“So, I love you because the entire universe conspired to help me find you.”
Paulo Coehlo
Laura sighed as she looked around her living room. She had just finished decorating for the holiday season and the room, as well as the rest of the apartment, was festooned with garland, lights, and Christmas tchachkes, as well as a modest tree shining from atop an elegant little table. Despite its small stature, it radiated the joy she wished she was truly feeling. In truth, she had decorated in a rebellion against the glumness that had filled her since, well, since whenever. Since her last birthday, at least.
Turning forty had hit her hard. Not because she was afraid of getting old. It wasn't something she dwelled on. Instead, it was the sense that life was rapidly passing her by. Maybe forty was far from old, she knew that, but there was so much she had hoped to accomplish by this time. Simple things, really. She had wanted a traditional life. She'd wanted to find love, become a wife and mother. She'd never consciously considered pursuing a career, but somehow she had done just that. And she'd achieved a level of success many envied, all without actively seeking it. She supposed she should be grateful for her good fortune, but her heart ached with loneliness. It was hard to be grateful when what you yearned for was what you didn't have.
She began picking up the paper and boxes from which she'd unpacked her holiday décor and returning them to the plastic totes she'd retrieved from the self-storage unit on the other side of town. Her office, which was actually a second bedroom, would be crowded with the totes until she took the decorations down on New Year's. It would make her workspace more crowded than usual but it wouldn't be the first time that it all spilled over to the kitchen table. Maybe she should move up her plans to buy a condo by a couple of years.
Once the totes were stowed away, she returned to the living room and stood with her hands on her hips as she looked around once again. Her eyes fell on the red mailbox nestled beneath the tree. On top was a white silk poinsettia in a charming little sleigh surrounded by sprigs of holly. On the side were the words, Letters to Santa. She had received it from a friend during a Christmas swap at church about five years ago. The friend, with whom she had long since lost touch, had said the mailbox was special. It was guaranteed to grant wishes for kids young, old, and middle-aged. As she stared, a sudden whimsy struck her and she cocked her head consideringly. How long had it been since she'd actively wished for anything? With a resurgence of the rebellion she'd felt earlier, she returned to the office and sat at her desk. Reaching into a drawer, she withdrew a small notepad decorated with a jolly snowman surrounded by bright red cardinals that she had received from a charity soliciting donations, and picked up her favorite pen. It was her special pen, a high end Swiss brand, that she'd given herself as a graduation gift when she'd earned her B.A. in English. She sat for a moment to collect her thoughts then began to write:
Dear Santa~
I can't say how naughty or nice I've been this year. Probably a bit of both. I hope I haven't done anything harmful to anyone and that I've served a good purpose.
Santa, it's been a very long time since I've asked for anything. As an adult, it seems silly to do so now, but I'm thinking, why not? So here I am, Santa, with my dearest wish. I wish for love with a good man. I'm too old for kids but I'm not too old to find love for the first time in my life. Is there someone out there for me, Santa? Is there someone out there with whom I can share my heart and dreams?
If there is, Santa, please help us find each other.
Laura
Setting the pen aside, she tore the note from the pad and folded it with a self-conscious smile. Why, she wondered, was she feeling self-conscious, as if anyone would ever know she had written it? It was business between her and Santa, and everyone knew wishes only came through if they were kept secret.
After clicking the cap back on the pen, she took the note and returned to the living room. Crossing to the tree, she carefully opened the door on the mail box and, after a moment, slipped the note inside before once again closing it. Then she stood for a moment and contemplated what she had just done. Suddenly she felt lighter somehow. A smile crossed her face and became a grin. She wanted some Christmas sugar cookies and hot chocolate!
The sun was setting and Laura was relaxing on the couch while watching the original Miracle on 34th Street on TV when there was a knock at the door. After muting the movie, she rose and padded on stocking feet to answer it. Looking through the peep hole, she recognized the attractive middle-aged man on the other side as a neighbor from down the hall and opened the door.
“Hello,” she greeted him with a cautious smile. She was rewarded with a warm one in return.
“Hi,” he answered, “I'm Matt MacDonald from four doors down. You're Laura, right?”
“Hi, Matt. Yes, I am. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if I might beg a cup of sugar from you?” He held up a plastic measuring cup. “I usually turn to my next door neighbor for help but she's out of town visiting family and I doubt the guys in the other apartments have it to give.”
Laura pursed her lips doubtfully.
“A cup of sugar?”
His grin was all charm.
“Just a cup.”
“You're baking?”
