Mission of Christmas (8 page)

“What is this?”

“Bedding for Jake and Andrea. Andrea was bitching back in May that she didn’t have a nice bedspread.”

His dad carried another large package, and the two headed upstairs. As soon as Andy rounded the corner, his heart stopped.

Standing in the middle of the chaos was Erica, handing out presents while wearing, of all the damn things, a friggin’ green Santa’s hat. Her hair hung down her back, windblown and chaotic, her cheeks rosy from the cold, and she hadn’t bothered taking off her coat yet.

He’d never seen her look so beautiful.

She handed a package to his mother, to Big Grandma, to his niece and nephew, and to Jake and Andrea.

And then she turned her head.

Even from the distance, their eyes met, and the whole room went still. Quite a feat, considering how packed the place was, and all the kids everywhere.
 

Erica took a couple of tentative steps toward him, and he walked over wrapping paper and gifts to get to her. He dropped the package at the top of the stairs, forgetting who it belonged to.

Nothing mattered.

Except knowing why she was standing there. In his mother’s house.
 

Today.

Of all days.

All his anger at her disappeared. He partially wanted to hit himself upside the head. He’d known he loved her. How could he not? She was practical, she was strong, she was opinionated, and she drove him to distraction, even when it was just over what movie to watch. And now, he knew how every inch of her smelled, how she tasted—he needed her on the most primal of levels.

He couldn’t get enough of her. But she hadn’t understood yesterday. Could she possibly understand now? Had it sunk in through her thick head?

She stepped through the strewn paper on the floor, a gift bag in her hand.

“I, uh, brought you a present.” She held out the package for him.

“You hate Christmas.” He reached up and tugged at the end of her hat, where a jingle bell hung. The chime rang through the room.

“Maybe I was wrong…” She trailed off.

“Maybe?”

“I have been wrong a couple of times. The mall bangs come to mind.”

“We all had bad hair in high school.” He caressed her cheek—the skin so soft and still a tiny bit cold from the wind outside. She reached up and covered his hand, nuzzling into his palm.

“Mommy, what’s going on? Why are they just staring at each other like that?” Cassie asked in the loudest voice possible without actually yelling.

Andy couldn’t help it—he smiled.

So did Erica.

He stepped just a little closer to her.

“Are they gonna kiss now?” Cassie asked.

“Shh!” Andrea told her.

Erica’s head was down and she stared at his shirt, well, maybe his tie. “I’ve never had a real Christmas, Andy.” She brought her head up and met his gaze. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “But I want to try. Can I still have a real Christmas?”

“With me?”

“With you.” The words were barely a whisper, and a tear slid down her cheek.

He wiped it away. “You can always have Christmas with me.”

She bit her lip, smiling. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her against him, their lips meeting in a crashing slam of emotions. Nothing in the room mattered—it didn’t matter he was surrounded by his family, including the extended family.

Or maybe it made it matter more.

In front of his family, she had asked him for Christmas.

The whole room lit up in whistles and hoots from the adults, while the kids cried out, “Eeewww!”

One voice broke over the crowd. “It’s about time.” Big Grandma, the matriarch, had spoken. “I knew someday the two of them would get their heads on straight.”

Erica broke away from him, laughing. Tears still brimmed in her eyes. “I was such an idiot. I was—well, I still am—afraid of losing my best friend.”

He held her tight to him, and they rocked a bit from one side to the other. “We’ll always be best friends. I love you, Erica Jones.”

She reached up and stroked his face. “I know that now.” She sucked in her lip for a second, chewing on the corner. “I think I love you too.”

He grinned at her.

Chapter Thirteen

I sat down next to Andy, eggnog in my hand.

If I was going to do this Christmas thing, I needed to start with the traditions, right? Eggnog seemed like a traditional beginning.
 

The chaos returned to its fevered levels when I came in. Children were busting open presents, parents were trying to get the toys out of the industrial strength wrapping, and a slew of curse words could be heard from the males in the room, wanting to know why in the hell Barbie was strapped down inside the box like that.

I took a sip off my eggnog…

And about spit it out right there on his mom’s new carpet.

Andy glanced at me, a grin on his face. “Maybe you’d better slow down on the traditions, there, babe.”

“What the hell is in that?”

Andrea glanced at me, sipping on her wine. “Rum. Egg. Nog.”

“What’s a nog?”

“Haven’t a clue,” she said. “That’s why I drink wine. Want some?”

I nodded my head. “Please. Large glass.” Even though it was obvious I was completely welcome in the house, I was still nervous.
 

This was worse than dating someone and being taken home for the first time. I knew these people, in a vague sort of way. And they knew me, in a similar vein. We’d been aware of each other, but I don’t think any of them, except maybe Big Grandma, thought we ever had a future together.

Andrea disappeared into the kitchen to get me a glass. Andy sat there, opening his presents. I just sat beside him, and while I had none to open, I wasn’t upset about it.

Well, the five-year-old in me was a little disappointed, but what could I expect, showing up like I did?

A part of me reveled in the spirit shining through everything around the room. Though it was mildly chaotic as some of the adults tried to get the kids’ wrappings into a trash sack, and others rounding up ribbons off packages, there was love.

I hadn’t ever seen that kind of spirited chaos exude such love and caring.

“Jake Jr. stop pulling on Cassie’s hair!” Andrea handed me a glass as she went after the little boy. He darted between two others and ran off into another room.

I couldn’t help laughing as I sipped on my wine.
Ahh yes, the drink of champions.

