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Christmas had never been Neal’s favorite holiday. When he was a kid, Ellen had always made sure he had a handful of small presents, but his mom had never been able to pull it together to do anything. Believing in Santa was never an option. He'd enjoyed Christmas the two years he’d spent the holiday with Kate, but Neal thought that it might have to be the sort of thing you grew up loving, or you just didn’t quite get it.
So when Peter turned to him at a red light, three weeks before Christmas and said, “El and I are staying here for Christmas this year, want to come to dinner?” Neal’s first reaction was to demur. But Peter, being Peter, rolled his eyes and asked, “Have you got plans?”
He didn’t, really. June was going to be in the Bahamas. Moz tended to make himself scarce around Christmas, which pushed all sorts of buttons for him. “I guess not.”
“Great,” Peter said. “It’ll be fun. El’s talking about a ham this year - her sister’s husband doesn’t eat pork, so we never get it when we go upstate. And I was thinking about inviting Sara, what do you think?”
Neal shrugged. He hadn’t talked to Sara in weeks. “Sure. It’s your house, isn’t it? Do what you want.”
“Yeah, but if it’s going to make things weird for you . . .”
“It won’t,” Neal assured him, almost certain it was true. “Unless this is some scheme to set us up again.”
Peter shook his head. “It isn’t, I swear. At least . . .” He hesitated. “Not by me.”
Neal raised his eyebrows. “Is El matchmaking? Or re-matchmaking, in our case?”
“I don’t think so,” Peter said, frowning. “Though come to think of it, she was the one who suggested we invite Sara. Would it be so bad, though?” he asked, glancing sideways at Neal. “I mean, I thought you and Sara worked.”
Neal sighed. “I think Sara needs someone more reliable than I will ever be.”
“Hmm.”
“What?”
Peter shook his head. “Nothing. You’ll come to dinner?”
“Yes,” Neal said, after only the slightest of hesitations. “I’ll come to dinner. Thanks.”
Three weeks later, Neal found himself on the Burkes’ doorstep, overnight bag slung over his shoulder and expensive bottle of wine in hand. Yesterday’s snow had turned to slick ice and slush, but it was supposed to snow again later that night. There was a sharp bite in the air that made the tip of Neal’s nose sting.
Peter opened the door. “Hey, Neal, Merry Christmas. Come on in.”
Neal stepped into the house and drew a deep breath of warm air, redolent of all sorts of delicious things - and pine, too. In the living room to his left, he caught a glimpse of a beautifully decorated, very tall Christmas tree - the sort he’d always dreamed of when he was a kid and all he’d had was Ellen’s tiny artificial one. “Wow, it smells amazing in here.”
“It should,” El said, poking her head out of the kitchen. “We’ve been at this all day. Ooh,” she added, upon seeing the bottle of wine. “Let’s open that.”
Neal opened the wine and poured glasses for all three of them, while Peter returned to chopping vegetables and El stirred sauce on the stove. There was a plate of cheese and crackers on the island, and Neal nibbled while he chatted with them.
The doorbell rang just as El was pulling the ham out of the oven. Peter and El both had their hands full, so Neal went to answer it. Sara looked stunning and surprisingly festive beneath her coat, in dark green cashmere with ruby earrings and a small ruby pendant at her throat. Neal kissed her on her cheek and nodded at the bottle of wine she had with her. “I brought one of those, too.”
Sara gave him a wry smile. “Thought it might be necessary. It usually is for me, this time of year. How’ve you been?”
Neal shrugged. “Peter keeps me busy. How about you?”
Sara returned his shrug with one of her own. “Sterling-Bosch keeps me busy.”
They looked at each other awkwardly. Thankfully, El came out of the kitchen to greet Sara and let them know that dinner was ready. Sara hugged her and handed over the bottle of wine with thanks for the invitation. El waved this away. “It wouldn’t really feel like a celebration with just Peter and me,” she said. “We’re very happy to have you both. Now come sit down.”
Dinner was delicious, not that Neal had expected anything less. Peter and Sara soon got caught up talking about a case she’d recently been assigned, and Neal found himself discussing Elizabeth’s plans for the New Year’s gala she’d been hired to throw. Not for the first time, Elizabeth hinted that she wouldn’t mind hiring him, once he was off the anklet, either fulltime or parttime, whichever he preferred. Neal deflected, as he had before; he thought it might be fun, working with Elizabeth, but he couldn’t really imagine a life where he wasn’t working with Peter.
After dinner, they all helped clear the table, but El and Peter shooed Neal and Sara into the living room while they finished loading the dishwasher. They took the bottle of wine Sara had brought. Neal opened it, while Sara stood quietly contemplating the Christmas tree.
