tedwords

"So which one do you think I like best?"

Corb kept his gaze on the box in front of him. "I don't know..."

"Oh, come on," I frowned, and pulled the car out of the parking lot. "After all the years that you've known me, you can't figure out what my favorite chocolate is in the Whitman's Sampler?"

Corb thought about it for a moment. "Well, it's gotta be something...dark. Um, toffee chip?"

I shook my head. "Nope."

"Almond nougat? Chocolate truffle? Vermont fudge?"

"Nope, nope, and nope. Really, I would think this would be easy! It's the most obvious choice in the world. I love the little chocolate messenger guy, right in the middle of the box. I've always found him fascinating."

Corb made a face. "What a boring choice."

But there you are. I'm in love with the chocolate messenger guy. Whenever I get a box, I save him for last. It's my present for slogging through the rest of the bunch. And my man never lets me down, either.

###

Tuesday night, when I arrived home from my five-hour drive from New Jersey, I was awfully tired, but Corb convinced me that what I really wanted to do, more than anything in the world, was to go out and do a little Christmas shopping. (P.S.: I'll be taking another three-hour drive tomorrow, into Manhattan, for a Christmas party).

After dinner at our favorite Mexican restaurant and a few hours walking around the mall, we returned home. Since I was doing so much traveling, and Corb and I only have one car nowadays, I had taken a company van home for the week. It's a really comfortable one, too. I like traveling around in it. Plush seats!

Anyway, when we arrived home, something dawned on me: we had taken the van, not my car. Had Corb remembered to take the keys out from the apartment before we left? In case I haven't mentioned it before, I get nervous about these things. For most of the week, every time we had taken the van, I had quizzed Corb before we left the building...usually right before shutting the door to the apartment...but this time...

"Corb," I asked, my voice quivering, just a bit. "Did you..?"

Corb rummaged through his jeans. "Oh shit," he said, and I groaned.

Well, as Douglas Adams liked to say, "don't panic." We managed to have some neighbors open up the front door for us, and we bolted up the stairs, on the off chance that we had been totally negligent, and left the door to the apartment unlocked. Of course, we hadn't, which led us to the next most logical option.

"Do you think the cats could unlock the door?" I asked.

No such luck. So, resigned, we tried playing our next card. Our apartment has a balcony, and there's a fire escape leading down from it. There as the possibility that we had left the sliding doors unlocked. We moved to the back up the building and stared up at the third floor. I moved forward, to start climbing.

"No," said Corb. "I don't want you to climb up there."

"I don't want you to climb up there."

"But you once broke your ribs. You could fall."

"I'll be fine, really."

"But you could fall!"

"So could you," I replied. "Just let me get this over with, okay?"

Corb stepped aside. Huffing, I made my way from the steps to the fire escape, and pushed myself up. It was only when I was halfway up that I remembered how rickety the stairs were, and that I had actually bent back the thin fence surrounding the balcony in my old apartment, under a similar set of circumstances. However, that had been on a second floor. There would be a harder fall if I lost it this time, especially in winter.

I made it up, however, and I stood there, looking into my apartment, staring into it as though it were a fishbowl. I said a quick prayer and then, grabbed the door handle.

"It's locked," I said.

"What should we do now?" Corb asked.

"Call the super," I replied, rubbing my arms with my hands. It was starting to get cold.

Corb did. "They say they'll be here in ten minutes," he said, calling up. "But they want to meet me at the front of the building." The he giggled. "I feel like we're in Romeo and Juliet."

"You go around," I replied. "They'll be here pretty soon. What else could go wrong?"

It was at that point, dear friends, that the food from our favorite Mexican restaurant started to kick in.

Longest. Ten minutes. Ever!

There's an episode of the Gilmore Girls entitled "A Deep-Fried Korean Thanksgiving," where Rory and Lorelai end up attending four separate Thanksgiving dinners, all in the course of eight hours. That's what today sort of felt like, for me.

We started the day by visiting Scott at 11:30, Corb's brother, as well as Corb's mom. This was probably the potentially drama-prone part of the day. With all the drama surrounding the sale of the house these past few months, Corb's mom and grandmother were not eating dinner with Scott and his family, and the question I had was, would they even spend time in the same room together?

As it was, Corb's mother timidly stepped into Scott's part of the house to say "Happy Thanksgiving," and Scott gave her a big hug, and she started crying. That was sweet, although Scott then went into the other side of the house to say hello to his grandmother, and that reception wasn't exactly warm. She's a great lady, but when she's angry, you know it, and she hasn't spoken or seen Scot or his family since June, even though she lives five minutes away. That must be tough. I can't imagine my grandmother holding a grudge for five months.

After that, it was off to see my parents at their home in Plymouth. This had its own element of drama, since it was Corb's first visit on a holiday to my family, but that worked out just fine. My brother and sister both really love Corb, and the only complaint I heard was from my mother, who wanted us to eat Thanksgiving dinner with them. We only pigged out on appetizers, and then had to head off to Josie's for dinner.

Which was HUGE, as you can see. After dinner, I barely had room for dessert, even an hour after dinner was in my belly. Turkey, stuffing, squash, broccoli casserole, summer squash and zucchini, potatoes, gravy, rolls...and good company. It was an excellent dinner.

And now, at midnight, comes the best part of the day. A slice of pie and a cup of tea, right before bed. The world is asleep. Oliver is running around in the living room, playing with a jingly toy, and Corb is snoring in the little bedroom. I hear the rain pounding a steady rhythm outside. I'm sitting here, Indian style in my favorite chair, a hand on my beard, scratching the chin, and feeling a heaviness in my belly from a day of indulgence.

Very pleased with progress for "Late Night Show." I've mapped out the entire end of the novel, and basically have seven chapters left. It's been a long journey, but it's underway again, and this year, I don't have the weight of a play looming over my shoulder. It's a good feeling, made all the better by the hint of possibility that I can see, hovering just around the horizon.