Great (Christmas) Expectations

It starts when we’re kids: all the build-up to Christmas (or what ever holiday you celebrate this time of year): the decorations, the wish lists, the family traditions, the idea that magic can happen!  But the higher our unreasonable expectations, the more likely they are to be disappointed. On the other hand, sometimes what happens instead is just as good or better.

I have a Christmas story for you today – an excerpt from one of my novels, actually. And your very natural expectation is that we are headed for Regency England again. But no! Wait! I’ve actually written one non-Regency, non-JA novel: a modern story (well, comparatively modern: 1990s) about a minor-league baseball player, of all things, with a little time-travel magic thrown in on the side!

It’s called Leap of Faith, and although it’s not what you expect from me, I think you might enjoy it just as much if you’re willing to give it a try.  That’s because even though the setting is entirely different, the basic elements of the Austen-esque stories we love are still there: love, ambition, the attraction that brings people together, and the pitfalls that threaten to keep them apart.

So here’s the setup for this scene. The hunky hero, Ben, is just returning from an extended baseball season to see his family. Only this Christmas won’t be the wonderful homecoming he had been picturing, not at all what he expected. You see, while he was away, his parent’s sold the house he grew up in and nothing will ever be the same again… or will it?

Ben rationalized that he would certainly have tried to get home at the end of the season if he still had a home to go to. But an unfamiliar condo in Seattle? No, that wasn’t a big draw… He’d made it home in time for Christmas as promised, though. Or to his parents’ new place, more correctly.

The condo was everything they’d said it would be – sleek, sophisticated, efficient, centrally located – yet a little impersonal to Ben’s mind. He’d expected to at least recognize the furniture. But no, that had all changed as well. Understandable when he considered it objectively. Even he could see that their bulky, colonial-style things from the ranch house in the suburbs wouldn’t fit this new, minimalist setting. The scale would be all wrong for one thing. Probably the design, too, although he was no judge.

A few vestiges of the past remained, however. Mom’s beloved collection of original artwork graced the tall walls, reframed and skillfully color keyed to blend with the new furnishings. The Christmas tree, set up in the main living space, wore the same ornaments the family had used ever since he could remember. And, in the guest room, one old soldier from his childhood survived. Ben’s scarred, utilitarian nightstand looked like a poor misfit between the two modern platform beds, as out of place as a Klingon in full battle dress would be at the Lewis family reunion in Dubuque. All the same, Ben was glad to see it.

“Yes, we decided to keep that here for you,” his mother said, seeing his eyes come to rest on the bedside table. “We had to put most of your things in storage, as I mentioned, but I thought you might want this closer by.” She paused, giving time for a reply that didn’t come. “Well, I’ll leave you to get settled then. You can pick whichever bed you like, and we saved dresser drawers and closet space for you.” She started to go, then turned back to hug her eldest tightly, kissing his cheek. “We’re so happy to have you home with us again, honey. You’ve been away a long time.”

Ben put one arm across her back and patted her shoulder lightly, mechanically. The warmth of her words and embrace opened a small crack in his armor, but he refused to give in. Although he’d grown weary of carrying around the silent resentment he felt against his parents for selling the house out from under him, he wasn’t ready to lay it down. Not yet. Not until he made sure they were at least aware of it. It was childish; he knew that. Still, he couldn’t help it. So he let his mother leave the room without offering her much return for her unabashed affection.

When she had gone, Ben put down his bag and poked around the twelve by fourteen foot room, petulantly finding fault wherever he turned. The beige walls were boring. The closet was impossibly small. And the view out the rain-splattered window? Unimpressive: a dreary street scene half blocked by a tree. It was quiet, though, for being in the city. He acknowledged that much. At least the builders hadn’t skimped on sound-proofing.

Ben flopped back onto the bed against the far wall and glared at the high, concrete ceiling with exposed ductwork and track lighting. He told himself for the hundredth time since leaving Phoenix that any sane person would be grateful for a little time off after the non-stop schedule he’d been keeping for months. Instead, he worried that taking a vacation from baseball would break his momentum. That, plus the whole business with the change of house, had put him in a funk. And maybe there was something else.

Only eight weeks, he reminded himself. Less than two months to fill before the new season started. He didn’t have to spend it cooped up in this cramped condo. He could hang out with friends instead. Scott lived in a student housing apartment with a roommate, but Kyle, now a fifth year senior, still had the same solo bachelor pad with the accommodating oversized couch. He could crash there and probably get access to the athletic facilities on campus once winter quarter began.

Ben glanced at his watch. A little late to phone anyone, he decided, but in the morning he would let his friends know he was back in town and make some plans. Besides Scott and Kyle, he’d try to get in touch with Paul Ruston as he’d promised last February. And what about Jessica? Hmm. That was tempting, although he still wasn’t convinced that hooking up with her again was a good idea. Their relationship had faltered before, sort of foundered under the weight of unrealistic expectations as best he could remember. Was there any reason to think things would turn out differently if they tried a second time?

