Christmas 2011 Trio A. Кейт Хьюит
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tell her anything. Would you care to explain?
His reply didn’t come for a couple of minutes, as if he needed to think about it first. So this obviously wasn’t about the possibility of adding a mount to their list of resources.
We’ve been partners—how long? he asked instead.
Six months.
It seems longer.
Again Beth didn’t know what to make of that. Really?
I trust you.
She laughed. As well you should. I’ve covered your butt often enough, oh mighty Timixie.
I’ve covered yours, too.
For which I’m most grateful.
That’s only appropriate.
Beth laughed, enjoying the light, teasing quality of their exchange. She typed quickly. Are you going to chatter all night or are we going to play?
Can’t we do both?
Beth felt a rush of warmth. It was a pleasant sensation and one she’d almost forgotten. Talking with the opposite sex was awkward for her, except in situations that didn’t involve potentially romantic expectations—with family, for instance, or male colleagues or friends like Sam. She felt comfortable with Peter, at ease. Although they hadn’t even spoken on the phone, let alone face-to-face, it was the first time she’d had that kind of reaction to a man since John.
Despite what her mother said, Beth had dated after her divorce; she just hadn’t done it successfully. Most social conversations with men felt stilted. She struggled with how much to say or not to say.
Her record was three dates with the same man. Luke Whitcomb. He’d been a nice guy, entertaining and funny. His sense of humor had carried her for the three dates.
She probably would’ve accepted a fourth except that he’d admitted their relationship wasn’t working for him. He’d been sincere when he said they should call it quits before either of them got hurt.
Well, surprise, surprise. Luke’s rejection had cut deep and served, once again, to convince Beth that she was incapable of ever attracting another man. Afterward she’d steered away from dating at all and a couple of weeks later, she’d found the World of Warcraft and since then, almost her entire social life had been as a Night Elf and hunter.
Now there was Peter, a man she’d never actually met. His family had suggested he “get a life,” so it was highly probably that he was single, too. Beth wanted to ask him, only she couldn’t figure out how to do it without being obvious. A straightforward question about his marital status seemed out of line at this stage.
They’d been into the game for about ten minutes when Peter sent her another message. This might be a stupid question but are you … single, married, whatever?
He’d asked her.
Beth’s relief was instantaneous. Single.
Me, too. Age?
Is this an interrogation? she typed back.
Sort of. Do you mind?
Not really. She didn’t, because in the process she was learning more about him.
I’ll tell if you will.
All right.
I’m edging toward thirty, he typed. Which is one reason my family is after me to meet someone.
Me, too. Her heart really started to pound then. Perhaps that candle her mother had lit in church was working. Perhaps, in some quirky way, her prayer had taken effect.
Peter was single; she was single.
He lived in Seattle and she lived in Seattle.
He was close to her age and a professional, just as she was.
This almost sounded too good to be true.
My family says it’s time I met someone, she typed next.
They do? He seemed as astonished as she felt—as if he, too, was finding this a bit too coincidental. Eerie, even.
A moment later, he typed, What’s wrong with you?
Well, he was direct enough, but she’d been pretty honest with him, too. She toyed with the idea of telling him she’d been married and divorced, and then remembered Heidi’s advice. It wasn’t necessary to blurt out everything on the first date—even if this wasn’t exactly a date.
I spend too much time playing computer games. She smiled as her fingers skipped effortlessly over the keyboard.
I’ve got the same problem, came his reply.
Silly though it was, Beth felt sure they were both smiling. Their conversation went on for another hour, and she was shocked to realize the game had become secondary.
That night when Beth crawled into bed and drew the blanket over her shoulders, she fell into an easy, peaceful sleep. She woke with a feeling of expectation, as if something wonderful was about to happen. Keeping her eyes closed, she tried to hang on to that sensation for as long as she could, afraid reality would chase it away.
The phone rang while she dressed for work. Call display told her it was her mother.
“Hi, Mom,” she said, answering the phone while fastening an earring.
“You sound happy.”
“I am—well, kind of.”
Her mother’s hesitation was brief. “Does this have anything to do with the man you met on that computer game you’re always playing?”
Beth found it hard to believe she’d actually mentioned Peter to her mother. She’d done it on impulse—a bad impulse—hoping to shut down a barrage of veiled criticism and heavy-handed encouragement. Normally her mother would be the last person she’d tell. “We haven’t even met, Mom,” she finally confessed. “At least not in the flesh.”
“What’s the holdup?”
“He hasn’t suggested we meet outside the game,” Beth said, which in her opinion was a perfectly logical explanation. In her mother’s generation, the men always did the asking. She figured this was an excuse even her marriage-obsessed mother would accept.
“Then you suggest it.”
So much for that. “Mother!”
“I’m serious,” Joyce said. “Why beat around the bush? You’re a woman who knows what she wants. Now go and get it.”
Beth thought about asking Peter. Why not? One of them had to break the ice. “I’d like to meet him but I don’t want to appear forward.”
“Marybeth, you don’t have much time. Maybe he’s shy. Maybe he’s waiting for you to bring it up. Show a bit of initiative, will you? It’s later than you think.”
“Trust me, Mother, Peter isn’t shy.” She knew this from the way he attacked their enemies on WoW.
“Then why wait?”
Beth nibbled on her lower lip. “I don’t want to rush into anything.”
“But it’s already December twentieth. Christmas is right around the corner.”
This wasn’t making sense. “Why is it so important that Peter join us for Christmas?” Beth asked, beginning to have some suspicions.
“It isn’t important … Well, in a manner of speaking it is. Your father and I have this wager.”
“Mother!” Her parents constantly made small bets with each other. Most of the time Beth found this habit of theirs amusing. Not now, though. Not when their wager was about her. “You’d better tell me everything.”
“Okay …” Her mother inhaled deeply. “Last Christmas, your father