by Jenn Cooksey
Laden with groceries, the crunch of snow under my feet is almost deafening in the eerie quiet of the late afternoon as I carefully pick my way up Cole’s porch steps. Using my teeth to pull the glove off my hand, I raise it to knock and wince at seeing how pink and cracked my skin has become in just a few short days. During nursing school I quickly developed an almost neurotic hand washing habit and subsequently learned to routinely moisturize, although this weather has me considering slathering Vaseline on my hands at night and sleeping with gloves on. I rap my knuckles against the door and grit my teeth through the sting. A thought occurs to me though as I’m waiting, and I set the bags down to rummage through them for the tube of Zim’s Crack Cream I fortunately discovered to be carried in stores up here.
Once found, I open the tube and begin liberally applying its soothing contents over my painfully chaffed hands, and I realize Cole hasn’t answered the door yet. I ring the bell this time and start thinking about not hearing from him…
I mean I really thought he would’ve at least called. Then again, I’m guessing there are four possible scenarios explaining why he wouldn’t have. One, he’s still in lockup, which I’m going to go ahead and assume isn’t the case as Ryan was clearly sprung this morning, and Cole’s truck is parked in the carport. So two, he’s embarrassed, which isn’t likely either. Three, he’s been dealing with a hellacious hangover all day; totally plausible. And four, he could potentially think I’m pissed off at him for getting into a fight that then resulted in him being arrested. And, I sort of was last night, although after thinking about it and how I was praying like mad for him to show up earlier today, I just can’t be. He’s always been like my savior so how can I be upset with him for doing any of the things he’s ever done in that regard when his sole motivation and intent was simply standing up for me in some way? It’s just not possible. In fact, I feel like I should be the one apologizing. It’s because of me that he ended up having to sleep in a jail cell after all.
It takes me knocking and ringing the bell again before clear sounds of anyone being home are heard. Those sounds being from a highly enthusiastic dog on the other side of the door and Cole’s exasperated voice as he tries to catch the wild animal so he can open it without the dog bolting out. Moments before he opens it, it suddenly dawns on me that it could’ve taken him as long as it did to answer because he was sleeping. Low-grade guilt washes over me for maybe two seconds, until Cole finally pulls open the door and I see him standing there looking a bit disheveled, yes, but also wearing a knitted sweater with a reindeer on it, and he’s of course holding Skull Eater; this itty-bitty thing wearing a Christmas colored hair bow in between her ears, and who’s also doing an excellent impression of a whirling dervish in Cole’s hand as she desperately tries to get out of his grasp.
I mean I don’t even know what’s more funny. The dog is twisting, squirming, flailing about, and even running in mid air, and how she manages to do it at the same time, I haven’t a clue, although she’s also able get herself close enough to Cole’s face so that she can cover his cheeks and chin in doggy kisses. However, the reindeer has a sparkly red nose and actual jingle bells sewn onto its antlers.
Cole’s apathy to seeing me on his front porch with four bags of groceries dangling from my arms while snow comes down around me in sheets prompts another pang of guilt. “Um…hi? I woke you up, didn’t I?”
His face contorts into a rather nonplussed expression as he switches Skull Eater into his other hand while taking a few meager steps aside, allowing me just enough space to enter. “Uh, no. It’s hardly five o’clock. Why would you think I’d be sleeping?”
“Oh, well…I knocked and rang the bell a couple times. Thought after last night, you might be napping or something.”
“First thing I did when I got home this morning,” he tells me, closing the door and then setting his dog down. She immediately runs to me, jumps and begs to be picked up, but then races back to Cole and does the same thing. He ignores her. “Then I got some lunch, took a quick job, came home and showered, and then decided I should probably start getting my tree decorated.”
“Oh,” I try to hide the disappointment stabbing me in the throat; I just don’t know how well I succeed, “So, I know I should’ve called and I can explain why I didn’t, but, um…I feel like I’m interrupting. Am I?”
