‘Twas the Love Before Christmas

16. Noah

Chapter sixteen

Noah

H ot cocoa and roasted marshmallows. It wasn’t exactly how I had envisioned spending the night once I got Catherine off the road, but I supposed there were plenty of other ways the night could have ended – and some were significantly worse. Once Mrs. Woods left us to our hot cocoa, I glanced over at Catherine. She seemed lost in her own world, staring off at the fire. I didn’t want to interrupt her daydream, so I said absolutely nothing.

“What’s bothering you, Noah?” she finally said. “I know it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other to have an opportunity to talk, but… you seem distracted – I’d go so far as to say irritated – by something.” She shook her head “Is something wrong?”

I sat there in surprise, unsure of what to say for a moment. How could she tell that something was irritating me? Then again, I hadn’t been the best at hiding my emotions in high school. What made me believe I’d be able to hide them now, and any better than in high school, other than more experience?

I sighed.

Not only was I surprised, but my cheeks heated up from the embarrassment of being caught. I had done my best to keep this from impacting our time together. For her to be able to tell was more than just surprising, it was embarrassing.

Catherine raised an eyebrow when I didn’t respond. She was expecting an answer or hadn’t believed I would hold back. I didn’t blame her for either reaction, but I wouldn’t hold back the truth any longer. If she was going to be this inquisitive, she did deserve to know.

No one else had picked up on it, after all.

“I’ve had to retire unexpectedly,” I finally said. “I’ve got some investments and I’ve done some endorsements, so I’ll be all right, but I’m just not ready to give up the world of sports just yet. When we broke up all those years ago, I never expected that my career would end because of an injury… or that we’d be here roasting marshmallows together as if it wasn’t happening.”

“Wow. That’s a big announcement,” she said. “Sports are important to you, but I didn’t realize that an early retirement would be so devastating. Is it because of your injury? Or something else entirely?”

“My arm just didn’t heal as well as it should have,” I said. “It’s not the worst news in the world to many people, but I’m only thirty-one. I want to keep working. No one should have to retire so early from what they love – injury or not.”

“You’ve played baseball for a long time. You played baseball all through high school and college,” she said.

I nodded slowly as I softly turned the roasting stick in my hand so that my marshmallow wouldn’t burn.

“Yes I did,” I affirmed. “Then I went pro after college. I do have a degree I could fall back on—physical education, like every other washed-up ball player.” I couldn’t quite keep the bitter note out of my voice.

“But it keeps you close to what you love,” Catherine mused.

I took a sip of hot cocoa, unsure how else to phrase what was happening.

“You could have gotten an academic scholarship, too, right?” Catherine asked.

I nodded, putting my cup of hot cocoa down.

“I could have gotten an academic scholarship if I wanted to go into something more creative,” I said. “But Brighton University offered me a full-ride baseball scholarship. Since that was the best offer I got, and I love the game, that’s what I went with. I know that the distance between our college campuses is part of what led to our break-up, but I would have done it again in a heartbeat if I had to make the choice all over again.”

“I would go to the same college, too,” Catherine said. “If that was the only thing keeping us from being together, we probably could have done all right if we had managed to budget our time better especially since I could have spared time while I was eating to call you. But we had too many expectations of life, and neither of us wanted to give up our dreams for the other. I probably could have come back and done online schooling to support you… but I didn’t want to give up the experience part of it.”

“I remember those dates,” I said with a laugh. “Trying to video call you while I was just getting home and getting relaxed after practice. Because of time zones, you were always sitting down for dinner, and I was so jealous because I could just tell when you’d gotten the time to cook.”

“I didn’t get it very often,” she admitted. “At least, not during the week. I meal-prepped a lot during the weekend to make my food money stretch. Meant that I had to be careful about when I went out to eat, but I was able to go out with my friends for food once a week. More or less.” She shrugged. “I always wanted to be there cheering for you, though. Unfortunately, I couldn’t always do that.”

I nodded slowly.

By now, my marshmallow was roasted exactly as much as I wanted it to be: the sides were just burnt enough for a crunch, but not enough to send it sliding off the roasting stick into the fire. I carefully pulled it away from the fireplace so that it wouldn’t jostle too much. Catherine was taking hers a little slower, as it was further away from the flames, but was slowly turning golden-brown.

“You don’t like a crunch on your marshmallows,” I said as I waited a few moments for my marshmallow to cool down. “Or have you changed a little bit since high school?”

“We’re all allowed a few changes since high school. I have grown to appreciate a little bit of a golden-brown coating on my marshmallows since high school. A little bit,” she added with a laugh. “So don’t go trying to start me torching them like you do. One of my friends from college taught me the trick to getting it golden-brown without worrying about it catching on fire.”

