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When it’s over, I look at our stack. Scott and I have received so much stuff, it’s overwhelming. Tupperware, picture frames, pajamas, a garlic press, a hand-held veggie chopper, a set of flashlights, a basket of bath products, cookbooks, a set of twenty-four drinking glasses, four sets of towels, candle holders, jumper cables, two sleeping bags, and decorative food trays, including a three-tier tray shaped like a Christmas tree. I arrange it all in the corner, as out of the way as it can be. For the grand finale, Scott’s mom hands us each another gift.
“Last one,” she says.
Scott unwraps his first. It’s a digital camera, just what he wanted. Mine is a twelve-place setting of stoneware dishes that look like real pottery. Nice.
After brunch, family starts to arrive: aunts, uncles, cousins who I can’t remember and can’t keep straight. I smile politely and make small-talk and answer questions.
“Yes, I’m in my first year,” I tell one of Scott’s aunts. “Yes, I like it very much.”
“What are you going to do with it?”
“Well, I’m actually thinking about going on for my master’s,” I say.
“Oh! In what?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I still have a while before I need to decide.”
Then it’s time to put out the snack food. Football will be starting soon. I help arrange cheese and cracker trays, a vegetable tray, and a cookie tray.
“Did you make these bars, Mel?” an uncle asks.
“Yes.”
“They’re a Canadian recipe,” Scott’s mom tells him. “They’re from near where Mel’s from. Nanaimo, right Mel? Nanaimo bars?”
“Yes.”
“They’re good,” the uncle says. “Different, but good.”
When the game starts, Scott comes over and asks if I want to take a drive. I nod and we slip out, warming the Grand Am before taking off down the festive street. The steam from the town’s paper mill billows down with the wind, enveloping main street in puffs of white, and covering the bare trees with ice crystals. The huge flag is ahead on the left, and beyond it, the international bridge.
“Remember crossing there?” Scott asks.
“Seems like a long time ago.”
“It was.”
“Do you think your family ever thought we’d make it this long?”
“No.”
We laugh, and he reaches under the seat and pulls out another gift.
“I wanted to give this to you alone,” he says.
I know what it is before I open it. A new journal, hardbound with thick, lined pages. The cover is silver with an abstract fairy painting. I run my fingers over it and realize that I’ve already filled several journals since I left Salt Spring. So much time has passed. It has been years since Scott and I drove down these streets on our way to Rainy Lake, where he proposed.
Every street in town is lit up and decorated with nativity scenes and mechanical reindeer and hundreds and hundreds of lights. We drive around until we’ve been gone long enough.
“We should probably head back,” Scott says.
I don't say anything.
The game’s still on when we return and Scott sits down to watch the final quarter with his family. I go into the kitchen to see if anything needs doing, and find it all clean and taken care of. Trays of cookies and bars are replenished and displayed on the counter. I try one of the chocolate-covered pretzels and a popcorn ball. Scott’s mom comes in and asks if I’m finding everything okay.
“Yeah, thanks. For those pretzels, do you just melt white chocolate and dip regular pretzels in it?”
“It’s that candy coating stuff,” she says. “Yeah, you just melt it in a double boiler and dip pretzels in, one at a time, and lay them to set on wax paper.”
“Mmm. I’m going to try making some.” I don’t know if I really will or not, but it seems like a nice thing to say.
She smiles. “I make them every year. I also want the recipe for those bars.”
“The Nanaimo bars?”
“Yes. I really like them.”
“Okay, I’ll send it to you.”
“Come on in and watch the rest of the game with us,” she says.
I don’t know if she really likes the Nanaimo bars or if she really wants the recipe, but I smile and follow her into the living room to watch the last few minutes of the game because it sure was nice of her to ask.
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