Page 11 of All About Christmas

With a playful stride , I cross the threshold of the assisted living home. The smell of meat roasted in butter, bookshelves filled with reading material in linen-bound covers, old Persian rugs, and fresh coffee fills my nostrils.

It smells warm and familiar here. It smells like a cup of tea with Grandma, who always had a tray of Merci chocolates ready for me when I visited.

My heels tap on the laminate as I walk up to the counter. A woman around forty with short, red-dyed hair looks up. A pair of round glasses rests on her nose, and she puts down her pen. Above her left breast is a name tag: Violet.

“Good afternoon,” she says. “How can I help you?”

“Hello,” I say kindly. “I’ve come to see Olaf and Maggie.”

She smiles broadly. “Oh, how nice. You can just walk through, you know. Olaf is in Room 106; Maggie in the one opposite. But I’m guessing those lovebirds will be in the same room.

” She chuckles, shaking her head. “I don’t often see two people who fall so head over heels in love with each other at that age. ”

“Things can work out well sometimes, can’t they?” I say, chuckling.

She nods and points to a staircase. “Up there and then to the right.”

“Thank you.” I turn around, and just as I’m about to put my foot on the first step, Violet calls after me: “Oh, um... I’d knock first, though.

And I mean knock really hard.” When I look at her questioningly, her cheeks begin to colour, and she adds in a soft tone, “Trust me. It’s for your own good. ”

“Oh.” The cogs in my head are rattling. It takes a few moments for me to realize what she means. “Oh.” I hold back my laughter. “Thanks for the tip. Will do.”

She closes her eyes for a moment and nods compassionately. Then she focuses back on her work. I dart up to the second floor and look around. A woman in a white coat is pushing a cart filled with bread, spreads, and Cup-a-Soup packets.

At a brisk pace, I walk past the room numbers: 104... 105... 106...

As Violet has instructed me, I drop my fist hard on the wood of the door several times. When there is no response, I try again.

“Olaf!” suddenly comes giggling from the room. “Don’t, we have company!”

Her protest is answered by a deep, rumbling laugh. “You’re right, dove.”

I have to laugh when, after a minute in which garments were undoubtedly straightened, there is a call for me to come in.

A moment later, I push down the door handle and see two people sitting on a red leather couch.

The man’s bony hand is on the knee of a woman who has pulled her support stockings up over her calves.

Her ruffled skirt falls just over her knees and her sweater is loose around her body.

Her hair, which is still surprisingly thick for her age, balances in a smooth bun on her head.

Her pale eyes look at me in surprise from behind her round glasses.

Olaf is also still blessed with a full head of white hair. His nose looks a tad orange, but that could be because of the light. He is wearing a shirt neatly tucked into his pants. His eyes widen in surprise.

“Good afternoon,” he says curiously. “What can I do for you?”

“Hello,” I reply politely and take another step inside. “My name is Holly and I’m the editor...” I have to bite my tongue before I slip up. I’m not an editor. Not yet. I cough for a moment and correct myself: “I work for the show All About Love .”

Olaf’s eyes flash and Maggie’s get even bigger.

“ All About Love ?” she repeats, and she sits up straighter.

“How nice! We watched that every Sunday night until the summer break.” Then she looks at me glumly, and even a little accusingly.

As if I am personally responsible for her not being able to watch people reunite at bedtime now.

“Very unfortunate, you know. But now we look forward to All About Christmas .” She leans toward Olaf. “Right?”

Olaf’s eyes flash from me to Maggie and back again. Then it seems to sink in with Maggie what my presence here means. She slowly turns back in my direction. “Wait a minute...”

She slaps her hand in front of her mouth. “Olaf? What did you do?”

The old man smiles and presses a kiss to her cheek. “I think you know, dove.”

Her hand starts to shake. “The... the wedding?” Her voice trembles. “Did you really write to them about the wedding?”

Olaf’s chest swells with pride. “I sure did,” he confirms. “I won’t let you walk away again.”

Maggie’s shock turns into a small smile. “Honey, even if I wanted to, I couldn’t walk away from you.” She casts me a meaningful look and taps her hip. “Replaced twice, and ten years later I’m still in disrepair.”

