Boyfriend Shopping: Shopping for My BoyfriendMy Only WishAll I Want for Christmas Is You

by Earl Sewell

  Dad looks at her as if she’s suddenly gone completely nuts. “Why should I pay someone fifty bucks an hour to do something that I’m fully capable of doing myself?”

  Mom sighs like she can’t believe he’s being so hardheaded. “Have you forgotten what happened last year?”

  “No, I haven’t forgotten what happened last year, but I also don’t want my kids to have fond memories of another man—a stranger—putting up our family decorations.”

  “And somehow, I doubt that they’ll even care,” Mom says wearily. “Bree, would you mind if Daddy hired someone to put the holiday lights up this year?”

  “No,” I say. “Actually, I would prefer it.”

  My mother winks and gives me a thumbs-up. “Good answer, baby girl!”

  “Well, we can all just agree to disagree,” Dad says grumpily and then marches out to the garage to collect the lights, the ladder and all the other tools he needs.

  My mother and I look at each other and shake our heads, knowing it’s only going to be a matter of time before Daddy starts yelling for help.

  * * *

  I love Christmas. But what really lets me know that the holiday is just around the corner is when our elderly neighbor Mrs. Womack comes over to gift us with one of her homemade fruitcakes right before the Thanksgiving holiday. She’s a sweet lady, but no one ever eats them because they look and smell absolutely horrible.

  When the doorbell rings, I rush to answer it, thinking that it’s Jordan. Instead, Mrs. Womack is standing on our doorstep with another one of her not-so-tasty creations.

  “Happy holidays, neighbor!” she sings out, handing me the fruitcake.

  “And happy holidays to you, too!” I say, matching her cheerfulness.

  My mother hates to see Mrs. Womack coming this time of year, but when she joins us at the door, you would never know it.

  “Mrs. Womack...hello!” Mom says as if she’s glad to see her. “Earl and I were talking about you just the other day, and we were wondering when you were going to stop by.”

  It’s true that my parents were talking about her the other day, but if I remember correctly, Mom said, “I sure hope Mrs. Womack passes us by with that horrible fruitcake this year!”

  “Evelyn, why don’t you come in and have some cake and coffee with me,” my mother offers.

  “Oh, thank you, but I’ve got to get going,” says Mrs. Womack. “I’ve got a lot more deliciousness to deliver before it gets dark.”

  I suppress a chuckle. Good luck with that!

  “Well, thanks again, Evelyn, and God bless you,” Mom says.

  “And you, too, darling.”

  Over Mrs. Womack’s shoulder, I see an unfamiliar vehicle slow down in front of the house. Jordan! Butterflies start dancing in my stomach, and I have to force myself to stop smiling so hard. I feel awkward standing in the doorway, looking like a dork, so I drop the fruitcake on the kitchen counter and dash into the bathroom to make sure my hair looks okay and that I don’t have any foreign objects in my nose or teeth.

  “Bree,” my mom calls. “There’s a handsome young man here to see you!”

  I take a deep breath and open the bathroom door. When I walk back into the living room, I see Lance standing there instead of Jordan.

  “You two have a nice chat. I’m going to go check in on Noelle and make sure she’s still napping,” Mom says, leaving the room.

  “Great!” I snap at Lance. “What do you want?”

  “Your dad offered me lunch in exchange for helping him with the outdoor decorations, and of course I wanted to see you, too,” he says as if it’s perfectly all right.

  “Well, I have a date who’s on his way over here, so hi, and ’bye!”

  “Who’s coming to visit? Twinkle toes?”

  “His name is Jordan—get it right.”

  “Yeah, I saw the pictures you were tagged in on Facebook with the two of you hanging out in New York City. What’s up with that?”

  “Ha! You have some nerve thinking I owe you an explanation for anything that I do,” I say. “Now, why don’t you go upstairs and say hello to Tiffany.”

  “I will say hello to Tiffany because she’s my friend. Anything other than that is just a figment of your imagination.”

  Did he really just say that? Once again, I’m out-of-my-mind crazy, and he’s the sane, rational one. Okay...got it.

  “Dad!” I scream as if a burglar were standing in front of me instead of my ex-boyfriend.

  My father makes it inside in five seconds flat. “What’s all the screaming about?” he asks, trying to catch his breath.

  “Why do you keep inviting him over here when you know we’re no longer together?”

  “Lance is my buddy,” Dad explains. “Just because you two broke up doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.”

  “Actually, yes it does,” I insist. “How am I expected to go on with my life when my ex keeps lurking around like some lunatic stalker?”

  “Oh, come on now. That’s a little harsh!” Dad says, taking Lance’s side.

  Just then, Tiffany walks through the room on her way to the kitchen. As usual, she’s chattering away on her cell phone. She doesn’t seem to notice or care that Lance is here, so I’m guessing that things are cooling off between the two of them. Or it could just be all an act. Either way, I’m not even going to try to entertain Jordan in the midst of all this chaos.

  I call Jordan’s cell phone, praying that I can reach him before he gets over here.

  “Hey, Bree,” he says when he picks up. “I’m five minutes away.”