His eyes travel across his house to where his tree is set up. It’s bare aside from a single strand of lights haphazardly draped on the bottom-most branches. “I guess not,” he replies with a blasé shrug of his shoulders, bringing his line of sight back into the kitchen and to the bags I’m putting on the counter, “What’s all this?”
I sigh and rest my hands on the tops of the bags. “Well, this will be dinner and dessert. I figured you might like a little comfort food and it’s all I really know how to do halfway decently in the way of expressing my gratitude for you and all you’ve done for me. So, I’m making you my grandma’s macaroni and cheese. There’re some ham steaks, fresh green beans, a bottle of that wine we both obviously liked, and a loaf of squaw bread in here too. Oh and I hope you still love s’mores as much as you used to because I got the fixings for them as well. That is, if you haven’t eaten already and want me to cook for you.” Which up until this point, I’ve been getting the very distinct feeling that he’d prefer I didn’t cook and weren’t here in the first place.
Cole’s expression however turns to one of intrigued consideration as he tries looking in the bags without touching them. “What kind of chocolate did you get?”
“The kind you like…with almonds.”
“Humph. You said your grandma’s macaroni and cheese?”
“Mmhm.”
“With Tillamook cheese, real butter and real cream? Not milk?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You gonna put crumbled Ritz on it?”
“Yep. But if you’re not hungry or would rather have some alone time, I completely understand. Just say the word and I’ll get out of your hair.” I immediately start praying again. I need to be with him right now. I need to feel safe and there’s nowhere on Earth I will ever feel more safe than with Cole.
For a fraction of a second, his eyes light with concern. “No, no. I can eat some macaroni and cheese.”
I silently let go of the breath I’d been holding. “Good. ‘Cause I don’t want to go home yet and I have got to know what that sweater is all about,” I tell him with a small chuckle that belies my unease. Using my busyness with beginning to get everything prepped for cooking straight away, I further hide how agitated I feel on the inside.
He gives me a disgruntled look and pouts, “What’s wrong with my sweater? It’s festive. I wear it every year.”
“Do you really?”
Up until the other day when we were going to get our Christmas trees, I’d forgotten how much Cole loves Christmas. All the radio stations were broadcasting news, weather, sports, or just plain old crappy music, so I asked him if I could switch over to his CD changer. As soon as I did though, I had to bite my lips to keep from laughing at him. The CD was in the middle of playing “Frosty the Snowman” being sung by Alvin and the Chipmunks. And it wasn’t a Christmas compilation CD with songs by various artists either; it was all Alvin, Simon, and Theodore. He sort of stiffened but when he saw me struggling to keep my mirth at bay, he gave me a sideways look and simply reminded me that Christmas is his favorite holiday by saying, “What? So I like the classics. Big deal. You know how I feel about Christmas…” Even so, I never in a million years would’ve dreamt he’d dare to wear one of ‘those’ Christmas sweaters.
It’s actually really kind of adorable on him though. Like Cole combined with a garish reindeer on his chest is just a non-verbal, yet exceedingly loud invitation to love on him. So much so that I’m suddenly finding it difficult to not give in to the temptation of wandering over to him, wrapping myself up tight in his arms, and then luxuriating for hours in a knitted Christmas Cole embrace.
“Yep. My dad has a
matching one,” he simply states as a matter of fact, which essentially has my eyeballs popping out of their sockets in disbelief.
“He does not!”
“He totally does. His girlfriend, Amelia, made them for us the first year we lived up here together.”
“Does he actually wear it?!” I’m having the hardest time accepting this and forming a mental picture of Cole’s rigid, no sense of humor whatsoever, father wearing a reindeer sweater with bells on it.
“Uh-huh. But not in public and only on Christmas Eve. We go through a lot of eggnog. And, you know, whiskey.”
He then excuses himself and goes outside to shovel his driveway and porch. Apparently it’s less labor intensive if one stays on top of that kind of thing, rather than letting it pile up into a foot or more. A quick glance out the kitchen window tells me he’ll be several minutes at least so, I begin mentally outlining the best way to go about explaining Greg to Cole. Originally, I hadn’t planned on mentioning anything about running into my ex when I was stuck down the hill that night, but with him showing up last night and the situation as it is now, I need to tell Cole. I’ll feel better the sooner I say something and it’s simply the right thing to do. I just have to be careful.