“Thanks,” she said, when Neal poured for her. “I was just thinking that this tree reminded me of the ones we used to have when I was a kid. We used to go to this Christmas tree farm upstate and tromp around in the mud until we found just the right one. Then my dad cut it down, and we strapped it to the roof of the car for the drive home.”
“Sounds nice,” Neal said, sipping his wine.
“It was,” Sara said, wistfully. Neal sensed, somehow, that this tradition had stopped after Sara’s sister disappeared. She’d never said much about it in so many words, but he had the impression that her parents, her mother in particular, had given up on having any sort of family after that.
“We never had a tree,” he said, figuring he might as well make his own offering of truth. “There was never any space or any money. Aunt Ellen had a little artificial one, but I used to dream about having a big tree, with lots of room underneath for presents.”
“You could have one now,” Sara pointed out.
“So could you,” Neal replied.
“Yes, well.” Sara shrugged. “Doesn’t seem to be much point, does there?”
“No,” Neal agreed. “Not really.”
There was a long silence. There was quite a variety of ornaments on Peter and Elizabeth’s tree - everything from delicate, blown glass to cutesy paper maché animals to one brass-plated one of a crawling baby that read Elizabeth Marie - First Christmas 1976.
“I miss you,” Sara said quietly. Neal looked at her sharply. “It might just be the time of year,” she went on, still not looking at him, “but I do.”
“I miss you, too,” Neal said. He’d hurt her by leaving a year ago. He’d hurt other people, too, but it was somehow different with Sara. He’d torn open an old wound, one that had nothing to do with him, and that was harder to mend than one he’d made himself. He didn’t have the right to ask for anything from her.
“I just don’t know,” she said, and then stopped, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I just don’t know if I can trust you.”
There was nothing for Neal to say to that. He was trying to turn over a new leaf, but it was like he’d said to Peter - he wasn’t sure he’d ever be reliable enough for Sara, who needed someone she could be sure would never leave her.
The silence stretched, then became uncomfortable. At that moment, Peter and Elizabeth came out of the kitchen, Elizabeth with a tray with four mugs of hot cider and Peter with a platter of Christmas cookies and treats from Elizabeth’s favorite bakery. Peter said his family had a tradition of playing board games on Christmas Eve, and so the four of them spent the rest of the evening in a hotly-contested game of Scrabble. Hotly contested between Peter and Sara, anyway; Neal and Elizabeth both managed not to embarrass themselves, but it was close.
It was late when the game ended, Peter having sealed his victory at last with ZIP on a triple-word square. Neal was staying over, but he walked Sara out to wait for her cab. They stood on the sidewalk in front of the Burkes’ house, just looking at each other. Sara had been the one to break the silence before, and it seemed only fair that Neal be the one to do it this time. “I miss you, too,” he said, because he thought it bore repeating. “But I don’t know if you should trust me. I’ve made a career out of running, and the habit’s hard to break. But when I came back to New York, I sort of made a promise that I wouldn’t run again.”
“You made a promise to Peter, you mean,” Sara said quietly.
“And to myself,” Neal said. He drew a deep breath. “I’d like us to have a second chance, but I understand why you’re . . . concerned. And I was thinking that maybe this time, we could try being friends first, and then see where things go.”
Sara nodded, looking away. After a long moment, she said, “I do have one holiday tradition, you know. Chinese food and a movie on Christmas Day.” She looked back at him. “Care to join me tomorrow?”
Neal smiled. “Yeah, that sounds great. Is the afternoon all right?”
Her cab pulled up in front of the house. “Yeah, that’s perfect. Merry Christmas, Caffrey.”
“Merry Christmas, Repo.” Neal leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
He saw the cab off, then went back inside, where he found Peter waiting for him. He straightened up from unplugging the tree lights and raised his eyebrows. Neal shrugged. “We’re going for Chinese food and a movie tomorrow,” he said. “Don’t read into it.”
Peter smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But I’m glad to hear it, Neal. I really am.”
“You just want a Scrabble partner in your weight class.”
“Doesn’t hurt. Come on up, we’ll make up the guest bed.” Peter climbed the stairs, leaving Neal behind. He turned and looked toward the darkened living room. The windows were frosted over from the warmth inside, and he could hear Peter and El walking around upstairs. Tomorrow they’d get up, and Neal would make brunch for all three of them, and then they would swap presents. Later in the afternoon, he’d meet up with Sara.
If this was Christmas, he thought with a sudden burst of optimism, then he might be able to get the hang of it after all.
Fin.