"My Father, Taylor Hanson": Book 5
Chapter 5


        It was that time of the year again. The time where the air smelled like snow and cinnamon, and the streets sang with joy. The scent of burning wood filled the air. The night was lit up every evening with a glow that was brighter than the sun. It was time for Christmas.
        I held Clare’s hand and walked down the streets of fifth avenue, stopping only for a few minutes on the street corners for the light to change or to deposit some spare change into the Salvation Army buckets. The sky was dark but the city was a buzz with life. The intricately decorated store windows displayed signs for half off holiday sales, and glowed with red, green, and white lights. Barney’s store window had a full shift of live actors, performing their roles as “live mannequins” just as well as past years. The lines of eager tourists stretched down the street, each person bursting with excitement, proud to be seeing the Christmas window’s they have only read about in books or seen on TV, live and in person. It was peaceful excitement, the type of anxiety that made me feel safe. It was Christmas time, the world was at ease.
        “Remember when we first moved back here?” Clare asked. She leaned closer into me as we walked down the busy street.
        “Of course I do,” I told her with a smile. I kissed her cool forehead quickly and smoothed her hair behind her windburned ears. “We were house hunting and lived on the upper west side.” I hugged her shoulders tightly. “Nothing was quite right for the family we wanted. We wanted perfection and knew we had to move out of here.” I gestured around the busy Manhattan street. “It was Christmas and we wanted to give up. We figured we were destined to live in a New York City penthouse on the upper west side for the rest of our lives. We took a walk, just you and I, and Zoë who was the size of a bean at that point, down this street, looking at decorated windows, getting bumped around in the excited crowd of people, and then something caught my eye.” I slowed my walking and drifted Clare towards the right of the sidewalk, up against the buildings. “Right about. . . here.” I stopped walking and turned to face one of the windows. “That.” I pointed at the “Houses For Sale” sign in the real estate agency’s window. Clare and I looked at the paper for a few moments, each in our own little memory. “Of course it was five years ago and less expensive...”
        Clare laughed. “‘Four bedroom, two and a half bath Colonial in lower Westchester,’” she quoted from memory. “‘Ideal for families with children: excellent neighborhood, superior schools, and most of all perfect location for all needs. Just twenty miles from mid-town Manhattan Island.’” She sighed peacefully. “We bought that house not less than a week after Christmas.”
        I nodded. “Broke it in well with a great party, too!”
        Clare laughed and guided me back to walking. I slid my arm back around her shoulders and took in all the sights of the city as we made our way towards Rockefeller Center.
        The tree at Rockefeller Center was the most busy of all places in the city at Christmas time. My wife and I made our way through the crowd and managed to claim a spot with a great view of the tree. We gazed up at the huge spectacle without speaking.
        “I have to get our pictures developed from the tree lighting,” I remembered breaking our own comfortable silence. I looked over at Clare. She was nodding but she was still starring up at the huge lighted spruce. I smiled. “Zoë’s friend has thanked me for the VIP passes at least thirty times since we saw the tree lighting two weeks ago.”
        Clare giggled. “You got her to meet her favorite band, Taylor, she loves you now!”
        I laughed and slid my arm down to her waist. “True, true.” I shook my head with a grin. “We were standing right in there.” I pointed down towards the ice rink. “We stood over there and got to watch the whole thing front row. My favorite part was that there was no crowd for the kids to get lost in.” I looked back up at the tree. “We had fun.” I held her tighter, my thoughts drifting back to the wondrous day I had spent in the city with my daughter and her friend. Zoë was used to having passes that got her places, but Chrissy was not. Our VIP passes had come in the form of necklaces with a hanging piece. Zoë had put hers on right away as did I when I gave the passes to the children over our hot cocoa, and urged Chrissy to put hers on as well. Zoë told her friend that when you were wearing one you got looks and were asked lots of questions. I had to laugh at her observations, she was so very right.
        The girls both wore their passes on the outside of their coats and the moment we walked out of the coffee shop next to where the ceremony was to be held, we were bombarded with questions on where we got them. Zoë proudly replied that I got them for her and Chrissy. I had to calm her bragging down a little bit especially when some teenagers confronted us on our walk towards the ice rink. The girls saw the passes and recognized me right away. Zoë told them she was going to “stand in the important section and meet all the bands” and Chrissy interjected about how she was going to meet her favorite band, Girltime, and her favorite boy band, One. I managed to pull the children away as the teenagers begged them for the passes and offered money. Once we were in the clear I explained to the girls to always hold on to their passes no matter what. Chrissy quickly got used to having a pass that allowed her to wander to the bathroom without getting questioned, caused her to meet her favorite stars and not so favorite ones, and got looked at with envy. I heard her tell my daughter that Zoë was so lucky to always get this treatment. Zoë had agreed wholeheartedly.
        “Excuse me. . .”
        I turned my head and came face to face with a teenager and an older women.
        “Sorry,” I said moving over so they could get closer to the tree.
        “No,” the older woman said, “you are Taylor Hanson, aren’t you?”
        I nodded and reached out a free hand. “Yes.” I shook both of their hands. “Happy holidays.”
        “We’re sorry for bothering you,” the teenager said. She nodded towards Clare. “Both of you.”
        “That’s quite all right,” I said. I grinned at my wife. “We were getting cold anyway, right honey?”
        Clare nodded and rubbed her hands together. “Freezing.” She looked up at me. “Coffee?”