“Trying to. Can't say for certain yet how it'll turn out.”
She eyed him for a moment, then stood back.
“Come on in.”
“Thanks.”
She closed the door behind him then led him to the eat in kitchen.
“Your apartment looks nice. Very festive.”
She smiled.
“Thank you. Um, what are you baking?”
“I'm attempting to make pffeferneufen.”
“Make what?”
“My grandmother's pffeferneufen. It's a recipe that's been handed down for four generations in our family. I was challenged by my sister to out bake her this year.” His smile was wry. “I never could pass up a direct challenge from a sibling. Even when I'm not sure of what I'm doing.”
“Any hope you can win?”
“If you'll share a cup of your sugar,” he smiled engagingly, “and perhaps a bit of advice?”
She took the measuring cup from him.
“What kind of advice?”
“Do you have any tips for this amateur?”
“You're assuming that I'm not one.”
“Miss Ruby raves about the cookies you bake for her every year. I figure that makes you more than an amateur.”
“Miss Ruby is a sweetheart. It's not in her to speak critically of anyone.”
“But it's also not in her to lie, either.”
Reaching into the cupboard, she withdrew the plastic canister of sugar.
“Best advice I can give you is to just enjoy yourself. Christmas is stressful enough without making things harder than they are.”
“That's it?”
“That's it. The recipe will do the rest.”
She filled the measuring cup and handed it back to him.
“What exactly is pffeferneufen?”
“A cookie from Bavaria. Or so I'm told. Funny how a German cookie came to be a tradition in a Scottish family, don't you think?”
“Perhaps you've an ancestor from Germany.”
“Maybe. My sister is the one into genealogy so you'd have to ask her.”
After returning the canister to the cupboard, she turned back to him with a smile.
“Well, good luck with your pfefferneufen. If there's anything else I can do to help, just ask.”
Matt grinned as he nodded then stepped aside to let her pass.
“Since this is a competition I'm determined to win, believe me, I will.”
He followed her back through the living room. After opening the door she watched him walk into the hallway where he turned back to her.
“Thank you, Laura. Maybe I'll bring you a sample. If they turn out edible, of course.”
“If they don't, just remember that practice makes perfect.” She smiled. “Good night, Matt.”
“See you later.”
A few hours later Laura was snoozing on the couch with a book open on her chest when there came a knock on the door. Sitting up, she caught the book before it could fall to the floor then rose to her feet with a grumpy sigh. Glancing at the clock on the side table, she saw that it was only a little after eight o'clock and yawned. She guessed she ought to answer it.
With a stretch, she walked to the door and looked through the peep hole to find Matt smiling at her on the other side. Before she could look away, he lifted a plate so that she could see he had come bearing samples of his efforts. With a shake of her head, she opened the door.
“Wanna try one?”
It was impossible to resist his smile. With a resigned one of her own, she motioned him in.
“What goes well with pfefferneufen?” She asked.
“A glass of milk, of course. It is a cookie after all.”
She took the plastic-wrapped plate of cookies from him and led the way to the kitchen. There she set it on the dining table.
“Have a seat,” she told him as she reached for two glasses from the cupboard, followed by a jug of milk from the refrigerator. After pouring them each one, she set one on the table in front of him then took her own seat. He had already removed the plastic wrap and gave the plate a little push in her direction.
“Tell me what you think.”
They were small, round, and dusted with confectioners' sugar, and when she bit into one she was surprised by how light they were. Not too sweet, with just the right amount of minced almonds and a slight peppery flavor that she found very appealing. She could understand why they were a treasured family recipe.
“I think,” she began, before stuffing the remainder of the cookie in her mouth, chewing, and taking a sip of milk, “I think these are delicious. I don't know anything about your sister's prowess in the kitchen but I think I can safely say you are a contender.”
His smile was wide and betrayed his relief.
“Thank you! I should have known grandma's recipe wouldn't let me down.”
He watched as she greedily snatched up another cookie and bit into it before meeting his eyes with her own rounded ones.
“Oh dear,” she mumbled around the cookie, “I'm already making a pig of myself!”
Matt laughed and chose a cookie for himself.
“Go ahead. There's more where these came from.”
They chewed their cookies in companionable silence then smiled like conspirators as they both reached for still another after taking a drink of milk.
“So, what do you do, Laura?”
“I'm a freelance technical writer.”
“Freelance, huh? What kinds of things do you write about?”
“Everything from automobile owners' manuals to pamplets on solar energy. It's a pretty wide field of subjects and not always all that interesting.”