“Here,” Andy said, handing me a package.

I took it from him and set my glass down. “You already bought me a gift.” But then I realized what it must have been—my ransomed books.

And I opened the gift, not bothering to look at whose name was on the name tag.

My bad, considering when I opened it, my books were not inside. Instead, it held a pair of fuzzy socks—my most favorite thing in the whole wide world—and a candle holder.

“Andy?”

“That’s from me,” his mother said, grinning.

I blinked, forcing back tears. “You didn’t have to buy me anything.”

“You can’t come to my house and not expect to get a gift on Christmas!” She sounded offended.

“Well, thank you very much.” I pulled out the candle holder and immediately I knew it would look very nice on my coffee table.

And before I knew it, there were three other boxes in front of me. I shook my head. “What is this?”

Andy took my hand and squeezed it. “Haven’t you heard? It’s Christmas.”

Tears came through in earnest now, running down my cheeks and dripping on the wrapping paper. I seriously wished I could find the water works pipe, and shut the valve down. All I seemed to be doing today was crying.
 

I felt like a dolt.

Even though they were happy tears.
 

I ripped into the packages like one of the children, throwing my paper off to the side, excited to see what was in the box. The first one, from Andrea, was a collection of herbal teas, with a note about needing something to relax with since I spent so much time with her brother.

The second was, of course, my books. I glanced over at Andy. “Really, you shouldn’t have.”

He grinned. “I do what I can.”

I nudged his knee. “So, you gonna open my present?”

“Sure.” He picked up the bag and started pulling out tissue paper.

“Don’t throw that away!” his mom said, snagging the paper from him.

I stared at her, expecting to see aliens crawl out of her ear. “Does she want the tissue paper saved?”

“She reuses it every year. I think she irons it,” Andy whispered in my ear.

“Oh my God.” I started to snicker.

“Andrew David Hawkins, you had better not be telling stories about your mother!” his mom said, pointing the “mom finger” at him.

“Never.” He grinned. “Let’s see what we have in here.” He started pulling things out of the bag. He’d been fairly amused up to this point, and his face went somber as he pulled out the first item—a pen holder. Piece by piece, he pulled out the office set I’d bought him, staring at it.

His mother leaned over. “This is really nice, Andy. Look, it’s engraved with your initials.”

He nodded, running his finger down the side of the leather covering the pen holder. “Wow, babe.”

“I thought your office would look nicer with a matching set…” Suddenly, my gift seemed pretty stupid and I stared at the floor—or the wrapping paper-covered floor.

“It’s perfect.” He brought my hand to his mouth, kissing my palm. I couldn’t help noticing his eyes were a bit misty.

“I just noticed…”

“It really is great, Erica. I needed a nice set like this.”

“Erica! You found something for my son that he’ll actually use? I spent two months looking for something for him for Christmas.” His mother stared at me. “Next year, you’re going shopping with me.”

I laughed. “Of course, Mrs. Hawkins.”

Andy reached down in the bag. “There’s more?” He pulled out one last item, wrapped in tissue paper. “This is heavy,” he said as he ripped the tissue paper.

And he about choked. He looked it up and down, then glanced at me. “When did you do this?”

I smiled, looking down at the picture frame. It was me, sitting on Santa’s lap. “I did it today—you know, attempting to have a real Christmas.”

He smiled at me. “You look pretty cute sitting on Santa’s lap.”

“You got to sit on Santa’s lap?” one of the children asked. This of course got all the kids’ attention, and they came running to see the picture. Andy held it up so everyone could see.

I was suddenly barraged with questions about Santa.

“What did he say?”

“Aren’t you too big for Santa?”

“Is he going to make it to my house tonight?”

“Were the reindeer there?”

“Did he have me on the nice list or the naughty one?”

I tried to answer their questions, and I seemed to go up in their estimation since I got to actually talk to the big guy today.

While I talked to the kids, Andy slipped a last present on my lap. I clutched the package to me, still chatting. The warmth and love around the room was palpable; the children, finished with my stories of Santa, went back to their toys. People were hugging, smiling, visiting and generally happy.

Something I don’t ever remember seeing at my house on Christmas. Everything was always clouded, a shroud of darkness over the festivities.

“You might want to save that one, and open it later,” Andy whispered to me.

I glanced at him. “Why’s that?”

“You might have a hard time explaining it to everyone.”

I raised my eyebrow. “What have you done, Andrew Hawkins?”

“It’s very personal.”

I nodded my head and stuck the present in the bottom of my stack of stuff.

Now I really wanted to open it.

Chapter Fourteen

It was a long day, and I was bone tired. I didn’t even bother driving home. Andy merely scooped me up and hauled me back to his house—it was closer than mine.

We tumbled in the door, our arms loaded with presents. Andy flipped on the light, and I stopped dead in the door, staring.

Andy had an eight-foot Christmas tree, decorated in multi-colored ornaments, tinsel, and twinkle lights that blinked. It wasn’t one of those designer trees—it wasn’t overly fancy, but it was incredibly beautiful.

Stockings were hung on his fireplace. Two, as a matter of fact, and a few other Christmas things were spread out around the room.

“Is this why you didn’t want me coming over the other day?” I asked, setting down my armload of stuff.

“Mostly. Didn’t want you to decide to accidentally burn it or something.”

“I wouldn’t do that… Kick off a decoration, especially since… Wait. Are those new?” I gestured to some of the ornaments. They were very sparkly, and very “in vogue” this season.