don’t think so.” Marybeth delivered what she knew wasn’t going to be welcome news. She glanced at Bonnie, hoping the older woman would understand and not be hurt. “I…it’s going to be hard this year and I think it’d be better if I had a change. I feel like I need to do something different, to, I don’t know, start my own life or something.” It made a whole lot more sense when she thought about it to herself, than it did when she said it out loud. “Besides,” she added, “I don’t want to be a downer on your holiday.”
“We loved your dad, too, missy,” Bonnie said in her most motherly voice. “We’ll all be missing him. Please come.”
“I…maybe,” Marybeth told her, really feeling like she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Not this first Christmas anyway. “I have to see what my guest is going to be doing.”
“You’re only responsible for breakfast and evening libations,” Bonnie said. “You’ll have the rest of the day free.”
“I was thinking about going to the beach. Or…I don’t know. Can I let you know?”
“Of course. And if you say no and change your mind, you can drop in, too. You know that. You don’t need an invitation.”
Meeting Bonnie’s gaze, Marybeth blinked back the tears she was so valiantly trying to prevent. “Thank you.”
“It’ll be strange having Christmas without you.”
“I know. I just…I have to do this. Okay?”
Bonnie’s okay didn’t sound happy. Or even satisfied. But at least the dreaded chore of telling her was done.
“So what was that you were reading when I came in?” Bonnie asked after a few minutes of silence as the two of them, spreaders in hand, covered dozens of sugar cookie renditions of Santas and bells and Christmas trees with red and green and white frosting and sprinkles.
Marybeth grabbed the nonpareils. They’d always been her favorites—even way back when her mom had been the one doing the baking. “A letter from James.”
“A recent one?”
“Yeah. His mom died this year, too.”
“So you’re still writing to him.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
“Fourteen years and he continues to write regularly?”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t realize you were still in touch with him.”
“Of course I am.” She was addicted to him. With every single one of the hundreds of letters she’d received from James over the years, she’d read and reread the most recent until she heard from him again. And if something in her life was particularly challenging, if she needed some extra strength, she’d pull out the plastic storage boxes under her bed and reread some of the others, as well. “Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked the person she was closest to in the world next to James.
“I don’t know.” Bonnie’s shrug, the way she was concentrating so hard on putting little Christmas tree sugar shapes in a row along the cookie to make them look like a string of lights, caught Marybeth’s attention. “It’s just that I worry about you.”
“About me?” No way. Those days were long gone. She didn’t need sympathy anymore. Or worry. She was a big girl now. All grown up, in control and happy with her life. “And James?”
“Not you and James. I wish there was a you and James.” Bonnie’s reply wasn’t timid. “Look at you, sweetie. You’re twenty-six years old and gorgeous with those blue eyes and blond hair, and you haven’t so much as had a date that I know of since you graduated from college three years ago and took over this place.”
“That has nothing to do with James.”
“Doesn’t it?”
“Of course not.” Frost, sprinkle, lay out to dry. Frost, sprinkle, lay out to dry. She worked her way through a pile of stars.
“Then what does it have to do with? Your mother?”
“No!” Her mother’s death had been fourteen years ago. She’d lived before then. And since. So why did people continue to seem to tie every single thing in her life back to that one event? “It’s not that I have a problem with dating,” she said. “I’m not afraid. I have no aversions. I simply haven’t yet met a man who inspires any feeling in me. There’s no attraction. No spark.”
“What about with James?”
“I’ve never even seen a picture of him, how could there be an attraction?”
“What about feelings of affection?”
“Of course I have feelings for James. How could I not? He’s my best friend. I can tell him anything.”
“This guy you’ve never met.”
“Right.”
“You sure you aren’t using him as an excuse not to open up too completely to any of the real, flesh-and-blood people in your life?”
“I open up to you. You’re flesh and blood.”
“I’m different,” Bonnie said. “I’m talking about people out there in the world. Someone you could actually build a life with.”
Marybeth frosted. Cookies for Bonnie. Cookies for the senior center. Cookies for here. With any luck, she’d be done in time to have a tray of them on the desk at check-in by three o’clock for her visitors to enjoy.
“I have a life,” she said after taking time to think about what Bonnie had said. “James isn’t taking the place of any other relationships,” she continued. “He’s his own relationship. We have these ongoing philosophical discussions that always hit home with me. Probably because, based on the unusual nature of our relationship, we talk about things that people don’t usually share. You know, deep, random thoughts, illogical matters of the heart and head and life. Observations that generally pass through your mind and are forgotten in the business of daily living.” She’d been discussing the meaning of life with James for fourteen years and wasn’t about to stop now. Wasn’t sure she could even if she wanted to.
“You have no idea how many times we help each other find solutions to challenges we’re facing. We don’t judge each other. We just talk.”
“All things you could be doing with a spouse.”
“Do you and Bob do them?”
Bonnie’s silence was answer enough.
“James is my peace, Bonnie. My solace and support. He’s my kind inner voice counteracting my inner critic who, as you know, so often tries to rule my life. He’s not a romance. Or a partner in life.”
Marybeth finished the stars and the Santas and moved on to help Bonnie with the trees. And because her friend remained silent, she continued to talk. “James is like this ethereal being who, unlike any spiritual, omniscient being, knows nothing of my everyday life, you know? And
