Snowflakes In Autumn, 3b

Before continuing with the latest installment of Snowflakes In Autumn, I thought I’d take a minute to whine about how miserable it is to know that we’ll soon be without Trey for an enormous swath of time while he’s away for his dad’s summer visitation. It’s not that I don’t think he’ll have a good time at his dad’s or anything; I know he’s going to have fun visiting family in Colorado. I’m just going to miss him. A lot.

It’s a strange and wonderful thing to know how profoundly entangled he and Brittany have become in my life. A couple of years ago, I couldn’t have imagined life with them and now I can’t imagine it without them. Spending a month apart from the little guy is a sort of medieval torture that would make even an Inquisitor queasy, but it was part of the deal when I signed on to be a stepdad. I try not to let it bother me too much, but I can’t help but count the minutes until he comes back home. I’m taking the day off work today to make his last full day at home the best it can be, and when I told him that I didn’t have to go to “Kris work”, he screamed an ear-piercing “Yaaaay!” and ran into my arms to squeeze the life out of me with his “willy stwong muscles”. I’m going to miss those hugs.

Ok, enough of all that. Let’s move on to the novel. I’ll be back Wednesday with a new essay, mostly about Trey and his amazing Super Mario birthday party, with a little bit about how Toy Story 3 almost made me cry was a really good movie. Damn you, John Lasseter!

Snowflakes In Autumn
Chapter Three, Part Two

(click here to start at Chapter One, Part One)

The next morning, Cathy left for her mother’s house and I went to work. The night before, we’d watched television as promised, and only stopped once it proved too difficult to see the screen with our faces stuck together. There was a brief make-out session on the couch, which led to the hallway, which led to the bedroom, which led to the next morning. It was a good night.

She sent me another instant message later that afternoon, and I prepared myself for the oncoming drama. Instead, she simply told me that she had a nice time, assured me that she never did that sort of thing on the first date, and that she wanted to see me again. And, for whatever reason, I agreed.

We went out later that evening, and she left again the next morning. The same thing happened the next night and the next, until I realized that we’d started dating without me knowing about it. I enjoyed her company, and I found that her plain and natural beauty combined with her precocious naivete evoked in me a sense of absolute trust. She was too simple to be devious, too homely to be a party girl. I slowly began to see her as superior to all of the women I’d ever been with, and it had nothing to do with her looks or personality and everything to do with how quickly I found myself trusting her.

Throughout the rest of November, we kept to the same routine. We’d meet, end up back at my place, and she’d leave the next morning. Every day was like this until, inch by inch, she crept further into my life and began to permeate every hidden corner of my little world. First, it was a toothbrush. Later, a suitcase. Eventually, as the air turned crisp and as children across the country started behaving with uncharacteristic grace towards their friends and family in hopes of pleasing an overweight man with a fetish for little people, Cathy moved into my apartment. Officially.

It was mid-December, and I’d already planned a vacation to take my godson to Walt Disney World during the first week of January. While I didn’t actually need anyone to watch my stuff, I decided that asking Cathy to housesit for me while I was away would allow us to avoid the uncomfortable conversation where I asked her to move in with me. She would move in “temporarily” while I was out of town, and then just stay. That was the plan, anyway. Things turned out a bit differently though, after I decided to take her with me.

Cathy had never been to Disneyworld, but confessed that she’d always wanted to go. She made me promise to bring her back a souvenir and to eat a Mickey Mouse ice cream for her, so I knew she’d say yes to an invitation. So, on Christmas Eve, after attending the obligatory once-a-year church service and meeting her family to have dinner and exchange gifts, we returned to my apartment. I opened the door, and we walked inside to find a large, plush Mickey Mouse sitting on my couch. He was holding the remote control to the television in one hand and in his other, a small sign that read, ‘Press Play.’

“What’s this?” asked Cathy, confused and with wide, expectant eyes.

“It looks like Mickey Mouse,” I replied.

She pointed at the couch. “Yeah,” she said, “but why is it on your couch?”

“He,” I corrected. “Mickey Mouse is a he, not an it.”

Shaking her head and scrunching her eyebrows together, she fixed me with a blank and worried stare and asked, “What?”

“He’s a he,” I said. “Mickey is an anthropomorphized mouse, so he’s a he, not an it.”

“Um, ok?” she said, her voice accidentally quivering the statement into a question.

“Yeah, he’s got personality and can talk and think, so he’s like a person. Only he’s a mouse.”

“I know who Mickey Mouse is, Connor.”

“Ok, well I was just making sure.”