“Do you write anything else?”
“I dabble in poetry and magazine articles sometimes. It depends upon when the inspiration hits.” She bit into her cookie. “What do you do?”
“I'm a detective with the city police department.”
“Really? Now that must be an interesting job.”
He nodded and sipped his milk.
“It is. Every day brings something new. Unfortunately it's seldom pleasant, and it can be pretty challenging.”
“How long have you been a cop?”
“Almost twenty-five years. I was in military security before then.”
“Ever been married?”
He nodded.
“Twice. Both were good women. They just couldn't handle my job.”
“Any kids?”
“One. Carrie. She's fourteen going on thirty and lives with her mom.” He chose another cookie. “What about you? Ever been married?”
He caught a glimpse of a shadow that was quickly gone in her lovely eyes.
“No, I'm afraid not.”
“Ever come close?”
“Nope. Just never found someone I could see myself growing old with I suppose.”
He didn't need to know that she had seldom dated after college as the pool of available respectable men had rapidly dwindled. She wasn't one for casual relationships and had learned early on to guard her heart closely. She'd been accused of being too picky, but the truth was that she simply refused to settle for the sake of being married.
Moments passed as they each contemplated their cookies.
“So what do you do when you're not writing solar energy pamphlets?”
“Whatever I feel like doing. Sometimes I crochet, sometimes I go to the planetarium, sometimes I go watch a play. Sometimes I find a tearjerker on a movie channel and indulge in a good cry. It just depends upon what sounds good.” She looked at him. “What about you?”
“I read mostly. And I work out at the precinct gym. Sometimes I meet some of the guys down at O'Donnell's Bar. It's all about letting off steam for me.”
“I can understand that.”
She reached for another cookie, only to discover that they'd all been eaten. Disappointment mixed with chagrin as she realized they'd scarfed down a dozen cookies between them.
“Don't bring me any more of those cookies.”
“Can't control yourself, eh?” He grinned. “That's okay. I understand. But are you just going to leave me alone to finish off the other two dozen?”
“Yep.”
Their eyes met and they chuckled.
“Well,” he sighed dramatically, “if I must, I guess I must.”
“If you find you can't, though, just let me know.” She grinned. “I'm sure I can think of some way to help.”
They smiled at one another until their smiles faded. The world slowly ceased to exist as they searched one another's eyes. The only sounds in the room were the humming of the refrigerator as its compressor switched on and the loud ticking of the vintage Kit Kat clock on the wall behind the table. Laura's breath caught and her heart began to pound. She had the strangest feeling that she was staring at destiny. Little did she know, he was experiencing the same feeling.
Finally, she blinked and looked away. Taking a deep breath, she rose to her feet and collected their glasses.
“Thank you for sharing your cookies with me, Matt.”
Taking his cue, he rose to his feet then stood, watching her speculatively, as she carried the glasses to the sink.
“I've enjoyed spending time with you tonight, Laura,” he told her quietly, “I'd like to get to know you better. If you'll let me.”
She didn't say anything as she rinsed the glasses and placed them in the dishwasher. Finally, she turned to him as she dried her hands with a kitchen towel.
“I think I'd like to get to know you, too, Matt.”
“Will you have dinner with me? Say, Friday night?”
Smiling, she nodded.
“I'd like that.”
“Good!”
She led the way to the door and opened it. He turned to her before walking into the hallway and traced her cheek with a gentle finger.
“Seven o'clock?”
She nodded, unconsciously leaning into his touch.
“Yes.”
With a final caress, he walked through the door and disappeared down the hall toward his apartment.
After closing the door, Laura turned and leaned back against it with her eyes closed as she relived that last caress. Then, she straightened and walked to the table that held the tree. Picking up the mailbox, she smiled as she slowly opened its door. The smile quickly turned to a look of surprise once the door was fully open.
'Catholic Voices in a World on Fire' Anthology, includes 'The Poorest of the Poor'; by Judy Joy Jones which is a chapter from her upcoming book about her volunteer work at Mother Teresas houses around the world including her house in Washington DC w
Laura sighed as she looked around her living room. She had just finished decorating for the holiday season and the room, as well as the rest of the apartment, was festooned with garland, lights, and Christmas tchachkes, as well as a modest tree shining from atop an elegant little table. Despite its small stature, it radiated the joy she wished she was truly feeling. In truth, she had decorated in a rebellion against the glumness that had filled her since, well, since whenever. Since her last birthday, at least.
