Scribbles of a Broken Heart

Downstairs was a clutter of pots and pans and the opening and closing of a hot oven. My parents were busy cooking for our annual Christmas Eve dinner, but I stood by my window; patiently waiting for the mailman’s arrival.

I checked the clock again: 4:48—seconds before my progress reportwould be in the mailbox and minutes before guests would start arriving. Timing had never seemed more important in my entire life. My progress report would be delivered before five, the guests would start arriving a little after six. Garrett and I had the whole night planned out, and timing was key. The right move at the wrong time cost more than either of us could truly afford to lose.

Despite my father’s protests, the entire Carpenter family was invited to our soirée. My mother insisted that excluding Garrett would have been unacceptable, no matter the events that had occurred between him and them. Dad strictly forbade me to come within five feet of Garrett or communicate with him in any way, and my mom told Mrs. Carpenter to give Garrett similar instructions.

But honestly, how did they expect me to stay away?

I saw the mailman turn the corner on to my street at exactly 4:49—fifteen miles an hour never seemed so slow. He stopped at my house after Garrett’s, and my stomach lightly fluttered as I watched him fill our mailbox.

I finally left my room to go to the kitchen, and innocently asked my mom if I could help in any way. And as I cut the carrots for the vegetable platter, I knew that this was going to either be my most joyful, or my most sorrowful, Christmas ever.

“You did not retrieve your progress report from the mail?”

I shook my head. “It wasn’t part of the plan. Garrett and his family were walking over to our house. We planned for Garrett to say something like, ‘Oh look, the mail’s here.’ And then-“

“But his parents would see no reason to bring their mail to your house,” Ms. Templeton interrupted.

“Ah,” I inclined my head towards her, “we thought of that. Garrett would tell his parents that he was anxious to see his progress report. And like typical parents, they wanted to see his second quarter grades.”

“What about your progress report?”

“Being the oh so polite woman that Mrs. Carpenter is,” I replied, “we knew she would suggest that Garrett bring our mail inside since we probably forgot all about it what with the busyness of throwing our Christmas Eve dinner.”

Ms. Templeton nodded as she wrote in her notebook, casually “mhmm”-ing until she was finished.

“You may skip to the part where your grades were revealed to your parents.”

It was 6:28, and I lingered by the trays of food in my dining room, waiting to see Garrett come through the threshold of my front door. I was feigning indecisiveness between roast beef and turkey when I heard the doorbell ring for the seventh time that night. My head instantly jerked upwards and I suppressed a nervous smile as I saw Stacey emerge from behind our wooden door, looking adorable in her formal, red Christmas dress. Her eyes scanned the new surrounding in a rapid manner, and I saw her eyes brighten up when they landed on me.

“Constance!” she called before running over to the dining room.

“Hey sweetie,” I smiled before setting down my plate to squat down and envelope her tiny frame into my arms.

Keeping away from Garrett also meant keeping away from Stacey. I didn’t realize how much I had missed her until she wouldn’t let go of my neck. I loved Stacey. She would be home most of the time I was at Garrett’s house, and she never uttered a word about it to her parents.

I picked her up by her legs and started to make funny faces at her.

“My brother misses you,” she suddenly said.

I relaxed my face and turned my head to the side, “How do you know that?”

“Me and him were making brownies for my kindergarten Christmas party and I tasted them and I said that they weren’t as good as the ones that he made you,” Stacey recalled animatedly. “And then he said that he wasn’t putting all of himself into baking them and then I asked ‘How come?’ and then he said to me,” she started to tap her forefinger on her chin. “Wait, I forgot what he said exactly.”

I hoped my face didn’t look annoyed at her brief pause before the climax of the story.

“Oh yeah,” her face brightened up. “He said that missing you made him too tired to put himself into the brownies!”

I noticed that people’s heads turned at Stacey’s little outburst.

“Shh,” I said as I placed a finger over my lips. “He really said that?”

“Mhm,” she told me as she gave a grand nod of her head.

“Oh,” Stacey leaned over to my ear with both hands in a circle around her mouth. She whispered in my ear, “Garrett told me to tell you that the cakes were out of the oven and the icing needed to be put on them.”

My stomach did a small flip as I smiled at her before setting her down. I walked from my dining room into my kitchen since I knew that was where my parents would be. I scanned the room for the Carpenters. I spotted Mrs. Carpenter first, seeing that the family was about to greet my parents. I looked over to Garrett and took a deep breath as he pretended to fix the lapels of his suit jacket so that I could see the mail that was clutched in his right hand. I caught his eyes and grasped the door frame for balance as he gave me a nod.

‘It’s show time.’