The Christmas Blanket

“I can clean it up,” I offered.

“No need,” he said, turning his back on me. “He’s my dog.”

The truth of that statement stung like dry ice on a wet tongue. I watched Moose follow him back to the bathroom, and when the door closed with a snick, I winced as if he’d slammed it.

River got ready for bed quietly — so quietly I didn’t even realize he had laid down on the couch while I’d been unpacking all the items from the two boxes. It wasn’t until I turned with the Christmas Blanket draped over my arms and found him lying there, his feet hanging over the arm of one side, arm resting over his eyes on the other, that I realized he was no longer in the bathroom.

He had a blanket that only covered him from his shins to his armpits, and the pillow shoved under his head was small and not nearly as fluffy as the two he’d left for me on the bed. But by the sound of his breath, he was already asleep, and I remembered with a smile that that man could sleep anywhere, anytime, through anything.

I set the blanket aside, carefully taking the first string of lights from where I’d set it on the stone edge of the fireplace. I plugged it in, smiling when the cool blue bulbs came to life. The crackling of the fire and the quietness only fresh falling snow can bring was my only comfort as I strung those lights, and then the white ones. I wrapped the silver garland around next, and then I carefully placed each ornament.

As I decorated, my thoughts ran wild.

It was so strange, being back in this town, in this cabin, back with River. It was like the last four years of my adventures around the globe had been a dream, and I’d just woken up back in my own bed, in my own home.

Except it wasn’t my home at all.

Not anymore.

But why did it feel that way? Why did I feel such warmth and comfort in the same place I’d felt so stuck in?

I found myself wondering more and more with each new piece of decoration what my life would have been like, if things would have been different. Holding that Christmas blanket, it was hard to remember the bad times. It was hard to remember the fights, the weeks of silence from River, of him not letting me in and me fighting for him to try for us.

How did we go from that pure, innocent love, to practical strangers living under the same roof?

How had he gone from the man swearing he would fight for us, to the one telling me I should go on without him?

How had I gone from the girl who had all she ever needed in her husband and her dog, to the woman who needed more to feed her soul than this small town could ever provide?

My mom used to always quote Woody Allen.

If you want to make God laugh, tell him about your plans.

I thought I understood that when I was a little girl. I thought even more so when I was a young woman, a young wife.

But now, thinking about the plans I’d made, the way those plans had fallen apart, the path life had led me on that I never would have imagined… I think I finally truly understood it.

I must have been God’s favorite joke.

River let out a loud snore, and I suppressed a giggle, watching as he flopped around a few times in his attempt to turn into a more comfortable position. Moose flopped around in his own bed on the floor next to the couch in solidarity, ending up on his back with his legs spread, belly up.

River’s breathing smoothed out again after a moment, heavy and steady, and I watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. In his tossing and turning, the little blanket that couldn’t have been doing much anyway had wrapped around his legs, covering nothing more than one thigh and calf.

I smiled, chest aching in a most unfamiliar way as I unfolded the Christmas Blanket, spreading the massive thing over where he lay. It covered every inch from his toes to his shoulders, and I tucked it around him a little for good measure.

My throat was tight as I looked down on him — the stranger, the man I once knew better than I knew myself.

How had we lost a love that was so true?

And who were we now, on the other side of that loss?

Those questions kept me awake long after I climbed into his bed that night — into sheets that smelled like River, my head resting on pillows that I knew without looking were the ones we’d bought together.

That night, I dreamed about all the places I’d been in the last four years. I dreamed of Italy, and Canada. Of Scotland and Japan. I dreamed of the south of France and the U.S. Virgin Islands and the stunning coast of Australia. Only instead of being on the ground, I was flying over every place I’d explored, pointing at the different landmarks with an ever-extended finger.