Our Christmas Songbook - 8. Chapter 8 - Hot Chocolate Milkshake

Hot Chocolate Milkshake

By Cole Matthews

“Eight Maids a-Milking”

Jordan looked in through the window of the storefront, frosted with white Christmas seasonal frocking, and chewed his fingernail.

He wasn’t in there.

Of course he wasn’t there. He looked again, wondering. Maybe their usual booth was full.

Jordan saw ‘their’ booth was empty. It was ready to occupy.

‘Never know unless you try,’ came into his head. It was an aphorism he’d inherited from his mother. She was fond of that phrase and used it often while he, well they, were growing up. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but he needed to do this.

Tilting his head, he saw the waitress, dressed in a white blouse and a blue gingham skirt, scoop something, presumably ice cream, into a canister. Then she spooned something in it as well. She poured liquid from a pitcher and then disappeared.

While Jordan couldn’t see what she was doing, he could hear the faint whine of the shake machine leak from the doorway. She was blending the sweet concoction.

He saw her return and pluck a glass tumbler off a shelf. Now her profile was clear. She had a mob cap on her head, the kind of milkmaid bonnet that you find only in picture books and on dolls.

And of course, at the Maid Marian Milkbar in Scottsdale.

Jordan tarried, for a moment, until he noticed his finger was suddenly sore. He looked down to see he’d torn a sliver of the nail from his finger and it was bleeding. Quickly, he searched his pockets for a tissue or a piece of paper to wrap it in. The blood was sprinkling down his finger, and already he had dots of it on his fleece.

That made him act. He opened the door to the ice cream shop and went inside.

After he’d cleaned up a bit in the rest room, he reentered the store. He headed to ‘their’ table. It was still vacant, even though at least two thirds of the booths and most of the tables were occupied even at the off hour of three pm.

He slid into the booth and looked around again.

The shop was heavily decorated with Christmas regalia. A Santa and reindeer combo, complete with sleigh piled with gifts, hung by wires from the ceiling and occupied the space above the long, gleaming stainless-steel counter.

There was a Christmas tree by the door, and it towered over the room, filled with sparkling glass ornaments and cheerily-bright white lights. All the windows were frocked with snow and lined with colored lights of green and red, blue and yellow, and made the interior of the store glow with warmth and Christmas cheer.

“Do you need to see a menu?” a voice broke into Jordan’s appreciation. “Or do you know what you’d like?”

Jordan looked at the lovely woman, girl actually, because she had to be in her teens. Her smile was pleasant and engaging. Her eyes were warm and friendly.

“I’ll take a hot fudge malted, please. Hold the whipped cream.”

“You have been here before,” she answered, smiling a little more broadly now. “Do you want the malted milk ball garnish, or should I leave that off as well?”

“I’ll take the garnish,” Jordan answered, smiling back. “Just no whipped cream.”

“Should I leave a menu, in case others are joining you?”

“Not necessary,” Jordan answered, his voice quivering a bit. As she turned to leave, he reached out and touched her arm. “It wouldn’t hurt to leave one, I guess.”

She turned, placed a single menu across from him and then turned again and left the table.

Jordan inwardly punched himself in the throat.

He wasn’t coming. After last year’s debacle, he was positive Gray wasn’t coming. He groaned at the memory of “The Scene.” It made his stomach tighten and his temples throb. A flock of butterflies took flight in his throat, and he coughed into his fist.

Jordan remembered his numb, red-hot brain spinning out of control with fury and frustration. He’d gotten drunk, lowering his inhibitions, setting aside all reasonable judgment, and came here ranting and raving.

It had been worse than pathetic. It had been a childish, obscene fit of pique, worthy of a lunatic.

“Why can’t you love me?” he shouted as he walked in the door of the ice cream parlor.

Gray had looked up, saw him, and then scooted down in the booth. His face flushed and lips puckered in disgust.

“All I do is love you, and all you give me is a goddamn night a year,” he raged. “One. Fucking. Night. Then it’s back to wifey and the little darlings.”

“Please Jordan,” he said gesturing for Jordan to sit and calm down.