He comes back inside, pulling his beanie and gloves off, and then hangs them along with his jacket on the hook just inside the entryway. My eyes follow him into the living room where he stops to tend the fire. Once he’s finished putting another log on and is satisfied with the level of heat, he turns and catches me watching him.
“What?”
“Well…I need to tell you something.”
The dooming intensity in which he meets my eyes with, though it’s just for a split second, makes me feel as if one or both of us is about to be forced off a plank at sword-tip. I don’t understand it. Unless he already knows, that is. I don’t really see how he could, but then again, it is a smaller town and people talk…
“What’s that?” he asks, raising a barely interested eyebrow and crossing his arms over Rudolph, bringing me back to my original theory that no one’s said anything to him.
“Greg showed up last night.”
Cole nods and turns around, walking over to his tree to open a box of Christmas decorations. “Oh yeah? Bet that was a surprise. You haven’t even spoken to him in something like a year, right?”
“Yeah, about that…”
“So how’d he even know where you’re living now?”
“That’s what I’m trying to explain, if you’ll let me. I ran into him that night I couldn’t get back home after seeing my grandma. And I, um, stayed at his place instead of a motel,” I admit and watch Cole dump an armful of garland onto the couch. It’s almost like he’s not even listening. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you.”
He shrugs his shoulders and faces me, his expression flat and possibly even dismissive. “Why? That doesn’t involve me.”
“Well—uh…I guess I just thought since we, um—”
“Erica, you don’t owe me an explanation about what you do just like I don’t owe you any. I mean like you said, we were just messing around a little. No big deal.”
“O—okay. Nothing happened though…I just want you to know that.”
Cole shakes my reassurance off and goes back to rummaging through decorations. “Don’t worry about it. Even if something did happen, I don’t care.” It isn’t what I want to hear…
A frustrated humph escapes me and I feel myself becoming defensive. “Well, you may not, but I do care. I don’t want anyone thinking I’m some kind of slut, Cole, especially you.”
He throws me an annoyed look over his shoulder and mutters, “Okay, Erica, Jesus. You’re not a slut.”
“What is wrong with you? Are you mad at me or something?”
He sighs and turns to face me again. “No, I’m not mad at you. I didn’t have the best night’s rest though, my back hurts and I’m trying to avoid taking any of the good pain killers ‘cause it’ll knock me out and I wanna deck the halls of my damned house this evening, and you showed up unannounced, wanting to cook me dinner out of the wild blue, but then you start telling me about sleeping at your ex’s place, and I honestly don’t give a rat’s ass whether you did or not because what you do is your own business and even if you did nail the guy all night long, you still wouldn’t be a slut because as far as I’m aware, you’re not even dating anyone, let alone sleeping with anyone so I just don’t see why you’re making it such a big deal.”
I watch him stretch his back, frustration and pain written all over him, and I decide that he’s actually right. He’s in a shit mood and probably could’ve been a little less hostile in saying all that, but still, he’s right. Except for maybe the not dating anyone point in his argument. He apparently hasn’t felt this way, but to me it’s sort of felt like that’s what we’ve been doing. It’s all been extremely casual and kept on the down-low for the most part; however, that doesn’t negate how the time we’ve spent together has felt. Then again, how we’ve been together these last weeks is pretty much how we were on our road-trip, and we were definitely not dating then.
“You’re right, I’m sorry. Again. It’s just me and everything about this shitty day…when I was leaving the grocery store I ran into Ryan,” I pause when Cole lifts his head and gives me his ‘I’m being serious’ questioning look, “I mean not literally like with my car or anything…he stopped me in the parking lot to apologize. He said he rejoined AA this morning so you can expect an apology from him too next time you see him.”
Relaxed again, Cole nods his understanding. “Gotcha.”
