I was ready to go home. My future was there.
And so was Dash’s!
Dash, Gem, and I celebrated at Gem’s house with a traditional British Christmas dinner a day early, as we’d all be flying back to New York early on Christmas morning. Thedining room was lit with candles and decorated with holly boughs. Stevie Wonder’s “Someday at Christmas” played from a speaker connected to a playlist on Gem’s phone.
Gem raised her glass for a toast. “Here’s to Dash’s future in publishing,” she said.
“And to Lily’s future as a dogpreneur,” Dash said.
“And to Gem’s future as Asta’s greatest human ever,” I said.
We clinked glasses. Then Gem said, “I didn’t say yes, dear Lily.”
“Let’s look at the video of Asta playing fetch again?” I suggested. Gem had gotten used to Dash’s company in London. Once he was back in New York, Asta would be the best antidote to missing him, just like Boris had been for me.
“I’ll think about it,” said Gem. That was as good as a yes, in my experience. The people who were No’s were adamant about that from the get-go. The prospective adopters who said I’ll think about it almost always turned to the Yes camp. They just needed a little time to get used to the idea. I predicted that within a month, Asta would be lying in her dog bed by the fire while—or “whilst,” as the Brits say—Gem reorganized her massive vinyl collection in order of the music Asta responded to best. Such a good girl, that Asta!
“Let’s eat,” said Dash.
“First, the bangers,” said Gem. From her plate, she lifted a gift-wrapped tube, tied in the middle with Christmas ribbon and twisted at the ends, and gestured for us to do the same with the tubes on our own plates. “These are Christmas crackers, also called bangers. They get opened before the Christmas meal. Hold your cracker in your right hand, then we’ll cross our arms, and pull apart each other’s crackers from the left.”
We assumed the formation and pulled. The tubes made a BANG as their contents spilled out onto the dinner table: a few small cards, some confetti, and folded pieces of tissue paper.
Gem reached for one of the cards. “Terrible joke time!” She read her card aloud. “Why are pirates great?” Dash and I shrugged. Gem said, “They just aaaaaaarrrrr!”
“Groan,” said Dash.
“Applause,” I enthused.
“I’m going to post that one to Johnny Depp in a Christmas card,” said Gem. “We spent a week together on his yacht, back when he had one. Not that I signed an NDA for a memoir of his that never got published.”
“Of course you didn’t,” said Dash. He turned to me. “What’s yours say?”
I reached for the card from my Christmas cracker. “What did the sea say to Santa? Nothing! It just waved!”
Dash shook his head disdainfully.
Gem said, “How about yours, Dash?”
He read his card aloud. “What do you call Santa’s little helpers? Subordinate Clauses!” He sighed. I clapped for real this time.
“And now for The Crown,” said Gem.
“Oh, no!” I said. “I’d love to stay and watch, but I promised my aunt we’d go to hers after dinner.”
“Not that crown,” said Gem. She took the folded pieces of tissue paper that came out of the bangers and passed them to me and Dash, then demonstrated with her own, unfolding it and placing it on her head. It was shaped like a crown. “It’s British tradition to wear a paper crown at Christmas dinner.”
Dash said, “This country prides itself on pomp and circumstance, yet spends its Christmas telling terrible jokes that come from something called bangers, along with wearing crowns crafted from flimsy tissue paper. Not dignified at all.”
I placed my paper crown on my head. “Pip pip, guvnah. I love it.”
Dash did the same with his pink crown. He could only have looked more handsome if he’d also been wearing his purple silk pajamas.
My stomach churned in delight as my eyes took in the meal on the table. Gem had made a meatless lentil roast in my honor, as well as British staples like carrots and peas, roast potatoes and parsnips, brussels sprouts, and a thick, creamy concoction called bread sauce to go with it all.
“Do we say grace first?” I asked.
“Do we?” said Gem, alarmed.
“Grace,” said Dash.
Gem laughed. “Would you like to say grace, Lily?”
I did. I said, “I would just like to say how happy I am to be here and how happy I am that you and Dash have each other. Amen.”
“That’s lovely,” said Gem. “Thank you. I feel the same.”
My graceful lead-in accomplished, I added, “And I’ve been so distracted from being here and making all these big life decisions that I forgot to buy Christmas presents.”
It was true. The Queen of Christmas had forgotten the whole reason for the season. STUFF.
Gem said, “I mean this sincerely despite how trite it may sound: You both being here now is present enough for me.”
Dash looked at me, full of love, and took my hand in his. “Lily, I also mean this sincerely. You should have gotten me a present.” I dropped his hand. He laughed, then turned serious. “I felt lost when you arrived. I wasn’t sure I wanted you to be here. Not because I didn’t want to see you—I longed to see you—but because I didn’t want you to see me feeling so defeated by my own ambitions. But you came anyway, and I love you for that. And I love you for figuring out what you want and having the confidence to achieve it. You’ve inspired me to do the same. I’d say that’s gift enough. You are grace.”
Gem dabbed a tiny tear from the corner of her eye. “Honestly, Dash. I have no idea where you learned how to be in a healthy and happy relationship. You had no examples.”
“Books,” he said.
I a little bit wanted to cry too, but instead I asked Dash, “But seriously. What did you get me?”
Dash flashed me his rare smile that melts me. “You’ll have to wait to find out.”
As Gem started passing the food around, she said, “Speaking of gifts … in honor of your British Christmas, I’m sending you back to your hotel with some Christmas stockings and treats. In Britain, you leave the stockings over your bed instead of over the fireplace, along with a plate of mince pies for Father Christmas.”
I didn’t know what mince pies were, but if they were as awful as they sounded (like chopped mice), maybe they’d give the big guy a jump start on his New Year’s diet.
Dash said, “So Father Christmas basically stalks kids in their sleep on Christmas Eve? No wonder the Brits don’t leave him cookies. He doesn’t deserve them.”
I thought, I never would have been able to sleep on Christmas Eve as a kid if I knew Santa might be coming into my room to leave gifts in my stocking. I had so much to talk to him about.
Tiny tots with their eyes all aglow
Will find it hard to sleep tonight.
“The Christmas Song” was the next song on Gem’s playlist. The singer sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t recall hearing this version of the song before. Dash listened intently. “Is that … Barbra Streisand?”