“You seem like more of a Halloween girl.”
Addison pats her head. “Is it the devil horns? I thought I hid them better.” A twist of her lips, then she’s pushing into the apartment, flipping on a ceiling light. “This place belonged to my grandmother. She passed away a few weeks ago and left it. To me.”
Just as promptly as she makes that pronouncement, she’s gone from the room, vanished down a back hallway. My sympathy sits on the tip of my tongue, waiting for her to come back so I can express it. But the longer she stays away, the more I start to think she doesn’t want it—and left the room for that very reason.
Shaking my head over Addison’s unique nature, I turn and get my first glimpse of the open-plan living and dining area. Well I’ll be damned, she wasn’t lying. There’s fake snow on every surface, Christmas lights—although not plugged in—are strung from every corner of the ceiling. There are no less than eight Christmas trees, some floor-sized, some perched on brightly skirted tabletops. Suspended from the middle of the living room ceiling is a giant plastic sleigh…and eight reindeer being lead by Rudolph.
When Addison returns, she’s mid-sentence by the time she clears the hallway. “There’s a master switch to all the Christmas stuff. When I flip it on, this place turns into Kevin McAllister’s house in Home Alone when he’s trying to convince the robbers his parents aren’t in France. That they’re actually home having a party?” She wiggles her fingers. “It’s like having the nuclear codes, except I drop fake snow instead of bombs.”
“I like it.” I turn in a circle, noticing a mural depicting a trio of carolers. “Think of all the time you’ll save on decorating in December.”
Her shock of laughter brings me up short. It’s nothing like the husky purr I would have expected from her. No, it’s bright and clear and appreciative. “Exactly.” She scratches her eyebrow. “You want to see?”
“Dying to.”
“Well…if you feel like getting comfortable…” Her indifference is back in place as she struts to the kitchen. “No one is stopping you.”
There was a moment in Addison’s car where I thought she was propositioning me. Clearly I was way off. Although, she’s nothing like the women I’ve dated, so reading her in that regard is something of a challenge. Everything about her is bold. Her clothing, the long, black hair that moves with her, the spontaneity. The way she looks me in the eye like we’re adversaries even when she’s smiling. Like I said, nothing like the polite, often predictable—God forgive me for saying so—women of my experience. Considering her lack of interest in me, I’m probably nothing like the men she sees, either.
Searching the room for signs of a man, I’m not sure why I relax upon finding nothing since I’m only here to check out for a while. When I try to pinpoint where everything went wrong, though, a throb starts behind my right eye. Dating. Couplehood. Based on today’s events, I’ve been doing them wrong. For two years, I’ve been telling Naomi I love her. I’ve been her plus-one to parties, we’ve gone skiing together, double dated, posed for engagement photos. Wasn’t that love? Weren’t the two of us in love?
Yeah. Yeah…I think we were. When I came back from my three tours overseas, our parents began putting us in the same place often enough that it seemed natural to start dating. We talked about having children and picked out china patterns. She smiled and waved at my campaign events. People don’t do those kinds of things for one another unless they’re in love. For some reason, though, I missed the signals telling me she wasn’t going to show up to the church today. I missed whatever was wrong—and I missed it hard. Last night at the rehearsal dinner, Naomi seemed like her usual smiling self. Not a hair out of place. But someone doesn’t just skip town to avoid their own wedding if they’re happy. And I had no clue.
“Ready?”
Addison’s voice calling from the kitchen snaps me to attention. “Yes, ma’am.”
She groans. “Ma’am this.”
The apartment roars to life. Roars. “Carol of the Bells” clangs from several reanimated toys. Rudolph’s nose turns a bright red and the sleigh begins to travel in a circle around the living room. Monkeys slap cymbals together, at least ten different versions of Frosty begin to dance and millions of Christmas lights twinkle, giving the space an ethereal golden glow. It’s like standing in one of the department store windows on Fifth Avenue in New York City. Just overwhelming and comforting and…a little terrifying all at once.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” Not having heard Addison approach, I turn to find her standing beside me, her head only reaching my shoulder. “Do you get to the City Market very often?”