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Date Posted: 19:43:11 11/27/01 Tue
Author: Leigh
Subject: Re: Holiday Chapter 30
In reply to: Leigh 's message, "Holiday (continuing)" on 01:18:51 11/23/01 Fri

Chapter 30:


Carla stepped back from the tree. She placed her hands on her hips and gazed proudly at her and Chris’s work and proclaimed with a satisfied smile, “I like it!”

“It looks a little over decorated,” Chris commented, his expression as serious as ever.

“Nonsense, it looks beautiful.” To prove her point, Carla struck a pose beside the tree and pointed to the disposable camera she’d bought on impulse that afternoon. “Take a picture of me, Chris. Please? I want to keep this in my album to remember this year.”

“And why is that?”

Carla waited till Chris had snapped the picture and then switched places with him. “Your turn. Here, put the Santa hat on. See, you look good!”

When she had finished, she placed the camera down on the table and her gaze went back to the tree. “Why do I want to remember?” Walking over to the tree, she reached out and lightly touched one of the shiny ornaments. “Because,” she said slowly, “this is one of the best Christmas’s I’ve had in a very long time.” She turned her head then and looked at Chris and smiled gratefully at him. “I mean that.”

Several seconds passed and the silence between them thickened. Chris cleared his throat and then pointed to the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready. I hope you like pasta.”

“Are you kidding? I love it. My grandmother on my father’s side was half Italian,” Carla explained, as she followed him to the kitchen. Together they set the table and then sat down to an enjoyable dinner. Carla kept the conversation going over dinner sharing stories of her childhood and her family. She loved Chris’s interest and, after sharing stories of herself, gently probed him about his own family and life. By the time dinner was over, she’d learned that he was an only child, thirty-four years old, divorced, had no children, and loved all types of sports. Carla twitched her nose at the last bit of information as she laughingly confided to him that she didn’t much care for sports.

“You like dancing,” Chris said. “That’s a form of sports.”

“Hmm. Yes, I guess it is, in a way. But I’m not a big sports sort of person. My interest has always been with building and making things with my hands. I love that.”

“Nikita said you were a sculptor?”

Carla nodded with enthusiasm. “If you’d like, you can stop by my studio. It’s nothing big, just a small shop that I share with another artist down at the Village. But, yes, I love making things with my hands. When I was younger I wanted to be a carpenter.”

“What happened, how did you end up in sculpting?” Chris asked, and Carla shrugged.

“My parents didn’t think it was a proper occupation for a girl. My mother’s family is well off; she was raised amongst the country club crowd and so she has these ideas of what a young lady should and should not do. You know how parents are.”

“So you went into art to appease your parents?”

Carla laughed and shook her head. “Appease my parents? I don’t think so. I had every intention of studying carpentry, but then I took this beginning sculpting class as an elective in college and I was hooked. My mother isn’t fully satisfied with my choice but, as my father tells her, at least its not carpentry.” Carla laughed again, “I think my mother was afraid I’d end up as one of those construction workers in downtown Manhattan, not that there’s anything wrong with them, those guys make good money.”

“I think you would have made a great construction worker,” Chris said, smiling slightly. “You’d look real nice with the faded jeans, tool belt, tank top…”

“Hey,” Carla slanted him an amused look, “you’re not one of those guys into role-playing, are you?” And Chris laughed.

“I’m just teasing.”

“Yeah, well you’d look pretty good out there too, you know. If I ran into you at a grocery store, and didn’t know who you were or what you do for a living, I’d never think you were a suit type.”

“Are you disappointed?” Chris asked.

Carla shook her head. “No, I’ve nothing against the suit type of guys, I’ve just always been more attracted to the more outdoorsy kind. Not that we’re talking attraction here,” she amended. And then, realizing how that sounded, she quickly added, “I mean, that’s not to say that I’m not attracted to you, I’m just saying that, that… Oh, s***! I’m always doing this, putting my foot in my stupid mouth.”

Chris smiled, his eyes not meeting hers as he said, “Its okay. I know what you mean.”

“Do you?” Carla asked. She wiped her hands on the dishtowel and turned to face him. Her expression was serious. “I don’t think you do,” she said to him, and then let out a long sigh. “Chris, you’re such a nice guy. I don’t know why I didn’t see it before. Believe me,” she added sourly, “I wish all guys were like you. Not jerks like…” Her voice faded off and tears sprang to her eyes.

Chris turned off the sink tap. He wiped his hands quickly and then gently gathered Carla into his arms and held her as she tried to stop from crying. “It’s okay,” he whispered. “Just let it out.”

“I’m sorry,” she sobbed. Carla leaned against him as the emotions she’d been avoiding over the past 24 hours finally broke free. Chris held her head gently to his shoulder as he rubbed her back slowly up and down with his other hand.

After a few minutes, Carla’s crying quieted. She still leaned against him, her face nestled in the curve of his neck and her arms had slipped around his waist. Her hearts still ached as she thought of Chuck. Having Chris here, being her friend and offering his support, was such a comfort to her. Her arms tightened around him and she closed her eyes, accepting the quiet strength he offered. Chuck, she realized, had never made her feel this way. Their relationship had always been about him; what he wanted, what his needs were, and if Carla ever complained, an argument would ensue and Carla ended up feeling as if she were a whiney b**ch.

Chris turned his head slightly, burrowing his face lightly in Carla’s soft curls. She smelled of flowers, he thought, and knew that it would be a scent he wouldn’t soon forget. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, sniffling, as she pulled back a few inches and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands. “I think I just ruined our Christmas,” she said, her voice husky.

Chris smiled. He held her by the shoulders. “No you didn’t,” he said. “You’ve made it even better.” Carla cast him a dubious look and Chris, in his quiet manner, explained. “You trusted me to be here for you. That’s a great gift to give someone.”

Carla’s expression remained uncertain. Then, seeing the sincerity in his eyes, she sighed again and leaned against him.


*

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