Olaf presses another kiss to her temple. “My cyborg,” he coos affectionately.

I chuckle. It’s touching. Maggie gestures to the large armchair in the corner of the room. “Please, sit down, sit down. Would you like a cookie?” She nods to the tin sitting on the coffee table. One adorned with Delft Blue illustrations of skating children and couples in traditional Dutch clothing.

“Oh, how nice, thank you,” I say and sit down. The thick cushion is so soft, I’m almost swallowed by it. I bend down and grab a Marie biscuit from the cookie jar. “I don’t think anything has changed since you wrote that letter, has it?”

“Oh, no, definitely not.” He strokes her forearm with a trembling hand. “And it will stay that way for the rest of our lives.”

Maggie nods in agreement.

They look at each other so intensely that it makes me uncomfortable. Before they jump at each other on the spot, I decide to cut to the chase. “We’ve selected your story, Olaf,” I say.

Olaf nods and swallows. “I suspected as much.”

I smile warmly. “And would you still like to get married for our show?”

Maggie’s eyes light up at the idea, and Olaf chuckles. “Sure. Maggie is a big fan. She would love it if that nice presenter married us.”

“Oh, what a good idea!” I grab my notebook from my bag and make a quick note. I’m sure it would be possible to make Gabriel registrar for a day. “I’m glad to hear you’re still so enthusiastic.”

Olaf sits up a little straighter. “Well, I really am. I’m rarely as sure of anything as I am of this.”

Maggie makes a small sound of approval. “I couldn’t agree more. It seems wonderful to be able to experience this at this age.” She folds her hands together on her lap. “My previous marriage wasn’t so good,” she continues softly. Her voice cracks a little.

Olaf’s facial expression becomes more serious, and he looks compassionately at his fiancée. He puts an arm around her and gently squeezes her shoulder.

She sighs and raises her head again. “I was raised religiously, you know. It seems amazing to me that I can marry the man I want to grow old with in this life.”

A warm feeling spreads through my chest. I nod. “Then we’ll take care of it,” I say and turn a page of my notebook.

“I will, of course, be present at the filming,” I begin. “But our presenter Gabriel will be your point of contact on camera. He will interview you, help you pick out a wedding dress...”

When I drop the phrase “wedding dress,” Maggie’s eyes begin to sparkle. “A dress? Can I wear a dress again?”

“But of course! What’s a wedding without a wedding dress?”

“Oh, I’m already looking forward to it,” exclaims Olaf.

“My Maggie in a beautiful white dress...” He sighs with relish.

He leans back toward his great love again and whispers, “Then will you look for one of those lacy garter belts, too?” in her ear.

Something that can be clearly heard due to his hearing loss.

Maggie giggles and gives him a reprimanding tap on his thigh. “Olaf!”

I have rarely seen two people love each other as openly as Maggie and Olaf. They are far beyond shame, and I find it endearing. I smile and focus on my notes again. “Good. Olaf, you wrote in your letter that you would like to be married in the little church where you met. Where is that?”

“Oh, really?” Maggie snuggles a little closer to Olaf. “What a hopeless romantic you are.”

“It’s a little church in Oud-Zuilen,” he says. “Nothing special, but to me it has great sentimental value.”

I mutter in agreement and scribble it down.

“I think that should do it.” My pen taps thoughtfully on my notebook.

The first two weeks of January—the period when I’m still fanatically working on my New Year’s resolutions—I often take a walk through Oud-Zuilen.

It is a beautiful village north of Utrecht.

The biggest attraction is the castle. I don’t think the little church Olaf mentioned is used very often.

“How would you guys feel about making it a Christmas wedding?” is my next question.

“Christmas wedding?” repeats Olaf. “What exactly does that involve?”

I slide forward a bit—quite an undertaking, since I’m almost up to my waist in the soft seat cushion. “By that I mean that I would like to broadcast your wedding live on Christmas Eve. And we will decorate the little church completely in the Christmas spirit. I think it could be very beautiful.”

“Oh, dear, yes!” Maggie nods exuberantly. Her eyes get a little moist. “I love Christmas.” She squeezes her future husband’s hand for a moment. “And I love Olaf.”

I smile. “Then this is the perfect combination.”