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at me. “Is this your way of rubbing it in that you get to go to Disneyworld without me?”

“Why would I do that?” I asked, with feigned innocence dripping from every syllable.

Cathy threw up her arms. “Because you do it all the time!” she exclaimed.

It was true. I had been making an effort to gloat as much as possible, specifically to infuriate and annoy her to the breaking point, all working towards the ultimate goal of making this moment more memorable for her. “That’s not true!” I shouted. “I’m just excited is all.”

“So excited you left a giant Mickey Mouse toy on the couch for me to walk in and see on Christmas Eve?

“Did you notice what he’s holding?” I asked. I pointed to the giant white gloves the doll was wearing. “Look at his hands.”

“What?” she said, walking over to the couch to take a closer look. “Why is he holding the clicker?”

“I don’t know. What’s the sign say?”

“It says, ‘Press Play.’”

I pointed at the TV. “So maybe you should press play?”

“Ok,” she said. She wrestled with the remote for a minute as she tried to pries it loose from Mickey’s iron grip. (I’d had to tape the remote to his hand, and got a little carried away.)

“Problems?” I asked.

“Why’d you use so much frigging tape?!”

“Tape? What? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, right,” she said. “I’ve seen how you wrap presents. You’re a total tape whore.”

“I am not!” I protested.

“You’re in denial.”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am not!”

“Are too!”

“Am no—” I interrupted myself. “Ah, just press the damned play button, ok?”

“Fine,” she replied. She aimed the remote at the TV and pushed play. She sat down on the couch, next to the giant stuffed Mickey Mouse. I moved him to the floor and sat down beside her. The DVD player whirred to life, and a Walt Disney World vacation planning video came on the screen.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“It looks like the DVD I ordered from Disney’s website.”

“I can see that, but why did you want me to watch it?”

“I didn’t.”

“What?”

“No, Mickey did. He was holding the remote.”

She slumped back on the couch and crossed her legs. “Whatever,” she said. “You’re totally making fun of me now, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean? How am I making fun of you?”

She blinked her eyes a few times, and I could see that tears were bubbling up behind them. “Because you think it’s funny that you get to go away for a week and I have to stay here all alone.”

I tried to put my arm around her, but she brushed it away. “No, I don’t,” I told her. “I’d miss you too much.”

She started sniffling, and tears fell down her cheeks. “Then why do you keep gloating like this? It’s not funny. It’s just mean!”

I sighed and reached down to pick up the stuffed Mickey doll. “Why don’t you look at the sign again?”

“I already pushed play, Connor!”

“Look at it again. Please?”

“Fine,” she sighed. She reached for Mickey’s other gloved hand and read the sign again. Subtly masked by the giant text that read, ‘Press Play’ were three words handwritten in tiny lettering that said, ‘Turn Me Over.’ She turned it over.

“I don’t get it,” she said.

“What does it say?” I asked.

“It says, ‘See you real soon.’

“Oh,” I replied.

“Well, what does that mean?”

“I think it means he’ll see you real soon.”

“Huh?” She was genuinely and thoroughly confused at this point. I decided to take pity on her.

I sighed, stood up, and walked over to the television. I switched it off and said, “I’m inviting you to come with us.”

She just sat there, mute and confused.

“This,” I said, waving my arms around the room, pointing at the Mickey Mouse doll and back at the TV, “All of this was me asking you to come to Disneyworld with us.”

“Why?” she asked, still confused and a little suspicious.

“Why?! Because you said you wanted to, and because I thought you’d enjoy it. I already bought your tickets. Everything is paid for. I just thought you’d say yes.”

“So you’re serious?”

I slapped my arms against my thighs. “No, I’m just joking. I bought a giant Mickey Mouse doll and used two rolls of tape to get the remote control to stay in his hand, just so that I could laugh at you. Ha Ha. Hilarious.”

She wiped the tears from her eyes and sniffled. “But,” she said, “I mean, you really want me to go with you? Like for real?”

“Yes, Cathy! I really want you to come with me, like for real.”

“But why?”

“Because I just want you to, ok? If you don’t want to come, just say so.”

She stood up and shook her head. “No, it’s not that I don’t want to go. It’s just nobody’s ever done anything that nice for me before.”

“Well, now someone has.”

“It’s weird.”

“Sorry.”

“I like it.”

She walked over, gave me a sweet and happy smile, then kissed me. She thanked me, told me that she couldn’t wait to go, and said that she felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

I felt like the luckiest guy.

Continued in Chapter Three, Part Three

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