The Holiday Read online

  Dr Jay: Happy holidays, Prudence.

  What was with this guy? I was so clearly not interested, and yet every time I logged on to the computer, there he was, cluelessly eager to chat with me. Or rather chat with Prudence. I’d have to go back and check out the photo of her that I posted. She is obviously much better looking than I gave her credit for. And there was more to Dr Jay than I was giving him credit for. For some reason, I was glad to hear from him.

  Prudence: Same to you, Dr Jay. So tell me, why is a single, presumably good-looking single doctor home alone on Christmas Eve?

  Dr Jay: Same reason you are, I guess.

  Prudence: Highly doubtful.

  Dr Jay: I’d really like to get together with you for coffee, Prudence.

  Prudence: What are you doing tomorrow morning?

  Dr Jay: Having coffee with you, I hope.

  Prudence: On Christmas?!

  Dr Jay: I told you I really want to have coffee with you.

  Prudence: Wow, I’m feeling a little pressure. What exactly are you expecting that you’d be willing to meet with me on Christmas?!

  Dr Jay: Don’t take this the wrong way, Prudence. I really want to meet you, but it’s not like I’m canceling any big plans for Christmas morning. I’m Jewish.

  Prudence: Oh, I was flattered for a moment. What coffee place will be opened on Christmas?

  As we finalized our plans, my heart raced as I realized I would have to explain to Jay that I was not, in fact, Prudence but, rather, her ‘friend’ who’s taken an unusual interest in finding her a new man. If Jay was the right guy for Prudence, how would I introduce them? And what if they really hit it off and did wind up in a serious relationship? Could I really expect Jay to keep hidden the fact that I’d posted a profile of Prudence on an internet dating site? This is why I am not partial to doing things spontaneously. Having a plan and a contingency is a far better way to go. Unfortunately, I had neither.

  Chapter Eight

  Though I’d never seen him before, I recognized Jay the moment I walked into the diner. He had curly hair and a Jewish intellectual look just as he had in my burning-building dream, but he was a lot cuter than I’d thought he’d be. ‘Hi, Jay,’ I said, as I approached the table.

  ‘Prudence?’ he asked.

  ‘Sort of.’

  ‘You look different from your photo,’ he continued.

  I sat across from him on the sticky vinyl bench of the booth. A tired-looking waitress who looked as if she should be working at a truck stop in Wyoming nodded to let us know she’d be with us in a moment.

  ‘I’ve got to come clean about something, Jay, and once I do, I’m not sure that you’re going to want to have this coffee with me after all.’ He raised his eyebrows with curiosity, urging me to go on. ‘My name isn’t Prudence.’ Jay laughed as though there was some irony in this disclosure. ‘Prudence is my friend who I want to fix up with a nice guy. Well, to be perfectly honest, she’s my husband’s ex-wife. I’d like to see her find a nice guy to settle down with now that Reilly and I are so happy together.’

  ‘Whoa, slow down,’ he said. ‘This isn’t making sense.’

  ‘Reilly is my husband, Prudence’s ex,’ I explained.

  ‘No, that I get,’ Jay said. ‘It’s the part about you being so happy that didn’t make sense.’

  The waitress came to our table and asked if I wanted their special Christmas breakfast. After Jay inquired about it, Trudy explained that it was two eggs any style, hash browns, and bacon with juice, coffee, or milk. Pretty special. We ordered two and Jay leaned in to whisper, ‘What intrigued me about your e-mails was how utterly unhappy you seemed.’ I knit my brows, perplexed. ‘You seemed very angry, and frankly depressed about all that business with your husband being killed. Was that true?’ I nodded. ‘Look, Prudence, I mean, what is your name?’

  ‘Sarah.’

  ‘Sarah, I’ve got to come clean with you, too,’ he said. ‘I’m not really looking for a girlfriend on the internet either. I’m doing research.’

  ‘Well, that’s one thing we have in common. Research for what, though?’

  ‘I’m a therapist. I thought it would be interesting to write a book about what type of people use internet dating services looking for a mate,’ he explained.

  ‘What type of people?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought I could find some sort of common thread and make an insightful observation about the drive to find love online,’ Jay said, as Trudy placed identical plates of 2,500 calories and 80 fat grams in front of us.

