Second Chances

You Look Perfect Tonight

After work, on her way home, Maddy passed Columbus Park. A quartet of Asian neighborhood musicians performed a quaint version of "O, Little Town of Bethlehem," on an accordion, saxophone, and flutes. Despite the chilly air temperature, she paused for a few moments to take in the heartfelt music and the sight of white lights strung around the trees and lampposts while pink-faced kids tossed snowballs.

A shot of arctic air cut through the park, snapping her out of her reverie. She joined the stream of pedestrians walking the sidewalks. She couldn't be certain, but through the curtain of snowflakes, she thought she saw Nathan across the street, ducking behind a car. Though she caught only a glimpse, she had a feeling it was probably him following her home. She knew this day would come. It was inevitable.

She made an abrupt turn into the park, taking a detour from her usual route, occasionally glancing over her shoulder. She felt temporary relief at finding no trace of a gangly tall guy wearing a red ribbed beanie.

Relieved to be out of the cold, Maddy entered her apartment building, drew a deep breath, then started up the staircase, trying to get the bad taste of the day's events out of her mouth. She thought about climbing the Filbert Street stairs to Coit Tower, the beautiful gardens, and the wild parrots of Telegraph Hill. And she thought about George. And that kiss.

At the third-floor landing, her senior neighbor peeked out from her apartment, then slammed the door, dislodging her peculiar Christmas door decoration. Maddy remembered it from last year's holiday season, an oval-shaped piece of foil with an old-timey Santa face stamped on it. She nicknamed it "Chris Crinkle." It probably looked super cool when it was first produced in the 1950s but the foil Santa hadn't aged well. In fact, with every new crinkle, the faded Saint Nick looked increasingly demented.

Maddy tapped on the door.

"Mrs. K. Your Santa fell off your door." No answer. "Mrs. K. Your Santa head..."

It was a pointless exercise trying to draw the elderly woman out into the hallway. Maddy knelt, then fed the foil Santa head beneath Mrs. K's apartment door. "I slid your Santa under your door. Okay?" 

No answer.

Maddy hoisted her bag, then continued her climb toward the dreaded fifth floor.

As she tiptoed past Gary's apartment, the door flew open revealing a thoroughly revolting sight. Dripping wet, Gary stood there wrapped in a Power Rangers bath towel.

"So what's got you down, princess?"

Maddy covered her eyes and picked up the pace. "I have neither the time nor the crayons to explain it to you."

"I got some homemade eggnog cookin' in the crockpot. Gary's special holiday recipe. You up for some Christmas Cream?"

"I'm not taking questions at this time." Though her legs felt the strain of the steep flights of stairs she'd climbed, she summoned the energy to accelerate.

When she finally made it to the eighth floor, she noticed a package beside her apartment door addressed to Madison Taylor. She unlocked the door, pulled off her pom hat and scarf, tossing them onto a chair. She brought the package inside and ripped open the brown paper wrapping.

"Early Christmas present from Mom?" she wondered.

Inside a sturdy colorful box, wrapped in glittery snowflake tissue paper, she found the wooden wild parrot statue from the Chinatown gift shop. Her jaw fell open.

"Oh. My. God." She repeated it three more times before she stopped herself.

Poking out of the tissue paper was a gift card. She opened it and read the message.