Jordan hadn’t calmed, or sat. He stood at the table like a maniac and snarled at Gray, spittle flying from his mouth. “We should be together. We should fuck and wake up every day and ….”

“Please Jordan. You’re making a scene,” Gray said, softly, but his face was pinched in disgust.

“I don’t really care anymore. I want you and I can’t pretend anything else,” Jordan growled, and slouched into the booth next to him. He groped Gray like a cheap date.

“Get off me,” he said, pushing Jordan away.

“Don’t tell me what to do, you asshole,” Jordan replied.

“I’m leaving,” he said, and tried to push past the drunk man.

“I’m not letting you until you listen to what I have to say.”

“Sir,” a man’s voice interrupted. Jordan looked over at a mousy man in a puffy white shirt, a red bow-tie and red suspenders, looking nervous and skittish. “Sir, you need to behave yourself.”

“I’ll fucking behave as I like. Capiche?”

“You’re an embarrassment,” Gray said, and pushed against Jordan. Jordan’s butt slid off the slippery vinyl booth, and he plopped onto the black and white checked floor.

Gray scooted past him, and then turned. “We’re done. This is it,” he stated, and he turned and left.

“Here’s your hot fudge milkshake, no whipped cream.” Jordan heard, a gentle clink of the glass as it touched the table. He opened his eyes and saw the young waitress smiling at him. She touched the menu across from him and looked at him inquisitively. “Can I take this? It’s getting busy and….”

Jordan waved her away, and smiled. He knew no one was coming anyway, so why the pretense.

He leaned over and slurped the malted, and as the sweet, rich, unctuous fudge flavor with the underlying slight saltiness of the malt carried him away, he remembered a more delicious memory.

Gray was standing under the mistletoe, a cup of horrid fruity punch in a glass cup in one hand and a goofy grin on his handsome face. He was wearing the weirdest ugly Christmas sweater Jordan had ever seen. It depicted two sharks, with ribbons caught in their teeth, circling a lighted tree surrounded by presents. The lights on the sweater were illuminated by a battery pack, disguised as the trunk of the tree.

It was so ridiculous; Jordan couldn’t help but giggle.

Gray was also so gorgeous, the light cascading through his messy hair. The way his eyes beckoned, yet teased. His body was shifted, one hip jutting out and with such ease and grace. Gray was more delectable than any Christmas treat. His left eye would crinkle a little more when he was pleased.

Jordan had never been able to resist.

He leaned forward and sipped again. He felt a tear cascade down his cheek.

The bell of the front door tinkled. Three times.

He looked up, with hope and dread.

It wasn’t a man. It was a woman, dressed in a brown coat and bright red and white striped scarf. She had a matching stocking cap on her head. Behind her were two boys, one gangly and into the stark beginnings of adolescence, and another still struggling in his tweens. She looked familiar, but he was sure he didn’t know her.

She was looking around, searching.

Jordan returned his attention to his malted and his memories.

“Eight maids-a-milking,” Gray sang in his burly baritone voice.

“Seven swans a-swimming,” Nancy, Jordan’s secretary intoned.

“Six geese a-laying,” their boss, Antonio, bellowed in an off-tune tenor.

Then Jordan had sang out, in a strong and clear bass, “Five-Golden-Rings.”

Gray had his arm around his shoulders, and he felt so warm and protected and loved.

“You’re Jordan, right?” a woman asked.

He looked up, startled, and saw the woman from the front door was now standing right in front of him.

“Um, what?” Jordan crackled. His voice was still rusty from his emotional journeys.

“I think you must be Jordan, Gray’s friend?” she asked again.

The two boys were flanking her, staring at him. The adolescent was glaring thunderously. The younger was looking with more curiosity than his brother.

“I’m Jordan,” he answered. “I worked with a guy named Gray.”

“Oh, good,” she said, taking off her stocking cap, and gesturing for the boys to slide into the booth. “I was afraid maybe I’d missed you.”

“Huh?” Jordan said, confused.

“I’m Jennifer, Gray’s wife. And this is Jacob and Declan,” she introduced. Then she sat down and unwrapped the scarf. “Chilly morning for Arizona. I’m not used to it.”