  ‘Oh,’ I said, feeling disappointed. ‘So, I was just part of an experiment?’

  ‘Not a very successful one, I’m afraid. Only three women would talk to me online. There was you, or Prudence. And you were so angry that I was fascinated by it. I thought I’d find that it was depressed women online.’

  ‘Depressed?’ I asked. ‘You just said I sounded angry.’

  ‘Well, anger is only one symptom of depression. There’re loss of interest in things that once excited you, inexplicable crying, trouble sleeping, to name a few.’ Oh my God, Jay was talking about my life for the last month. ‘Then there’s focusing on everything else in the world so you don’t have to deal with your own feelings.’

  ‘Jay!’ I shouted. ‘You’re describing me.’

  ‘Sarah, my name’s not Jay.’

  ‘It’s not? Are you even a doctor?’

  ‘I am. A doctor who’s also a basketball fan, hence the whole Dr Jay thing. My real name is Jason.’

  ‘Oh,’ I sighed with relief. ‘That’s not so far off. Jason, do you think I’m depressed?!’

  ‘Do you?’ he asked.

  ‘So what other women did you meet online?’ I asked.

  ‘The usual,’ he said. ‘The kind who are totally honest, fun loving, and like to take long walks –’

  ‘On the beach,’ we finished together and laughed.

  I laughed again. ‘You know, if all of these totally honest men and women would just go down to the beach –’

  ‘At sunset,’ Jason added.

  I continued. ‘Right, if they all went down to the beach at sunset, wouldn’t they be meeting each other there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ he laughed. ‘You could never get a parking spot if all of these people were really going to the beach. It’d look more like a football game.’

  ‘Or a mall,’ I added. ‘God, why don’t these people just say they like shopping and football? Clearly, that’s what most people are doing on any given Sunday. Like the guy I saw on one dating website who said he had ‘no time for phonies.’ I saw his picture on another singles site with a different name and a whole different bio.’

  ‘Are you sure it was the same guy?’

  ‘It was the exact same picture, Jason. Right down to the background of the sun setting on the ocean.’

  We laughed until it hit me. This guy was perfect for Prudence. He was genuine, funny, and just an overall nice guy. Not a plethora of great ideas for pop psych books but who cares?

  ‘Jason, do you like art?’

  ‘Do I like art?’

  ‘Yes, do you like art?’

  ‘Who doesn’t like art?’ he asked.

  I wondered if it was because Jason was Jewish or psychoanalytical that made him answer my questions with his own. ‘Jason, yes or no. Do you like art? I mean enough to go to museums and galleries and the like?’

  ‘You want to go to a museum?’ he asked.

  I laughed, feeling relieved with the inexplicable connection I felt with Jason. It wasn’t simply that men from internet dating sites had lowered my standards. There was something incredibly compelling about Jason. I liked him. Prudence would too. ‘No, I don’t want to go to a museum. Nothing’s open today anyway,’ I said. ‘But Prudence, my husband’s ex-wife, is a real art lover and I thought if you are too, you might have something in common. Maybe you two could go to an exhibit and see if there’s any chemistry.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Jason said.

  �
�Are you married?’ I snapped, remembering Doug Phillips.

  ‘No, I’m not married. I’m very busy, though.’

  ‘So is she!’ I said excitedly. ‘You want an independent woman, right?’

  ‘I’m not sure I want a relationship right now,’ Jason dismissed.

  My eyes popped wide with delight. ‘Neither does Prudence! In fact, she’s pretty sure she doesn’t want one. You two would be perfect for each other. You’d hardly ever have to see each other.’

  Now it was Jason laughing. ‘Sounds like my parents.’

  ‘Prudence has all kinds of issues with her parents too, Jason. The two of you could gab for hours dissecting your childhoods – at art museums! Doesn’t this sound perfect?’

  ‘It sounds like a Woody Allen movie,’ he said, placing his hand over mine. ‘To be candid with you, Sarah, the reason I’m here is because you fascinated me.’

  What was he saying? Jason was interested in me romantically?

  As if he were reading my mind, Jason clarified. ‘Not that way. But clinically, you fascinate me. You lost your husband and never grieved, and now six years later your life is as tidy as can be, and you’re falling apart. And now I find out that instead of working through this trauma, you’re scurrying around trying to find a new husband for your husband’s ex-wife.’

