STAR BRIGHT

Outside snow is beginning to fall, thick, fluffy flakes that you want to catch on your tongue. It reminds me of another Christmas, six years ago, when it was also snowing. Back then it was a drizzly, mean kind of snow, like frozen rain, and it had matched my mood. I’d felt like my whole world was falling apart.

Now I press my palm flat against the cold glass, thinking how much has changed since then, and yet nothing at all.

“Maybe we’ll have a white Christmas,” Aunt Josie says from behind me, and I turn to her. She’s not really my aunt; she’s an old friend of my mother’s. Six years ago, when I lived with her for several months, she felt like my aunt, or someone even closer. I’d been sent to her house in the idyllic little village of Sheffington to give my parents a break. Or something like that. They’d been having trouble, the marital kind, and they’d hoped that some time alone would help work things out.

It didn’t.

Two days before Christmas, my mum called to me to tell me they were getting divorced. Merry Christmas.

“I thought we could decorate the tree tonight,” Josie says, handing me a cup of tea which I sip gratefully. I glance at the big, bushy evergreen that we lugged in from the garden centre this afternoon, the spicy scent of its needles filling the room with a festive perfume.

“That sounds good,” I reply. I haven’t been to Aunt Josie’s since I left all those years ago, just a few weeks after Christmas, that mean snow no more than a hardened rime of frost on the ground. Mum and Dad had separated, and I was about to begin an uncertain existence, spending a fortnight with Mum, and then another fortnight with Dad, back and forth, back and forth, in a litany of forgotten homework and uniforms and books, having two houses and no home.

Aunt Josie invited me back here in the intervening years, but I resisted. Maybe it was the memories, or perhaps I was just busy. At any rate, I kept myself away until now, when both Mum and Dad have got their separate Christmas plans with separate partners, and once again I’ve been left in the middle, which can be a very lonely spot.

“I saw Thomas today, at the market,” Aunt Josie continues, her tone a touch too casual, and I freeze. “I invited him to trim the tree with us. You remember how he decorated it with us last time?”

Last time--as if it were something recent rather than six very long years ago. And yes, I remembered, although I’d spent the last six years trying to forget. It’s amazing how much energy it can take not to think of someone. Of Thomas.

Thomas was my best friend for the six months I spent in Sheffington. A neighbour of Josie’s, he was the first one to rouse me out of my teenaged sulk, to make me smile. We became inseparable, and I felt I could tell him anything, until...

Until we decorated the Christmas tree. That fateful night, when I’d just found out my parents were divorcing and my world felt like it was coming apart.

“I didn’t realise Thomas still lived in Sheffington,” I finally manage, and my voice sounds blessedly normal.

“Oh yes, he settled here after uni,” Aunt Josie replies. “He works in his father’s office--they’re both GPs.” Aunt Josie pauses before asking delicately, “have you kept in touch...?”

“No.” I shake my head. Not a letter, not a phone call. Not even a word. Of course, we’d promised such things. At one point we’d plan to see each other every New Year’s, but it had all come to nothing.

“That’s too bad,” Aunt Josie says quietly. “You were such good friends.”  

I shrug, not wanting to deal with the messy explanations of the truth. “Kid stuff. It was a long time ago.”

“Then perhaps it will be good to see him now,” Aunt Josie returns. “He should be here in an hour.”

An hour...! Too late to make excuses, escapes. And why should I? We’re both adults, mature, capable of dealing with a childish incident that happened over half a decade ago. Except it hadn’t felt childish at the time... it had felt like the most important thing that ever--almost--happened to me.

Aunt Josie had gone into the kitchen to make cocoa, and Thomas and I were left alone, that frozen rain pelting against the window, making us feel cozy and safe. Even though I’d just heard about my parents’ divorce, Thomas had a way of taking me out of my own misery, making me smile.

Yet something strange happened when Josie left the room--a new tension uncoiled and stretched tautly between us, and suddenly my mouth was dry and my heart beat faster.

“There’s no star for the top,” Thomas remarked, sifting through the box of ornaments. We’d finished the tree, and the only ornaments left in the box were the broken ones Josie couldn’t bear to give away.

“Aunt Josie makes a new star every year,” I told him. “It’s a tradition she has--out of foil and cardboard.”