“Yeah. So anyway, I wasn’t prepared to see him again quite so soon, and I think I’m still a little bit on the what the fuck just happened side of things in terms of Greg spontaneously showing up on my doorstep. I mean, talk about unannounced…”
“Yeah well, he wanted to see you. What’s wrong with that?”
“Uh, he didn’t just want to see me. He wanted to move in with me. He thinks we’re, like, actually married or something.”
“Come again?”
“Yeah! That’s what I thought! I don’t know if the guy is a lunatic and I just never realized until he went off his meds, or maybe he’s suffered a break from reality, because I’m telling you, he’s bat-shit crazy now.”
“In what way?” Cole asks and raises an interested eyebrow at me; it’s a reminder that I need to watch my words…
“Well, first, get this…somehow he got it in his head that after I refused his offer to stay at his house like three times, it would be totally normal to pretend that his neighbor was his girlfriend when he called her to reassure me it would be fine sleeping there because nothing would happen. Well, something did happen. He went through my purse I think when I was asleep in the guest room and found my address on my new checks.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. Only thing I can think of because I only told him I was living in Lake Arrowhead now, that’s it. Not even that I’m actually here in Crestline.”
“Well, that’s not, um…stalkerish. How’d you find out about the neighbor being his fake girlfriend?”
“Oh, he full-on admitted it when I asked him what happened to his girlfriend.”
“Wow.”
“I know, but wait, there’s more. So, so much more…”
I then launch into the veritable crazy of my night and morning. I explain how Greg showed up late last night, waited for me to come home for however long, he started complaining about how cold it was the second I opened my front door, which he quite literally tried to pick me up and carry me over the threshold of—mind you, I’m emphasizing tried for a reason—so I locked myself in the bathroom using the excuse of needing to check my elbow to see if there was any blood on it after I was first rammed into the doorframe and then basically dropped onto a little table against the wall next to the window, where a pretty Tiffany knockoff lamp I found used to be before it was broken during the whole ordeal of getting myself in the ho
use. While I was in the bathroom and without even asking or saying a word, Greg strips down to his boxers and gets in my bed and passes out. Granted, I used all the hot water taking the longest shower ever because I was hiding from him, but still.
I get to this morning and I’m telling Cole that Greg woke me up by French kissing my freaking eyelids. Cole just raises both his eyebrows until they practically disappear into his hairline while he shakes his head, ‘no.’ It’s quite obvious he’s dying to laugh, and I’d love it if he finally did this evening, but this is really nothing to laugh at. I’m being straight-up serious. The freak kissed my closed eyelids when I was dead asleep. With tongue. Fucking wrong on so many levels…
“Seriously. Do you have any idea how creepy, disgusting, and completely disturbing that is?”
He considers the question briefly. “Sorta. Skull Eater does that.”
“She’s a dog, Cole. Not a grown-ass man with no real grip on reality to speak of.”
“True. Why didn’t you call me?”
“You were in jail, oh hero of mine!”
“Oh yeah. Sorry. I got out early though. If you’d left me a voicemail last night I probably could’ve prevented the eyelid ick factor of your morning.”
I blow out a breath, thinking, if only… “Yeah, well…I didn’t think of that last night. I did this morning though and by then, I was so truly frightened, you have no idea.”
“And you still didn’t call…?”
“No! I couldn’t because the freak-show got a hold of both my phone and my iPad at some point this morning and deleted every number belonging to anyone with a guy’s name, including my new boss’ number who happens to be a woman by the name of Terry. Not only that, but he also deleted every text and the complete and total history of every phone call and FaceTime conversation you and I have ever had. Believe me, I looked everywhere in my phone and iPad that I could think of for your number.” I was also kicking myself but good for using that damned cocktail napkin to wipe with. “I asked him if he’d gone through my stuff and deleted anything and sure as shit, the whacko admitted it! He said, and I quote, ‘Damn straight I did. Can’t have my bride carrying on with another man. Can’t allow you to cuckold me.’ I’m not even kidding. That’s what he said.”