicated the cat, frozen in lazy slumber. “That was a piece of porcelin that I found, probably part of something else. Another one of these was a stone from outside, it . . .” he clapsed his hands together, suddenly looking a bit embarrassed. “I probably shouldn’t do too much explaining, it ruins the magic.”
         “No, no.” The surface of each was smooth, there was no sign of any marks for cutting. It was like they had formed that way, right from the start. “This is great, it really is, but . . .” Her exact question lay hovering between them, unable to be voiced. Maybe the words didn’t exist for it. She tried to imagine him sitting in his house, face flushed with the blackflash of a crimson glow, trying to find the shape inside each object. For her. Hoping that she might like it.
         His eyes spoke of an answer, equally hard to state. “Because . . . you’re always listening to me talk about out there and it’s so strange and different that you can forget how amazing it can be here. We’re surrounded by it and so we forget. So I tried to take the most ordinary stuff I could find and . . . make these.” He was looking right at her now, too far and too close and too there. “That as fantastic as the Universe is, it’s not here. This place, home.” Was that his tentative pressure on her hand, both reassuring and exhilerating? No, no, it wasn’t like this. It had to be. “It’s not plain at all, it’s just as exciting. And beautiful. We just have to look a little harder, sometimes.”
         “And, are you looking now?” Her voice had gone dry.
         “Yes.” It barely came out as a breath. “But I don’t need to look very hard.”
         His hand was on her back, just barely brushing her shoulder blades, a whisper-thin comfort that refused to disguise that he was near. Or she was near. Or they were both closing, every arc finally finding its other half.
         Lena had one clear moment to see him, once and here. Her voice reduced to a stripped murmur as she said, “He was right. You don’t look anything alike.”
         Then she leaned forward and kissed him, erasing every question in his eyes.
         Startled in his expectations, it took him a fraction to respond but he fell into it easily enough, the warmth of his motion matching hers, the room falling into a fish-eyed perspective and time scraping to a halt in just that second. He was force and friction and a surprising gentleness, almost surgical in its precision. The new, hesitant part of her tried to rise up and pull her away, but she was able to shove it aside and lose herself in that second, felt it yawn and stretch for far longer than it had any right to do. And that was fine.
         It still hesitated even when they separated, the moment captured in glass, trapped in the slow crawl. She had one hand on his arm, trailing it down to just brush his palm. His other arm had her surrounded, and it wasn’t just safety that suffused her then, but a sudden thrill that careened in her like a wayward star, the discovery that the lights in the sky weren’t so very far after all.
         “Hey,” he said, with a trembling calm that had never existed in him before.
         “Hey.” She leaned a little against him, settling. “Merry Christmas.”
         “Well, same to you.” A little closer and that was better. “I think we both did all right.”
         “I’d say so.” She ran her thumb along his hand, his unmovable solidity. “Better than most.”
         “Yeah.” There was a certainty infusing him, as if the sword had carved away more than just the material surrounding the figurines.
         Eyes half-closed, she found herself focusing on the table again, on the notebooks resting haphazardly there, on the figurines, arranged for their own secret meeting. All of that, and one more object.
         “Hey.” She lifted herself up a little from him, doing her best to keep the warmth nearby. “You never said what was in the other bag.”
         “Oh, that.” He reached out and grabbed it, unfolding the crinkled top. “I almost forgot.” Completely open now, he pulled out what it contained and held it out toward her. “I didn’t know if you’d be hungry, so I got a danish.”
         For some reason the very notion of it, him sitting there innocently offering it to her, sparked the back of her mind and she started laughing. At the absurdity of it, at the wonder of it. If this is strangeness, then I could get used to it becoming normal.
         She was still laughing when she kissed him again, longer this time. It seemed the only way to make it stop.
         And with both of them so engaged, neither noticed the sparkle start to circle on the windowsill across the room, tight and twinkling, the air itself folding and rippling. Nor did they notice the small object appear on it, gradually pushing itself through to here, starting transparent and finally achieving a satisfying solidity. Or the tiny chuckle that accompanied its arrival, the sound fading into spirals.
         Meanwhile, without waiting to see if they were listening, the tiny speckled rock, nestled in its place against the dark, quietly and joyously began to sing.


         

THE END

“Stars come out of hiding for you, and I would, too . . .”
         - the Mountain Goats, “‘Bluejays and Cardinals’”

MB
12/14-12/25/08
RP