Conversations 04 - That Christmas

Quick writer's note:

Tags for this story: Couple, Drama, Forgiveness, Marriage

This is another installment in an ongoing series of conversations among lovers or former lovers and their families. Conversations 04 That Christmas is a holiday conversation. It's between a wife and her husband after a severe loss and a marriage-altering fight.

I want to thank my editors for their collaboration and advice. The story is a better one because of them. Charlie, John, MountainReader, Kate7891, and HighLuster all contributed.

I love to collaborate with people, so I look forward to expanding this editing team. If you are interested in being a part of this collaboration team, please send me your email address through private messaging, and I'll shoot you, my stories.

It's Christmas Eve. I'm polishing off my second eggnog-whiskey as I stare at the Charlie Brown-style Christmas tree leaning in the corner of our living room. I haven't even bothered to put it in the stand yet. Hell, I never even unpacked our holiday decorations this year. Instead, I purchased a single string of colored lights which now hangs sadly around the bottom three-quarters of the tree. I couldn't be bothered with wrapping them up to the top.

It's a sad little tree. Branches are missing, holes mar its conical shape, and dead needles continually fall into little mounds on the floor. It was one of the last ones left on the lot next to the liquor store. It looked as lonely and worthless as I felt. Maybe that's why I bought it.

Christmas is our favorite holiday, and we normally have a fully decorated holiday tree every year. Fiona, my wife, raises the bar each year and decorates our house from stem to stern with something for every possible wall, shelf, corner, banister, nook, and cranny with all things Christmas. Christmas is by far her favorite time of the year. The fireplace would be raging with its cheerful natural gas flames, warming our hearts and cheering our souls, as the cinnamon candles delight our senses.

This year, that had the potential to be changed forever. I had no candles, no merriment, and the fireplace hadn't been used in a month.

As I sat in my misery, sipping on my drink, I thought about my beautiful wife.

I met Fiona Walsh seven years ago. I was twenty-three years old and in the last year of my Electrical Lineman Apprenticeship Program. A group of us stopped off after work one night at a local Mexican family restaurant, one that was renowned for its rocking happy hour hosted in the bar. Three-dollar margaritas. Yep!

Fiona was there with a group of women from her office. Her red hair immediately caught my attention. It was thick, luxuriant, and breathtakingly vivid. Everyone noticed her. It was hard not to. She stood out among her companions, and everyone else

I was never overly attracted to redheads the way some men are, but something about Fi's red hair grabbed me. I stared unapologetically. I realized it was her eyes that mesmerized me more than her hair. Her emerald green eyes flashed back at me with sparks that arced throughout that little bar. Her presence took my breath away. I became lost in everything that was her. I made my move when it was her turn to go to the bar to get the next round of drinks. I was on autopilot as I approached her.

"Hi, looks like you guys are having a great time."

Usually, I'm shy and would have respected her freedom to be out with friends without being harassed by every guy in the bar. I watched as she and her friends shot down guy after guy.

"Hi, yeah, we are." My knees buckled when she spoke. Her accent, definitely Irish, flowed effortlessly off her tongue, with an alluring and seductive musical lilt.

I said goodbye to my heart right there on the spot. I stood speechless as she looked into my eyes. At first, she appeared annoyed, but as we stared at each other, I could see her expression soften.

"Cat got your tongue?" She toyed as she waited for her order.

"What a lovely accent, I'm guessing you're not from around here." It sounded stupid even to me. But she had my entire world on lockdown, and I didn't know how to act, speak, or even breathe in her presence.

"Well, aren't you the clever one?" Her annoyance returned. Her drinks were accumulating at the counter. I knew I didn't have long.

"I'm sorry." I was forming my thoughts as I spoke. "I know the last thing you want tonight is to be hit on by all the guys here, but I couldn't let you go without telling you how much I would like to get to know you better. You've hypnotized me with just a glance. I felt I owed it to my heart to at least say 'Hello' to you."

"Ah, how sweet, but I have a boyfriend." With that, she turned and walked out of my life as quickly as she had entered it. I tried to hide my embarrassment as I watched her go back to her giggling friends as I tucked my tail between my legs and returned to a table full of my jeering co-workers.