“Great.” He grinned, and reached for my hand. “Let’s go find some.” I let my fingers slip into his although he’d never taken my hand before. It felt natural, somehow. Right.

Josie had made herself scarce, and we were alone in the kitchen as I dug through the drawers for foil and cardboard.

“Do you want to cut it out or shall I?” Thomas asked, and I handed him the heavy duty kitchen scissors. “You can--I’m rubbish.”

“No, you’re not,” he replied softly, and my cheeks reddened. Thomas cut out a brilliant star, and I ripped off a piece of foil to cover it, smoothing the wrinkles over its surface, my head bent.

“I’m going to miss you,” Thomas said suddenly, and as my heart lurched I kept my head bent, my eyes averted.

“I’ll miss you too,” I managed, and Thomas trapped my fingers, still mindlessly smoothing the foil, with his own.

“Anna--”

I looked up, and was caught by the intensity of his gaze. And then the moment happened--the moment I felt like I’d been waiting my whole life for. Thomas leaned forward to kiss me.

I’m not sure what went on in my heart right then, or even my head. All I know is I stepped back suddenly, out of reach, my back hitting the kitchen table with a painful bump. I gave a little shake of my head, and I saw Thomas’s spirits sink. His shoulders slumped, the spark in his eyes went out, and that awful, awful moment seemed to go on forever though neither of us said a word.

Then Thomas managed a little shrug and picked up the star as if nothing had happened, as if the world--and our whole relationship--hadn’t just been irrevocably changed. “Shall we crown the tree?” he said, and went into the living room, leaving me to follow behind, miserable, disappointed and confused.

I wished we could have gone on as before. Even more, I wished I could have replayed that moment and acted differently. Felt differently. Yet neither was possible. In the next few weeks, my friendship with Thomas retreated into a terribly polite formality that neither of us knew how to stop. We never talked about that moment, and soon enough we never talked at all.

I returned home in mid-January, and I didn’t even say goodbye to Thomas. We haven’t corresponded since.

Yet now he’s coming over in an hour--half that now--and I hurry upstairs to change into something a bit more smart and freshen up my lipstick. Why? I’m not sure. I just know I want to look good when I see him again.

Outside the snow is starting to pile up in soft, pillowy drifts. The first stars are coming out in an inky sky, and it reminds me of the star we made that night. Josie wouldn’t still have it, of course; she makes a new one every year.

The doorbell rings, and my heart leaps. Thomas. He’s five minutes early. I wait upstairs, listening as Josie goes to answer it and they exchange warm greetings. After a moment, Josie calls up,

“Anna! Thomas is here!”

I make my way downstairs, wishing for less of a grand entrance. Thomas stands by the door, snowflakes melting in his hair, his cheeks red with cold. He looks wonderful.

“Hello, Thomas,” I say, hearing my voice coming out so stiltedly.

Thomas smiles easily. “Hi, Anna. Long time.” He comes forward and kisses my cheek. His lips, barely brushing my skin, are cold. Then he steps back, and I feel foolish for letting the past matter, letting myself care so much. Thomas has obviously moved way past our almost-kiss.

We start decorating the tree, and as each ornament is taken tissue-wrapped from the box, it feels like an old friend. Everything feels familiar, from the snow batting the windows to Thomas’s easy way of talking. He perches a knitted snowman and an angel next to each other on the tree, claiming they’d been telling him they wanted to get to know each other.

I giggle, the small bubble of sound erupting from me, taking me by surprise. Thomas can still make me laugh.

Somehow Josie disappears, and I realise I knew she would. The box of ornaments is almost gone, and I sift through the detritus, bits of tinsel, spare hooks, and a headless Father Christmas.

“It’s good to see you,” Thomas says to break the silence that once again has become tense. “Josie keeps me up to date with your doings--you’re a nurse in Birmingham?”

“Yes...” I’m rolling the headless Santa between my hands before I drop him hurriedly back into the box. “And you’re a doctor! I know you’d always said that’s what you wanted to do...” I trail off, managing to look at him and smile.

“Yes, I love living in Sheffington. I always wanted to raise a family here.”

My cheeks warm. “You haven’t yet?”

