Fiction logo

Jolly Holiday

A happy old couple rent a cabin to rest and reminisce before Christmas

By Leslie WritesPublished about a year ago Updated about a year ago 4 min read
Like

We drove up the snowy, winding road towards the cozy A-frame cabin. Nicky insisted on renting a sports car for this trip. So impractical. I’d call it a mid-life crisis, but he’s much too old for that. It’s funny how I was the one who suggested getting away for the weekend, but he latched onto the idea with his special brand of enthusiasm, the kind I fell in love with.

The cabin was perfect, just like Jack described it in his email. ‘Glamping’ I think he called it.

The furnishings were simple, yet elegant with only a wreath on the door to mark the season. It was a quiet place where we could relax, away from all the hustle and bustle.

As soon as we got inside with our bags, Nicky knelt by the hearth to light the fire like he does at home, but I noticed the switch on the wall. It was gas. How clever! I flicked it on, and a cheerful blue flame emerged. Nicky reeled back.

“Jeepers, Mary! Are you trying to singe my eyebrows?”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, dear.” I kissed his shaggy brow.

“I thought you’d know better,” I teased.

His hearty laughter lit up his face as he scooped me up in his arms. I giggled all the way to the bedroom. We hadn’t lost the spark, not even a little.

I was a dancer when we first started courting. Ballet mostly, but I could also carry a tune, so I found myself in the chorus of a number of musical revues. Nicky would never miss a show, from New York to San Francisco and everywhere in between, he was always waiting for me at the stage door with flowers.

Then he’d take me to an all-night diner for coffee and cake, or a slice of pie. Nicky always had a sweet tooth. We’d talk and linger into the wee hours, sharing our hopes and dreams.

Nicky had such ambition. He was growing a non-profit business up north. I’m sure he wanted to propose, but he knew what my career meant to me. And he respected that. He was, after all, my biggest fan.

He also gave such thoughtful presents. They were usually handmade. My favorite was a beautifully carved little music box. When you opened it, a tiny ballerina popped up and began to twirl on a clockwork mechanism.

Upon closer inspection, I realized that the little porcelain figure had my likeness. The tutu was made of real pink tulle. And the tune that played was ‘Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.’

As every ballerina knows, this kind of dancing is very physically demanding, and every body has its limits. One year, a few weeks before Christmas, I got the feeling that I was ready for a change. I was getting older, and my legs weren’t what they used to be, what with all the stress fractures and tendinitis from years of dancing.

I was in a new production of the Nutcracker with the New York City Ballet. Nicky was there, of course. He was beside himself. He adored my performance, called me the eighth wonder of the world.

That night at the diner, I explained how I’d planned to quit dancing after the run of the show. Nick wrinkled his brow. “Are you sure?”

I nodded my head and not a second later he was fishing something out of his pocket. He was sweating and his cheeks were bright red. I wasn’t sure what kind of stone it was, but it sparkled like a snowflake.

“Mary, would you do me the honor…?”

Now as I lie next to him in these three hundred thread count sheets, I think of how far we have come. Business is thriving and we haven’t made a single dime.

Although we never had any real children of our own, we have enriched the lives of so many through our work. A smile on a child’s face, even when we are not there to see it, is worth every bit of sacrifice.

Nicky rolls towards me, strokes his beard, and says, “I could really go for some cookies. Got any more of those chocolate chip?”

“Oh, Nicky, you’re so predictable.”

“Ho ho ho.” His laughter fills the cabin and his eyes twinkle with joy.

I can feel the magic in the air.

Short Story
Like

About the Creator

Leslie Writes

Another struggling millennial. Writing is my creative outlet and stress reliever.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments (1)

Sign in to comment
  • Life beats the movieabout a year ago

    ❤️

Find us on social media

Miscellaneous links

  • Explore
  • Contact
  • Privacy Policy
  • Terms of Use
  • Support

© 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.