I was only at the table for another minute before I figured I'd humiliated myself enough already. I caught Fiona glancing over at me as I gathered my coat and said my goodbyes over the laughter. I left the bar and stood in front of my truck, relieved to be clear of my own personal Waterloo.

There was a reason I never approached women like that; I was never blessed with a decent flirt game or a smooth approach. Still, I was astonished that I even spoke to her. I was trying to wrap my mind around how foolish I was when I caught a flash of red at my periphery.

"Hey, I'm sorry I acted that way. You don't do that very often, do you?"

I was looking down at the ground to hide my blush. I wondered why couldn't she just let me escape with what little dignity I had left? "No, I don't. For the life of me, I can't figure out why I approached you that way. I'm so sorry, I meant no harm."

"Well, it was cute. Awkward, but cute." She handed me a piece of paper. "I'm Fiona, and I think I might like to get to know you better." Taking the paper, I saw her name and phone number written on the scrap. Her handwriting was as beautiful as she was. The ink matched her hair.

I stood slack-jawed in front of a genuine vision. "Thank you, Fiona, but what about your boyfriend?" I must have sounded perturbed because her smile dropped, and I caught a glimpse of the fire smoldering just below the surface.

I had the presence of mind to introduce myself even though it was an afterthought. "I'm Christopher Miller. My friends call me Chris."

"Well, Chris Miller, just give me my number back if you don't want it!" I was caught off guard by her tone and stood there blankly. Then, her demeanor lightened; a small smile turned the corners of her mouth. "I'm sorry, I don't have a boyfriend. I just tell guys that to keep them from hitting on me. If you're not interested, don't bother calling." She turned on her heel and headed back to the door.

"Fiona, please wait. I am interested. Very interested. I just didn't want to be a jerk and call another guy's girl. I know from experience how much that sucks."

Fiona turned back to me. She smiled, and my heart melted. It was at that moment that I knew this was the woman for me. "Call me Fi, and I appreciate that. I never considered that might be your intent. Most guys just try to move right in. Call me, Chris. I think you might be worth knowing." The glint in her eye, an almost mischievous one, raised my spirits and hope. I floated all the way home, lifted by her radiant smile.

I did call her the next night. We chatted and texted over the next few days and got to know each other. I discovered that Fiona was born in Ireland and came to the United States for college. She was now living with her older sister, her husband, and their first child till she saved enough to move out on her own. Fi was working her first full-time, real job. I asked her out to dinner that next weekend, and it seemed like we never separated after that. We married a year later.

For four years, we lived the dream. Our careers progressed. We bought a house and we decided that it was time to start a family. We tried to make our future family the old-fashioned way for a whole year, but we were never successful.

A fertility specialist found that I had a sperm motility issue. We were told that my sperm carried healthy DNA, but they were not very active. I joked that I should supply them with an energy drink and GPS to find their target. I was the only one that laughed.

We started in vitro fertilization procedures at twelve and a half thousand dollars a pop. We tried twice. The first time, the embryo was only viable for a month before we lost our first baby.

We waited six months and then tried again. Fiona conceived once again, and this time we were still viable after two months. We were looking forward to announcing our pregnancy to family and friends at Christmas, feeling confident since it would have been the four-month mark. Two weeks before Thanksgiving, Fiona felt the tell-tell signs of a miscarriage. The cramps doubled her over. By the time we got her to the hospital, we knew we had lost our child. It was even more devastating the second time. I felt like our opportunity for a family was gone forever.

After the second miscarriage, I tried to bring my joyous Fi back. I needed her back. Fi wasn't the proud, cheerful woman I loved anymore. Each setback sent her further into a depression that seemed to only concentrate her focus. She was becoming obsessed with the idea of having a child. I wanted one too, but not more than I wanted my wonderful woman. I wanted her back, I wanted her safe and I wanted her happy.

"Chris, we need to start saving for the next IVF right away."

"Fi, should we maybe take a break? We've spent a lot of money on fertility treatments this year. Maybe we should give your body some time to heal. Let's spend the next year just being us, and reconnecting, and then try again."

