The Christmas Gift

 Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month’s prompt: A Memorable Gift.  

 

Along with several short story collections and books of poetry, Cathy has published two novels: WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, and MISTER WOLFE, the darkly dark sequel/stand-alone novel. She has also written two volumes of grief poetry in memory of her son Matthew that she hopes might help other grieving parents: MY HEART IS BROKEN and BROKEN HEARTS CAN’T ALWAYS BE FIXED.

 

Cathy continues with Melvin and his family. What’ll happen in this episode?

 

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The Christmas Gift

by Cathy McKenzie

 

“Marie, what do you want for Christmas?”

“Melvin, you don’t have to yell. I’m right beside you. You deaf or something?”

“No, I’m not deaf, Marie. I heard you perfectly.”

“Yeah, well, don’t yell. Hurts my ears. Remember when we went to the Four Seasons concert a couple of years ago? My ears were buzzing for weeks.”

“It was a movie, not a concert. Half of them are dead already. And it’s the Five Seasons, not the Four Seasons.”

“I don’t think so but—”

“You should always defer to me, Marie. That’s why my name is Melvin. Melvin the Great.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“So what do you want?”

“What do I want?”

Melvin examined his wife’s face. Wasn’t liking her expression. Was she about to say she wished he’d vamoose? He couldn’t live without her—not that he’d ever tell her that. She should be happy they never went back to the SPCA to pick up Puddles. Or was that why she’d been bitchy the past few days? Would it help if he brought Puddles back home? Probably too late. The dog’d be long gone by now. Too much time had elapsed. And did he want a dog? Really?Did he?

“Yeah, Marie. What would you like? Roses? Diamonds? Other gems? Hey, what about books? You love to read.” He paused. Wouldn’t have a clue what books to buy her. “I could get you a gift certificate for Chapters. What about that?”

“I don’t need more books, Mel. I can pretty well read anything I want for free on my tablet. I don’t need more clutter.” She flailed her arms. “Look at this mess. We need to downsize. Badly.”

“I understand, Marie, but I gotta buy you something. What would be your heart’s desire?” He almost got down on bended knee.

As soon as the words left his lips, he regretted it. Heart’s desire? What the heck did that even mean? And if she said she wanted to leave him, he’d—

“I think I’d like an air fryer, Mel. What about that? An air fryer.”

“That sounds amazing, Marie. For me, William, and you. But what about something ‘just for you.’ Something personal.”

Marie tilted her head and stared at the ceiling.

Melvin scratched his chin and glanced above. A paint job? Is that what she wanted? No, that wouldn’t be “just for her.”

She turned. Stared him dead in his eyes. “I’d like a divorce, Melvin. A divorce. And you can have full custody of William. I’ve about had it with life. With you. With him.”

His heart sank. Pretty near plopped to the ground. For the first time in his life he was speechless. He couldn’t even open his mouth, let alone spew a syllable. 

“Yep, that’s what I want. To be free. I want to fly.” She fluttered her arms. “Spread my wings and fly!”

His mouth still wouldn’t open. Free? Fly? Fly like Kailani? He’d hate it if the two of them met up.

She was now staring at the walls. Maybe it was a paint job.

“I want to go far away.  Maybe to where the birds fly to. Where do they go in the winter, Mel? Do you know?”

His lips, still glued together, couldn’t separate. He didn’t have an answer even if he could speak.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. You don’t know anything. Despite your spouts and spews, you know crap.”

Crap? Marie said the “crap” word? 

He desperately tried to speak, to open his mouth, spread his lips. 

Nope.

“Do you have no words, Melvin?”

Melvin was certain his eyes were as big as the large round ceiling lightbulbs in his garage. Still couldn’t form words. Not a one.

“Okay, then,” she said. “That’s my gift from you. Won’t cost you a penny. Boxing Day I’m gone. Your gift to me. And don’t come looking for me!”

“Marie! What the crap. You can’t do this to me. To William. To us. We—”

She threw one of her evil eyes at him. “I will, Melvin. I will and I can.”

 

***

 

Melvin awoke with a start.  Looked at the ceiling. At the walls. Squinted. Still the same yellow colour, which looked fine. No peeling. Didn’t need a paint job.

He held his breath. Dare he look beside him? Was Marie there?

He slowly turned his head to the right. Saw the mound. Had to be his wife. Couldn’t tell, though; she always slept with the covers over her head. Could be Kailani for all he knew. Nah...

Had Boxing Day come and gone? No, it was the twenty-second, which made it three days to Christmas. The only reason he knew that was because he’d been eagerly waiting for his favourite TV show and had the twenty-second engrained in his head.

“Marie,” he whispered. “You there?”

No answer.

“Marie?”

She stirred. Her head emerged, her hair so tousled he wondered how she’d ever get it back in order. 

“What time is it?”

“Um...” he turned to his nightstand. “Almost seven.”

Without opening her eyes, she yawned. “A few more minutes of shut-eye, okay?”

“Sure. Whatever you want.”

He had to ask. “Marie, do you love me?”

“Of course,” she mumbled. “But I need a few more minutes of sleep. Didn’t sleep well.”

“What’s wrong? You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“That’s good. I wouldn’t want something wrong with you, especially this close to Christmas.”

“I’m just tired.” She disappeared underneath the linens.

“Marie, what are we gonna do on Boxing Day?”

Her head emerged again. “Melvin, what’s with all the questions?” She rubbed her eyes. “Gah, might as well get up. No sleep around here.”

Must’ve been a horrid dream, he thought. Marie would never leave him. Where would she go even if she wanted to? Besides, she loved him too much. Couldn’t live without him.

He still didn’t have a Christmas gift for her. What was it she said she wanted? An air fryer—that was it! He smiled. Today he’d go shopping. Buy his dear wife the fanciest air fryer he could find. After all, he’d be reaping the benefits of it, too. Only the best would do for his lovely bride.

 

Unless—

 

Should he check out the Five Seasons? See if they were still alive and kicking? Buy concert tickets? “Nah,” he mumbled, “the air fryer’s a safer bet.” The music would hurt her ears and then she’d be cranky over the holidays. Gotta start the New Year on the right foot. Besides, she asked for an air fryer not concert tickets.

 

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The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: http://www.valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/