He hadn’t exactly lacked companionship in the meantime. There were plenty of attractive, female fans willing to serve as surrogate girlfriends for lonely ballplayers far from home. He’d gone out of his way to avoid them his first year, although now he wasn’t exactly sure why. Then this past July in Modesto, he found himself drawn to a willowy blonde named Annie, who he’d noticed hanging around the ballpark after the games.

It wasn’t a great love match; that was clear almost from the beginning. “We’ll just have some fun together,” Annie had said with sparking blue eyes, “no strings attached.” Sounded good, but then she started demanding more – time, exclusivity, promises – things Ben wasn’t prepared to give. He wouldn’t make that mistake again. Better to keep things casual; socialize in groups; never date a girl more than twice; and don’t let things go too far. Then no one could get the wrong idea, and no one would get hurt. That was his working theory anyway.

Yet, deep down, Ben recognized that he actually did want more, needed more… just not with Annie. He envied his married teammates who had wives to go home to, who always had someone to share the good times and the bad. Ultimately, he wanted that kind of committed connection too, with the right woman. She was out there; no question in his mind. In fact, he felt as if he already knew her on a certain level. He sometimes sensed her skirting around the edges of his subconscious, just beyond sight of his mind’s eye. But she would always vanish, like a wisp of smoke, before he could capture more than a hazy image.

Ben pushed off from the bed and stalked the confines of the small room. Baseball! That was his true love, he reaffirmed. For now, at least, that’s where his focus belonged, not distracted by female phantoms.

Staring at the handset on the nightstand, Ben took the wallet from his back pocket and opened it. He pulled out the creased and tattered 3×5 card that served as his portable mini-phonebook. Jessica’s number remained prominently at the top of the list, leftover from the years they’d dated. The blue ink was blurred from getting damp at some point, but it was still legible. Not that he needed much prompting; those seven digits, memorized long ago, came back to him at a glance. Jessica might even be home now, for the holidays, or else Mrs. Martinelli could tell him how to reach her.

He fanned the card back and forth, absently tapping it against the wallet and thinking. Maybe he should call her. Their relationship hadn’t been perfect, but it was possible he’d given up on it too soon. Jessica obviously thought so; she was willing to try again. What could it hurt to at least explore the option?

~~*~~

Christmas turned out a more traditional celebration than Ben had imagined possible, given the new surroundings. When it was just their family of four gathered together, doing the things they always did, it didn’t seem to matter so much where they were.

Mom’s Christmas Eve pork roast – served, as always, with mashed potatoes and homemade applesauce – tasted just as good eaten off the new glass-topped dining table as it had from the old maple one. This year’s taller tree, made possible by the condominium’s high ceilings, recaptured the towering proportions of Ben’s youthful memories. Gathered around it, they opened their presents that night, taking turns from youngest to oldest, as was their custom. The empty stockings – the matching patchwork ones his mother made for each of them long age – hung from the mantle of the slate-fronted fireplace, ready to be filled by Santa’s stand-in as soon as “the children” were in bed. That was his father’s job, Ben knew. Just as he knew without asking that there would be hot chocolate, French toast, and bacon for breakfast in the morning.

Scott stayed the night, bunking in with Ben, something the brothers hadn’t done since they were kids. It felt like a sleepover as they lounged on their beds on opposite sides of the darkened room, talking into the wee hours. They took turns trading stories saved up from their separate lives during the months apart. For Ben, that meant baseball. For Scott, it was school and his social life…

I hope you enjoyed this little taste of Ben’s story, especially how he discovered that Christmas joy wasn’t dependent on surroundings or having all his expectations met. I also hope you can forgive me for quoting Dr. Seuss instead of Jane Austen at this juncture:

…It came without ribbons! It came without tags!
It came without packages, boxes, or bags!”
He puzzled and puzzled till his puzzler was sore.
Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn’t before.
Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn’t come from a store.
Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more!

As for traditions, I had fun putting a lot of my own into the second to last paragraph excerpted above! Did you suspect? Life doesn’t remain constant, and neither do our holiday traditions. But we can take their essence with us wherever we go.

…Christmas Day is in our grasp
So long as we have hands to clasp.

Have you  had to make these kind of adjustments along the way? How have you preserved the traditions that are most important, despite the changes life has dealt you? No matter what yours looks like this year, I’m wishing you all a very Merry Christmas!

At the Crossroads Center, they’re in the business of granting second chances. And their newest client is Ben Lewis, a former star athlete who never recovered from the death of his dream to make it big in the big leagues. Now he’s being offered the opportunity to return to 1991 and try again, this time without the illness that originally ended his baseball hopes. What’s the catch? He will pay for his second chance by forfeiting his memories of the first… and possibly along with them, the love of his life. Can he find his way home to the woman he’s long forgotten but never stopped missing? Or will reaching for the brass ring with both hands cause the treasure he once possessed to slip forever from his grasp?

Leap of Faith is the first in an innovative new series by author Shannon Winslow, stories all about turning points, possibilities, and second chances.