I had become used to Fiona's outbursts. They usually were short and explosive--she fit that hot-tempered redhead stereotype to a T. She would apologize almost immediately afterward, and normally she wouldn't say anything too damaging. But this time I could see a difference. Her eyes were dark, her brow was furrowed, and her lips were pressed tightly into a thin, straight line.

"Is money more important than our family?" she spat out at me.

"No way, Fi, it's just that we've talked about moving and about taking a nice vacation. I'm not saying we should give up, but maybe we should take a break." I paused to watch her expression. It didn't change. "Both times we lost a baby, it took a big toll on us. I could use a break to recover a little bit. I think that you need a break also."

And that was the moment. That's when our perfect life derailed.

"Well, if you were man enough to produce good sperm in the first place, we wouldn't need to be spending all of our money on IVF, would we?"

She stormed off towards the kitchen. I just stood there in shock as I watched the swinging door pivot back and forth from the force of her exit. Then, just like the door, she came back at me, spitting fire.

"Maybe I should have stayed with Preston. I know he's a real man; he's produced two kids already!"

With that, she spun and was back in the kitchen.

How dare she throw that bastard Preston Meyers back in my face? Fiona knew that her declaration would cut me deeply. She wasn't wrong. It cut to the core of my manhood and self-respect.

Preston was her college boyfriend, the perfect masculine specimen. He was a star football player, a straight 4.0 student, and right out of school, he walked into his daddy's company. As a manager.

Even worse, Fi worked with the guy, so I was a little insecure. Too much contact. Of course, Fi always told me I had nothing to worry about when it came to Preston. They split right after graduation because Preston had a weakness for women and Fi had caught him for the last time banging one of her friends. She knew she couldn't trust him.

Hell, we all knew he was cheating on his current wife. Fiona knew that I didn't like Preston, nor did I trust him. I never liked the way he still looked at my wife. He knew he blew it with the best woman in the area and was always looking for a chance to win her back.

That tantrum started me thinking that she was already fucking that scumbag. Why else would she use him to hurt me if she weren't already doing it? Or thinking about it?

In my anger and frustration, I did what I should never have done.

I followed her right back into the kitchen. "Well, if your pussy worked, we'd have a kid by now. Twenty-five thousand dollars would have been a great down payment on our perfect house!"

Instinct caused me to duck as a glass of water flew by my head, crashing into the wall right behind me and showering me with water and glass shards. Even in my anger, my heart broke at the look Fi gave me. I knew I had overstepped. We stood there facing off like an old western sheriff and an outlaw. I knew which one I was.

"Look, I'm sorry. I'm going to go for a drive to cool down. Let's talk when I get back." I grabbed my keys and took off. I tooled around for about an hour and a half, calming down enough to try to have a reasonable conversation with my wife.

The house was silent when I walked back in. Everything was as it was when I left, including the glass on the wet floor. On the table was a short note from Fi.

Went to my sister's. I don't know when I'll be back.

That was over a month ago. Fiona stopped returning my calls and messages. I was told not to bother showing up for Thanksgiving at her sister's. I spent the day alone, lost in dark thoughts and my own depression. I had gone over the situation time and again, thinking about what I should have said and what I shouldn't have said.

The last year had been a struggle for both of us, with the ups and downs her treatments caused. We both were feeling the stress. Knowing that we may never be the family we dreamed about wasn't easy. I knew I could put it right if Fiona would just allow me to.

I tried to see her several times at both her place of work and her sister's house. Each time, I was turned away. The last time I tried to visit my wife at her place of work, I saw Preston walking her to her car. His smug smile told me everything I needed to know. Fiona must have caught the smirk Preston was throwing my way, she followed his glare to lock eyes with me. Her mouth dropped slightly as if she were forming words, but we were too far away for me to hear anything she may have said. I slipped the truck into drive and left her standing there with dickhead. My fears were coming true.

Fiona's sister and brother-in-law would routinely send me away with regret when I tried to see her at their house. "She's just not ready to talk about it," they said. I got that line each time I tried. Finally, I stopped trying to personally contact her when I was threatened with a restraining order.

I sent an email requesting counseling and begged her to just talk to me, to no avail.

