Page 43 of Christmas at the Ranch
“So, you’re not upset about the wedding?” she asked, keeping her voice casual.
“To be honest, I couldn’t sleep last night. I went down to the home theater and flipped through the cable channels,” Drew began. “I ended up watching the Australian Open. It made me start thinking. I played a lot of tennis in college, it’s the only sport I really enjoy. Sometimes your opponent slices his serve over your head for the fourth straight game and you realize you don’t have a chance of winning. Then the best thing to do is relax and enjoy the game,” he pondered. “Beatrix and my father are incredibly well matched as double partners and I’m playing alone. I couldn’t possibly win.”
“I don’t understand.” Samantha frowned.
“Last night, I glanced around the table after Beatrix made her announcement. One of the guests is a reviewer forThe New York Times. Another is the head buyer of a major bookstore chain,” he continued. “How would it look to them if I called off the wedding and said I wasn’t joining the company? It’s time to put down my tennis racquet and shake hands across the net.”
“What about Kaman and the school?” Samantha wondered.
“As soon as we get back to New York, I’m going to ask my father for an advance on my paycheck.” He put down his mug. “I’ll send that to Kaman. You were right. I can’t take on all the responsibility myself.” His shoulders sagged. “I have responsibilities here.”
Samantha tried to swallow. Had she said that?
“You’re talking about your future,” she cut in. “Sitting in a corner office in Midtown instead of riding in a rickshaw in Jakarta. Attending budget meetings in an air-conditioned boardroom instead of getting your fingers caked in mud laying the foundation of a new school.”
“You remember everything I told you,” Drew said in surprise.
“I’m a writer, I always remember details,” Samantha answered. “Beatrix and your father are important, but it’s your life.”
Drew turned his attention to the window.
“I’ve always loved being up high, the feeling of almost floating,” he commented. “I don’t remember much about my mother. A child psychologist told my father I’d heal faster if he removed her photos from the apartment. But I remember her taking me to the Empire State Building. I was four, it was a few months before she left,” he said. “When we reached the observation deck, I ran up to the glass. I turned around and she was gone. It was so crowded, I started crying. A few minutes later she appeared. Her shoe had got caught in the pavement. She scooped me up and squeezed me tightly.”He paused. “She said that even when I’m grown-up and far away, she’ll be right next to me. Maybe not in person, but in her thoughts. That’s what being a mother is about.”
Drew smoothed the napkin in his lap.
“When I started traveling, I often dreamed of running into her. At an outdoor market in Bombay, or walking across a poppy field in Vietnam,” he finished. “I never did, of course. I’m not a kid in my twenties anymore. Perhaps thirty-year-olds don’t need mothers. It’s time to grow up.”
Drew was wrong. Samantha’s mother turned every conversation into being about Samantha. She only wanted Samantha to be happy.
“We always need our parents,” Samantha said quietly.
“I have my father. And now I’m getting married.” Drew picked up his fork. “I’ll get to be a parent myself one day, if I’m lucky.”
They shared shortbread cookies for dessert and stepped onto the patio. It was like the Instagram videos Roger used to watch enviously when they couldn’t afford ski vacations. Groups of young people lounged at long, wooden tables drinking lager and sharing plates of buffalo wings. Their goggles were pushed up to their foreheads and they chatted about black diamond runs and meeting up for après-ski drinks.
Samantha had never cared as much as Roger. She was perfectly happy eating Christmas lunch with her parents in New Jersey, while Roger celebrated with his family in Westchester. They’d meet on Christmas night and exchange presents. Samantha’s kitchen was always filled with leftovers and they’d curl up on the sofa, playing with Socks and watching Christmas rom-coms.
“You seem far away,” Drew interrupted her thoughts.
“I was thinking about Christmas.” Samantha pulled her mind to the present. “I’ve never been away from New York at the holidays.”
Drew leaned against the wooden railing. He smiled at her companionably.
“I’m glad my father invited you,” he said to Samantha.
Samantha’s whole body felt warm. She told herself it was the hot apple cider she drank, or the outdoor heat lamps. But the heat lamps weren’t turned on, and she had been too full to drink more than a sip of hot apple cider.
“You are?” She turned to him.
“You have a way of looking at things that makes sense. You showed me that Beatrix only wants what every woman wants,” he said with a grin. “Without you, I’d feel like a fox caught in a hunter’s trap.”
The gondola was almost empty on their descent. Samantha sat back in her seat and tried to not look out the window.
They were about halfway down when the gondola suddenly stalled. The motor hummed and it started briefly. There was a ragged lurch, and it stopped.
“What’s wrong?” Samantha asked Drew.
He peered outside.