  ‘She did it first!’ I said. ‘Prudence put an ad in the Village Voice and “dated” dozens of women. She even had a party at an art gallery where she replaced the paintings with blown-up photos of Reilly.’

  ‘And this is the woman you think would be perfect for me?’

  I retreated. ‘Oh, yeah, well, isn’t that cute? I mean, at least she’s not saying she’s totally honest and likes to take walks on the beach. Jason, I don’t see why you’re being so stubborn about this. Can’t you at least meet her? I can set something up very casual. It wouldn’t even be a date. Who knows? It could work out.’

  Jason exhaled as if he was working up the courage to say something. ‘Okay. Tell you what. If I agree to meet Prudence can we talk about Sarah? No more tangents? No more avoiding the subject? You’ll answer all of my questions?’

  ‘You want me to take the couch?’ I asked. He nodded. ‘How long?’

  Jason looked at his watch. ‘One hour.’

  ‘All I have to do is answer your questions?’

  ‘And be totally honest,’ he said, winking.

  ‘You want to talk about Rudy?’ I asked, my eyes welling with tears.

  ‘I do,’ he said softly. ‘I think it’s time.’

  Moments later, tears were rolling down my cheeks despite the fact that we hadn’t even started. This was going to be a tough hour. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said to Jason.

  ‘For what?’

  Again with the questions.

  ‘For crying. I really thought I was over this,’ I explained.

  Jason leaned in to place his hands over mine. ‘Sarah, how can you be over what you never started?’

  Four hours later, I finished my session with Jason. My eyes were swollen with tears. I couldn’t breathe because my nose was so stuffed from crying. And I was exhausted from the physical and emotional drain of sobbing uncontrollably for hours. He was especially interested in my nightmares and had me play the role of every character and object in each. At first, I felt incredibly self-conscious giving voice to the flames that threatened to kill me, but as I did, I realized that Jason was right. Every part of my dream was a part of me. The flames. The firefighter. Even Jason.

  All in all, I felt better than I had in months, though. As we stood on the street corner, Jason told me that I was off to a ‘good start’ and urged me to start grief counseling as soon as possible.

  ‘I thought that was grief counseling?!’ I said, laughing and crying again. Wasn’t I done?

  ‘Like I said, Sarah, you’re off to a good start,’ he said, leaning in to hug me. Our bodies bonded to one another’s, not like lovers, but like lifetime friends who’d recently reconnected after years. I didn’t want to let go.

  ‘You know you have to meet Prudence now, right, Jason?’

  ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said before turning to go. ‘I needed to do this.’

  ‘You needed to start this, Sarah.’

  ‘I’ll call you soon!’ I said, waving. ‘Keep an outfit clean and pressed. You have a mission now, and you’ve already chosen to accept it.’

  ‘Merry Christmas, Sarah.’

  I blew him a kiss. On my walk home I decided that in addition to enrolling in a poetry class, I would call one of the therapists Jason had referred. Therapy. Poetry. What was next, wearing black and smoking cigarettes?

  Chapter Nine

  Reilly and Hunter arrived home just as the sun was setting on Christmas night. Cold air rushed in with them and woke me from the hazy Christmas content I felt as I was cooking their favorite meal. As indifferent as Hunter seemed on the phone, when he burst through the door and hugged me, it was clear he’d missed his mommy. My arms wrapped around his down jacket, deflating it until my hands were pressed against his small frame. He smelled like pine trees and the smoke from the wood-burning stove Reilly said was in their cabin. When Hunter pulled off his wool hat, his blond hair stood with static electricity. ‘Want a candy?’ he asked, pulling a handful of red and white swirl buttons from his pocket.

  ‘What smells so good?’ Reilly asked, leaning in to kiss me.

  ‘I made lasagna,’ I said, smiling. I knew Reilly adored my mother’s recipe where the tomato sauce was left off until the moment before serving.

  ‘What’s the special occasion?’ Reilly asked.

  ‘That you’re home,’ I answered.

  ‘Aren’t you sweet? Hunter take off your boots in the house!’ Reilly shouted to our son, running downstairs. ‘Grab the bag too, little man.’

  ‘And I made pumpkin cheesecake,’ I added.

  ‘Wow, you went all out.’

  I lowered my voice and gave him flirty eyes. ‘I will.’