Thomas looks taken aback for a second, and he shakes his head. “No, still single. Looking for the right girl.” I nod, and he takes a breath. “Look, Anna, I’ve always regretted that night when I tried to kiss you.” He smiles crookedly, but it feels like a stab to the heart. He’s regretted trying to kissing me? “I should have just been happy with our friendship. You never gave me a sign that you wanted anything more.”

“I know I didn’t,” I whispered. I’d been too afraid.

“And if we’d talked about it,” Thomas continues, “maybe we could have moved past it. At any rate, it’s old news now, isn’t it? I hope we can be friends.” His smile is bright, determined, and terrible.

I don’t want to be friends. I never did. I wanted so much more from Thomas, and when he was about to kiss me it felt like my world was finally opening up with glorious possibility. It felt like my life was about to start.

Yet how can I explain that now, when we haven’t spoken in six years? When I haven’t made even the tiniest effort to see him, speak to him? How can I explain to him that I still feel as I did when I was seventeen, that looking at him now I realise my feelings never changed?

I love him.

I can hardly say any of that, not when Thomas wants to be friends. Not when I was the one who rejected him all those years ago.

And yet if I don’t, I’ll have passed up not one opportunity, but two. And both times will have been out of fear.

“Thomas...” I begin, my mouth so dry it’s hard to speak.

“It’s all right, Anna,” Thomas says quickly. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you, bringing this up--”

“You haven’t,” I reply, just as quickly. This is my chance, perhaps my only one. “Thomas, all those years ago I... I wanted you to kiss me.” The look of stunned disbelief on his face would almost be comical if I wasn’t so nervous. So afraid. “I wanted nothing more,” I continue, for now that I’ve decided to confess, I’d better do the job properly. “But then--at the last moment--I got cold feet. I was afraid.”

“Afraid of what?” Thomas asked, his voice little more than a whisper.

“Afraid of it not working out. My parents had just told me they were getting divorced, and they did everything they could to make it work out.” I can’t quite look at him as I finish quietly, “I was afraid of loving you--and being hurt.”

Thomas is silent for so long I sneak a look at him. He looks troubled. What have I done? What Pandora’s box of old hopes have I just opened up?

“I wish we’d had this conversation a long time ago,” Thomas finally said.

“I was afraid to tell you,” I admit. “And then I thought maybe you regretted it--and I convinced myself it was better this way, since I was leaving.”

More silence. The snow and wind rattle the windowpanes.

“And now?” Thomas asks. “What do you feel now?” He looks right at me, and I see that same intensity in his eyes once more.

“Afraid,” I say with a shaky laugh, “but willing to tell you so. And if I could do that moment over again, I think it would end very differently.”

“It would?” Thomas asks, taking a step closer, and I can only nod, my heart beating so hard I can feel it in my throat.

Thomas takes another step closer, and another, and then his lips are brushing mine, as I’d always imagined--hoped--they would. His arms come around me and I rest my head on his shoulder.

“I never thought to hope for this,” Thomas says. “But my feelings never changed either, Anna.” He smiles against my hair. “If only we’d spoken sooner! We could have had--”

“It doesn’t matter,” I tell him. “What’s important is now.”

Thomas pulls away from me, his attention caught by something in the box of ornaments. “Look at this. It’s our star.”

It is a foil-covered cardboard star, the foil now wrinkled and aged, but I can’t believe it’s ours.

“How can you tell?”

He points to a pair of tiny intials on one of the star’s points. “I wrote that,” he admits sheepishly. “Hoping one day it would be true.”

And now it is. We smile at each other as Aunt Josie bustles in with a tray of cocoa. Her smile is so bright and knowing I’m quite sure she made herself disappear on purpose--just as she did last time.

“You two put the star on the top,” she instructs. “I’ll pour the cocoa.”

Thomas’s hands are firm on my waist as he steadies me. I reach up and place the star among the topmost boughs. We watch it gleam from its lofty perch, as it did so many years ago... six, and two thousand.

“Why did you keep this star, Aunt Josie?” I ask and she shrugs.

“I liked that one.” Her smile gives her away, though, and Thomas grins at me.

I grin back, feeling light and happy. The fear is still there, just a little bit, but it hasn’t kept me back. It won’t ever keep me back, not with Thomas at my side.

His arm around me, we survey the tree as outside the snow continues to gently fall.

...END

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Copyright © 2010 by Katharine Swartz