Once my marshmallow had cooled off enough to touch it without getting burned, I pulled it off the roasting stick. Mrs. Woods had given us nothing to set the marshmallows on or to eat them with, but that was all right. I wasn’t much of a fan of Smores unless it was summer. I couldn’t eat them unless it was summer. It was wrong to do so any other time of the year, for no discernable reason.

I finished my marshmallow as Catherine reached for her hot cocoa. By then, I realized I could have slid the marshmallow into my hot cocoa to enjoy as it kept warm. Feeling slightly like an idiot for not seeing that obvious answer in front of me, I kept quiet. Catherine slid the marshmallow right into her hot cocoa with a soft plop .

“Hmm… that smells heavenly with a hot marshmallow in it,” she said as she took a whiff before setting the roasting stick down to cool. “Did you eat yours without putting it in the cocoa?”

“I’ve always been a fan of roasted marshmallows,” I replied softly. “I just don’t like them in chocolate unless it’s a Smore. I don’t know why.”

She laughed and leaned against my shoulder as we looked at the fire together. I slid an arm around her shoulder, keeping her close, with my hot cocoa in the other hand. My heart skipped a beat as she rested her head against the crook of my neck, staring at the fire.

Most of the guests had already headed to bed, though I was almost sure there were one or two stragglers wandering somewhere.

“Noah, do you think we wouldn't have broken up if we had both gone to Brighton University? Or if you had been willing to try out for a team on the other side of the country? Were we doomed to fail from the start as soon as our dreams could become a reality?”

The questions she posed struck me as odd. What use was there in reminiscing over the past that never was? We had decided in high school not to let our relationship get in the way of what we wanted for the rest of our lives. Even though we were going to give it our best shot. We were better off for that choice, even if it did bring a slight pang of guilt after the fact. How lonely she must have been the first few weeks in California after that.

She had called me religiously while I was in practice those first few weeks until she realized that the time difference between us meant I was in practice.

“I’m not sure. I would like to think so, though,” I finally said. “There’s no point in reminiscing over something that never happened, though. Why do you ask?”

“The first few weeks of college, our freshman year, I considered returning home and transferring to Brighton because I was so homesick,” she said. “But I stuck it out because I wanted the writing program at that school. I would have had to take on more classes and more debt, I believe if I transferred to Brighton University. Besides, what writing program did they have to offer me? They had nothing creative for me… unlike the university I did attend.”

I nodded slowly. That was a decent reason not to transfer. Though, I suspected it was also partially because her foundation credits may not have transferred with her. That would have been a shame. Honestly, I didn’t understand why universities needed to be so exclusive regarding what transferred and what didn’t.

“Well, we should probably finish our hot cocoa. It’s getting late,” she said, giving me no time to contribute to the conversation.

Not that I wanted to, anyway. My heart ached enough thinking of what could have been.

I nodded and took the last sip of my hot cocoa.

She took a few moments to finish hers before we stuck the cups in the dirty dish bin in the dining room. Then, we walked up to our room.

“I’ll take the floor,” I said. “We don’t necessarily have to share the bed if that would make you feel uncomfortable.”

As I said this, Catherine shivered a little. I frowned. She had only gotten more sensitive to the temperature over time, which wouldn’t be good if the blankets on the bed were thin.

“I think it depends on how thick the blanket on the bed is,” she finally said as she wrapped her arms around herself. “It’s cold in here. Perhaps the heater’s having issues tonight. I hope not. I need a good, comfortable temperature to sleep… and I can’t sustain that on my own.”

I nodded.

Then, I remembered something.

“Could you be cold because we were snuggling in the lobby in front of a fireplace and had to move?” I asked.

She laughed a little.

“That very well could be it, but I’ll have to see how warm I am under the covers,” she responded.

I opened the door to the room. Catherine walked in first. I let the door close behind me, but it was a simple little room. There was a small heater that hadn’t yet been turned on. Catherine immediately went to turn it on while I got a better look at the room. It had a queen-sized bed, a small couch, and a couple of chairs at a small table. It was one of the better-arranged rooms, and if I had to hazard a guess, I would have said that this was for families because the couch could be used for kids. Then again, better rooms were probably available for those needing multiple beds.

“If you don’t want to share the bed, I’ll take the couch. It’s right by the window, so I doubt you’d want it anyway,” I said.

“Very kind of you, but I don’t think this heater will do a very good job. It’s only blowing lukewarm air,” she said. “Do you mind sharing the bed tonight?”

“Not at all.”

As she walked into the small bathroom to get ready for the night, I was fully aware of how my heart raced against my chest. These feelings had died down a long time ago, right? Something about being around Catherine now and how she cared so deeply about my retirement had brought them back to the surface.

I shook my head.

This was not the time to be thinking of old feelings. Tonight was simply a night in the bed and breakfast with a friend and nothing more. No matter how much I wanted it to be more. We ended up sharing the bed, and I held her close to me, but nothing more. We slept only as friends.

I lay awake longer than I wanted to. Was there something more we could have done to save our relationship all those years ago?