I staggered through each day. I was lost without my Fiona. I loved her more than anything. She was my world. I knew I was losing her, if not to Preston's persistence, to my persistent faults.

A little over a week ago, I received a divorce petition from Fi. It was pretty standard; sell everything and split it, including our vehicles and current home. She listed irreconcilable differences as the reason for the divorce. How could I reconcile if she never gave me a chance? I had no idea who or what was fueling her need to file. It did fit Fiona's modus operandi, going off halfcocked and making life-altering decisions without due process or thought.

I felt divorce was a drastic measure. I knew it was a tough time for us, but I thought we could work through our problems if she just gave us a chance. At the time, I would have agreed to just about anything to get her back into our home.

I did take the Petition for Dissolution to a family friend who was a lawyer to have him verify there weren't any hidden traps and to see what my options were. There weren't any traps or good options. I had some amendments added though. I gave Fiona my portion of the equity in the house in trade for my pick-up and our travel trailer, figuring I could live in it if need be. I also suggested she take her car, free and clear since it was already paid for. I felt that she needed both the house and her car if she was going to start over. As a couple, we had made some strides towards our dreams, a nice home, and decent cars. I didn't see any reason we needed to give all that up just to start over with cash. After dividing up the tangible items, the only things left to split were our checking and savings accounts.

I spent the rest of the week staring at the paperwork and trying to communicate with Fi. I continued to be turned away at each attempt with no reason. I was losing the only thing that was important to me, Fiona. My future.

I had both Christmas Eve and Christmas Day off from work. As I sat in my lonely house, feeling sorry for myself, I figured I would spread the Christmas joy around to others. In a fit of hate and disappointment, I signed the updated copies, slid them into the manila envelope, and drove myself over to Fiona's sister's house. I knew she wouldn't want to see me, but I felt I owed it to my wife to see her one last time, even if it was just to give her what she wanted. As I drove over, I became angrier, blaming Preston for turning her against me. I figured if she wanted to be free of me to go and chase a real man, I'd let her.

My brother-in-law met me at his door.

"Fi's not here Chris, and she doesn't want to see you, anyway." I could see the frustration in his face, and gathered he was tired of the drama as well. Fi's sister, Siobhon or Bon, was as unpredictable as Fi was. I could just imagine the hell this poor guy had to be going through with that much hate and estrogen in his house.

"Okay, Brandon. I'm sorry you got roped into the middle of this. I just wanted to drop this off for Fiona." I handed him the envelope as we spoke. "I made some changes to her original document, so she should review it. If she is okay with it, just have her attorney file it. I won't fight anything."

Brandon took the package and looked a little confused. I'm sure he could see the defeat in my posture, so I just chalked it up to that. "Chris, I think she just needs some time. Why don't you wait till after the first? I'm sure there's no rush here."

I couldn't tell if he knew something I didn't or was just being polite. I had always got along with him and Siobhan, and I hated that they were trapped in the center of our turmoil.

"Well, if she's having second thoughts, having me officially served with divorce documents doesn't send the right message, does it?" I paused, gathering my next thoughts, "No, this is best. If she wants to be free to seek out a 'real man' I should just allow her that freedom."

"What the hell are you talking about? There is no one else, Chris." He did sound convincing.

"That was the last thing she told me, Brandon. That she should have stayed with Preston, that he was a 'real man' who could have given her babies already. Tell her good luck with that." I knew I sounded pissy, and I think I meant to. If this was another one of her games, I was done playing.

"Okay, Chris. I'll tell her. I don't know what games you two are playing. After the first, I'll try to get her to talk with you." He retreated, closing the door on me.

I passed the liquor store on the way home and figured that was just what I needed to get through the worst time of my life. I bought the cheapest blended whiskey they had. It was what I deserved for being such a failure. The guy next door was packing up the last of his Christmas trees, and I spotted that hopeless-looking little tree alone in the lot. It spoke to me. It was like we were made for each other. I made another quick stop at the corner gas station where I picked up the last of my supplies, including a quart of eggnog and some cheap Christmas tree lights. I was now set to celebrate in the style and manner I felt I deserved.