        “You’ve got it,” I replied.
        “Can I just get an autograph really fast?” The teenager asked.
        “Of course,” I told her slipping my arm back from around my wife. I took the CD cover and marker she was holding. “Who should I make it out to?” I asked.
        “Claire,” she said. “C-L-A-I-R-E”
        I smiled lightly and wrote “To Claire, thanks for listening! Happy holidays!” and signed my name. I handed it back to her. “Here you go.”
        “Can I get one, too?” The older woman asked.
        “Sure!” I took the paper she was holding. She told me her name and I wrote her the same message as the teenager but with her name instead of course.
        “Just one more, intsy bitsy tiny favor...”
        “Camera?” Clare said holding out her hand. She chuckled and backed up so the two ladies could get a picture with me.
        “Thanks so much!” The older one gushed taking her camera back from my wife. “I’ve loved Hanson since 1997!”
        “You’re welcome! That’s great to hear, thanks so much!” I put my arm back in it’s familiar spot: around Clare’s waist.
        “Congratulations,” the teenager said quickly. She was looking down at my wife’s stomach.
        “Thanks,” Clare said. She smiled up at me and kissed the corner of my mouth. She was started to act protective, a mood swing. She rubbed her stomach. “Just another month left, I’m told.”
        “Twins,” the older woman said. “That’s so exciting.”
        I held in a laugh. She must have read about it somewhere on the Internet or something. “We’re excited,” I confirmed. I looked over at the coffee shop which I desperately wanted to get to. “We better get going,” I apologized. “It was cool to meet you. Maybe we’ll see each other around again some day!” I started to guide Clare away from the fans, waving as I walked her towards the coffee shop.
        “It’s so weird that we have the same name,” Clare commented quietly, looking over her shoulder as though she was looking for something.
        “What? Who?” I asked, confused. I looked behind us to see what she was looking at. I didn’t see anything but the tree and the stairs we had just climbed to the street above. My wife turned her head again. “Will you stop that?” I asked. “You’re making me nervous.”
        “Sorry.” She and I crossed the street. “It’s just so strange.”
        “What?” I pressed.
        “That we have the same name.”
        “Who?”
        “That fan!” Clare snapped, her eyes flashing with anger.
        I swallowed and tried to be supportive. I opened the door wide. “I wasn’t even paying attention,” I mumbled.
        “You never are,” my wife shot back.
        I followed her into the coffee shop. “Of course not, dear,” I agreed. I didn’t want to start a scene, and I really didn’t want her to start crying. We moved onto the back of the short line. I touched her arm gently. “Why don’t you go upstairs and I’ll get you a drink,” I suggested gesturing towards the stairs behind us that lead to the upstairs dining area.
        “Why? You think I’m too fat to stand in line myself?” She snapped pointing to her stomach. “Think I’ll knock over something if I walk?”
        I looked around nervously, people were starting to stare. “Of course not, Clare!” I whispered gently. “It’s just that I know your feet must be hurting so much right now.” She nodded. “I just want you to rest.” I smiled reassuringly. “Please, honey?”
        Clare sighed and started towards the stairs. “You just better hope the upstairs doesn’t fall to the bottom when I get myself up there.” She dashed as quickly as she could up the stairs.
        I swallowed hard and turned back towards the front. “It’s her eighth month,” I explained to those still looking accusingly at me. There was a nod of understanding going through the line. I sighed and decided I’d better get her a muffin while I was still on line. No wait. Maybe I better not, I thought, she might accuse me of trying to get her “fatter”. But if I didn’t she’d accuse me of letting her starve- I’ll just get two muffins and hide them from her until I figure out a way to ask if she’s hungry. I nodded. That’s what I’ll do.
        I gathered up my order and took the stairs two at a time. I found Clare in the table we usually claimed, the table at the edge of the upstairs, overlooking the downstairs. She was leaning her chin in the palm of her hand, gazing out over the coffee shop. She looked as though she was watching the customers but I knew her mind was a million miles away. She didn’t care about those people downstairs, her thoughts were with the two women from the tree.
        I did my best to smile as I sat down across from her. She made no attempt to even look at me even when I put her coffee in front of her. My heart pounded as I reached across the table and grasped her hand. She jumped, startled by my touch. I took her hand in-between both of mind and brought her fingers up to my lips quickly.
        “Why am I so jealous all of a sudden?” She asked, her eyes settling on me.
        “It’s not your fault,” I told her.
        “When I heard that girl’s name I was angry,” she went on, unhearing my words. “My first thought was that maybe I wasn’t the Clare that belonged with you, maybe that ‘Claire’ is the one.”
        “Oh honey!” I exclaimed getting up from my chair. I sat in the chair next to her and draped my arm around her shoulders tightly.
        “But then I realized I was thinking crazy,” she said, looking up into my eyes. “I don’t know how you can put up with me.”
        I laughed. “Back to ya,” I joked. “In all seriousness, it’s because I love you- Besides the fact that I’ve had a lot of practice with not listening to anything a pregnant woman has to say!”
        “Ew!” She joked, slapping my chest lightly. “You’re so mean.”
        I shrugged and picked my coffee cup off the table, taking a big gulp, ignoring the heat that was radiating into my mouth. I picked up the paper bag that I put on the table and opened it wide, peering into it. I turned to my wife, “Muffin?”


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