A Rhapsody Of Sorts

33- A Blue Christmas

December 21, 2012.

I dreaded letting my brothers meet Belinda nearly as much as I did unwrapping and pretending to love whatever frivolous pink thing she'd inevitably gotten me for Christmas. The only way of avoiding either of these disasters that I could think of was faking sick, but even then I couldn't be sure Belinda wouldn't turn up at my flat with a pot of chicken noodle soup and a stethoscope.

"She's making fudge."

Dr. Liddle raised an eyebrow in amusement, and pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose. "Fudge?"

"Yes, fudge," I spat, clutching my teacup — which was filled with peppermint hot chocolate instead of tea. "Bleeding peanut butter and almond and tiramisu or whatchamacallit fudge. That's all I got out of what she said on the phone, but she gave me a huge shopping list of ingredients that I'm meant to pick up." She'd emailed it to me at six in the morning, along with at least a dozen smiley faces and directions to the nearest Christmas tree lot.

"Well," Dr. Liddle said, laughing under her breath, "if you didn't want her to make fudge, why didn't you tell her that?"

I rolled my eyes. There was nothing funny about Belinda Ferrence making fudge in my kitchen. She would probably make me wear a horrendous apron and listen to Christmas music while my brothers sat at the breakfast bar with dopey smiles on their faces.

"Dr. Liddle, you've never met Belinda Ferrence. It's impossible to say no to her."

At spin class a few days earlier, I had mentioned to Belinda that — with my mum away in Cancun — Sydney and Pip were spending the night at mine on Friday before they had to catch their flight to Glasgow on Saturday morning. Belinda had clapped her hands together in excitement, or overexcitement, before I finished my sentence, and two minutes later I had found myself dumbly nodding along as she blubbered on about throwing a holiday party.

"She can't be that bad, Rose."

"There's a Christmas tree strapped to the roof of my car."

The pine needles in my hair were a testament to this. I'd even managed to get sticky sap on my pea coat when I helped the teenage boy working at the lot tie the tree down.

Dr. Liddle laughed again, hiding her smile behind one graceful hand. Her nails were painted holly berry red, and the bracelet on her wrist was made of teeny jingle bells that rang out every time she reached for her hot chocolate.

"There's nothing inherently wrong with Christmas trees, is there?" The laughter lines around her mouth smoothed out as she let the smile slide off her face.

Of course there wasn't. That didn't change the fact that I didn't want one this year. I didn't want the hassle of vacuuming up the pine needles or crawling under the branches to water it everyday. I didn't want it in the corner of my living room, glittering brightly enough to make my eyes water every time I looked at it. But Belinda wanted me to have one, and I didn't know how to say no to her doe-eyed pout.

When I took a sip from my cup instead of responding, Dr. Liddle leaned back in her chair.

"How are you feeling, Rose?"

"Fine." I figured if I kept telling myself that I was, one day I would wake up and find that it was true.

"Have you been thinking about Matthew much?"

"Am I ever not thinking about him?"

She pursed her lips and took another sip from her cup. The oak tree outside the window behind her was barren now, and its once dark bark had turned ashy gray. As the wind whipped through the air, the branches creaked and brushed against the windowpane like gentle fingertips on soft skin.