  Reilly’s head snapped up to look at me in surprise. ‘Sarah Peterson, what has gotten into you today?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ I said, with a slight giggle. ‘The Christmas spirit, I guess.’ I wondered if Reilly would misunderstand and think I was suggesting that a romantic evening with his wife was a gift, but thankfully he was not overly sensitive to my comment. I couldn’t tell if he was blushing or if his ski trip had wind whipped his face.

  Reilly slapped his hands together and asked if he could help set the table. ‘We skied a bit this morning so I think Hunter will drop off pretty easily tonight. Could we put a little something in his eggnog just in case?’

  The next morning, I woke up and watched Reilly sleeping the way I did after our first night together. The bed was warm, the sky still dark and wind swept past the tree in our yard. Life was good.

  I thought about my morning with Jason and wondered when I would tell Reilly about my accidental therapy session. How would I explain meeting him? Though we’d been married only a few months, Reilly knew me well enough to know I’d never seek a therapist on my own. I’d shared with him my feeling that therapy was self-indulgent dwelling on the past. I always had disdain for those who couldn’t deal with their problems without the assistance of an outside consultant. Now, I was about to join the ranks of New Yorkers whose Christmas shopping lists included a little something for their analysts.

  As it turned out, I had to come clean just hours later. Reilly took a phone call and spent the better part of five minutes giving short responses, like, ‘I see’ and ‘Hmmm.’ It was tough to tell what he was talking about, but I knew it had something to do with me because Reilly darted glances at me and knit his brows. ‘Well, thanks for the call,’ he concluded. ‘I’ll look into it.’

  Reilly hung up the phone and coldly asked if Hunter could go to his friend Stephen’s house for the morning.

  ‘I’d rather he stay home with us,’ I replied. ‘I missed you guys. What’s up? Who w
as on the phone?’

  ‘It was Bruce Piper from work,’ Reilly said.

  ‘Okay,’ I said, inviting more. ‘What did Bruce have to say that requires me to send my son off for a play date?’

  ‘Well, Sarah, it’s not a conversation I want to have with Hunter in the house,’ he said, challenging me with his defiant tone.

  ‘Why, what happened? Did something happen at the office? What could’ve gone wrong over Christmas?’

  ‘Sarah,’ Reilly said, glancing toward the door that led downstairs.

  ‘Oh, Reilly, come on. Let’s sit at the kitchen table and keep our voices down.’

  He sighed and walked to the table, plopping himself onto a chair. Reilly lowered his voice. ‘Bruce said he saw you yesterday with some guy,’ he began. ‘Said you looked very chummy, hugging on Amsterdam Avenue.’

  ‘Oh,’ I said, obviously busted, though not for the crime for which I’d been accused. ‘That was Jason.’

  ‘I don’t care what his name is, Sarah!’ Reilly said sternly. ‘I’ve been through this already with Prudence and I thought I was pretty clear that I have no tolerance for infidelity.’

  ‘Good,’ I said. ‘Neither do I.’

  ‘So who is this guy groping you?’

  ‘Reilly,’ I said, laughing. ‘Jason was not groping me. He’s a friend. When you told me that you and Hunter weren’t coming home, I called him for breakfast. He was very helpful to me in getting over my holiday blues. Don’t you see how different I am today? I’ve been depressed for a month now, and Jason helped me get over it. Um, start getting over it,’ I corrected myself. I held Reilly’s hands in mine. ‘Honey, I am not cheating on you. Jason is just a friend. A friend whom I want to set up with Prudence, in fact.’

  ‘How come I’ve never heard of him before?’

  ‘Oh, boy,’ I sighed. ‘Look Reilly, I’ve got some explaining to do, but trust me, Jason is a friend, that’s all.’ I took a deep breath and explained to him how I had embarked on this crazy scheme to find Prudence a new husband just in case she got any ideas about trying to reconcile. ‘I feel like an idiot, Reilly, but I felt like I was protecting our marriage by making sure Prudence was busy with another man, when all the while I was really busying myself so I wouldn’t have to deal with the reality that I never grieved for my drunk of a husband, who killed himself and his mistress two nights before Hunter’s first Christmas. I remember how you told me about how Prudence placed an ad to find a new wife for you, and I thought I’d try the same approach. She’s doing quite well on Single in the City.’