“I don’t know you,” Jordan said.

“Of course not,” she replied, looking at him almost sadly. “We’ve never met, but Gray talked about you all the time.

“He did?” Jordan asked, his voice again cracking.

“Yes. He was quite fond of you, and told me about your Christmas meetings.”

“He did?” Jordan asked again, this time with a bit of terror edging his voice.

“Gray was quite proud of how well you were doing in the company. He said you were alone on Christmas and would come here to have a Christmas Eve treat with you. Now that’s he’s gone, I thought maybe the boys would like to meet you on the off chance you came here this year.”

Jordan watched her lips as she talked. He heard her words, and saw the two fidgeting boys, one surly, the other glancing at him warily. He then remembered the news story from last Christmas. He could see she wasn’t over the mourning yet, not like he was.

“A five-car pileup on the 202 East has had a tragic fatality. A man died from the crash on his way home on Christmas eve. Details are being withheld until the family can be notified.”

Jordan found out a few days later, the man had been Gray. After leaving the Maid Marian Milkbar, he’d died in a car crash on the way back to his family. After Jordan had screamed at him, causing a scene, he’d been killed in the accident. Here were his wife and two boys. Mourning. Still grieving.

Mourning like he was. Though his grief had eased, the guilt disappearing, the pain withering, but the empty ache remained. The reason he was here was that goddamned hole in his heart that still hadn’t healed over.

“The boys wanted to meet you,” she said simply.

Both boys seemed more squirrely than inquisitive, but Jordan tried to smile at them.

“We’re--” she stopped as a cry caught in her throat. “We’re having a rough time of it this year. This first year after….”

She stopped talking and wiped her eyes.

“Here are some menus,” the waitress interrupted them. “Do you need a minute?”

Jordan looked up at her and nodded.

“What?” the younger boy asked, but then paused.

Jordan nodded to him as well.

“What did you talk about?” he then asked. “Before—” and then tears began.

The older boy shushed him and put a protective arm around him. “It’s okay,” he whispered.

The younger boy cried into his sleeve.

Jordan swallowed hard and then answered, “He talked about what you wanted for Christmas. He said you wanted a new iPad, Declan. He told me Jacob was getting a new special kind of skateboard.” Jordan breathed deeply. “He was very excited to see you open your presents.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Jennifer, Gray’s wife, relax a bit. Her frightful eyes gave away the story. She knew about him and had prayed this wasn’t a mistake. Jordan tried to make her feel better too, nodding in her direction, but only a gentle one.

“He was also very proud of you both. He talked about you all the time.”

The older boy, Jake, now looked more hopeful, less angry.

Declan had stopped crying, and he now stared at Jordan in surprise.

“Have you decided what you’d like?” the waitress asked.

“We haven’t really looked yet,” Jennifer said.

“Oh, take your time,” the waitress replied.

“May I?” Jordan asked, and leaned towards the boys. “Your dad’s favorite was a hot chocolate milkshake. They make them with toasted marshmallow cream on the top. That’s what he’d always get.”

“Really?” Jake asked. “I’ve never heard of that flavor before.”

“I want one too,” Declan said.

Jennifer ordered a strawberry shortcake, but both boys got the hot chocolate ones.

Declan especially looked just like Gray as he slurped on his treat, his left eye crinkling in delight. He thought of how much pain Jennifer was obviously still in. For her to bring Gray’s sons here had to have been difficult. What had prompted her to drag them there to see him, when thier only connection was Gray?

That was it. Their only connection was missing in all their lives.

As he watched them sip their drinks, he wondered if the boys felt that empty ache, like he did. Undoubtedly, their mother did. She kept looking at him, and then at the boys. Back and forth, trying to make sense of it all.

Because it didn’t make sense. Not really. But then grief never made sense. He’d been hoping to heal by coming here, and maybe together, they all could, at least just a little. Declan was now smiling, looking like his dad. Jake was chattering about a New Year’s party next week, and if Jordan shut his eyes, he could hear Gray’s voice in the tones.

Jennifer’s eyes were closed too, Jordan noticed, and he was glad he’d came. And that they had too.