  “That’s fine,” I say, eyeing Dad and Lance. “But there’s been a change in plans.”

  fifteen

  Instead of hanging out at my house like we originally planned, Jordan and I go see a movie and then wind up downtown at Rotary Rink in Fountain Plaza. After one too many funnel cakes and hot chocolate, I’m zipping around the skating rink twirling, leaping and doing one-legged spins like a competitive skater. Jordan may be a top-notch dancer, but on ice skates, it’s like he has two left feet. He’s so uncoordinated; he keeps slipping and wobbling on the ice like a gangly newborn calf.

  My scarf flaps in the wind as I whiz by Jordan at a high rate of speed. Out of nowhere, a little kid jumps in my way and stalls. I slow down to keep from crashing into the kid, but I slide into a fishtail, lose my balance and fall on the ice with a very ungraceful thud. The thing about ice-skating is that no matter how good you are, chances are still high that you will fall down and bust your butt. It’s embarrassing.

  Jordan catches up with me and offers me a hand up. “You okay?” he asks, and I can tell he’s trying not to laugh in my face.

  “I’m fine,” I say, dusting chunks of ice off my jeans. “But what about you? You’re laughing at me, but you haven’t made it around the ring one time without falling down.”

  “Hey, I never claimed to be a strong skater.” Jordan laughs. “And besides, these skates are a size too small.”

  “Yeah, right,” I tease. “Any excuse will do.”

  “But since you’re so badass that you can stand on pointe in ice skates, maybe you can teach me a thing or two,” Jordan says.

  I demonstrate a piqué en arabesque followed by a simple plié. “Okay, now you try it,” I say.

  Jordan tries to copy my moves, but since he’s not as graceful on ice skates as he is in ballet shoes, he starts falling backward, and it seems like it’s in slow motion. I try to stop him from falling, but he’s way too heavy for me to hold up, and all I can think is Timber!

  Jordan flails around as he’s falling and accidentally pulls me down to the floor with him. I land on top of him, and our lips are just centimeters apart. It’s cold, but I can still feel the warmth of his heart beating underneath me. He looks at me, then pulls me cl
oser to him and kisses me on the mouth. I am taken completely by surprise because it is a kiss that means business.

  “I’ve been wanting to do that for a long time,” he tells me.

  “And exactly how long is that?”

  “Since the day I met you.”

  I kiss him back, loving the way it feels when his chest fills with air, lifting my body up toward the sky. “Get a room!” someone yells as they skate by. Jordan and I erupt into laughter, along with everyone else who overheard the comment.

  Never in a million years would I have guessed that things with Jordan Patterson would get to this point, but now that we’re here, it feels like I’m walking on sunshine. And I have to admit, it feels good.

  sixteen

  “Say ‘Merry Christmas!’” the woman behind the camera lens says.

  “Merry Christmas!” I say along with the rest of my family, hoping we don’t all end up looking like we’ve been paused in a bad spot on the DVR, like we usually do. We’re late taking the annual family Christmas-card photo this year because it slipped Mom’s mind to make the appointment, which she blamed on her “pregnancy brain.”

  So here we are with Christmas a little over three weeks away, and my days are filled with endless Christmas-related activities. Yesterday it was the mayor’s Christmas-tree-lighting ceremony, and then Dad and I went on a hunt for the most massive Douglas fir tree we could find. We finally found the perfect tree and dragged it home. It took hours to trim and decorate, but it’s so beautiful, it was totally worth it.

  This year things are even more hectic than usual since I am in rehearsals for The Nutcracker, and my mother is due to give birth at any minute now. I’m hoping for a little brother, but we won’t know the sex of the baby until it’s born because my mom says she prefers it that way.

  After leaving the photographer’s studio, Mom and I drop Dad and Noelle off at home, then head straight to White Rock Baptist Church. In our family, we have at least a dozen annual holiday traditions, and one of them is to go donate toys and canned goods to a local homeless shelter and then spread the gift of music to the residents who live there. So all of us choir members are here at the church now to do a quick run-through of the medley of Christmas carols that we’re going to sing later on this evening.

  Right after I won the role of Snow Queen, I had to quit all of my other after-school activities, except choir practice, which I couldn’t get out of even if I wanted to because my mom happens to be the choir director.

  “All right, everybody, listen up! Sopranos, your whole section is flat, and, altos, turn up the volume a bit. I can’t hear you!” my mom yells like a tyrant.

  She’s so close to her due date now, she’s already taken maternity leave from her job at Bison elementary school, where she works as a fourth-grade teacher. And while her belly may be huge, she still isn’t taking any mess from anyone when it comes to her music. “Mark, spit that gum out, and, Bree, stand up straight.”

  Mom is very gifted musically. She’s held just about every music-related position there is to be had in our church: pianist, music director, choir director and lead soloist in the women’s adult choir. On top of all that, she even mimes and praise dances from time to time. My mom is all that when it comes to music, and she doesn’t mind tooting her own horn, even when it’s not appropriate.

  * * *

  “Deck the halls with boughs of holly, fa la la la la, la la la la. ’Tis the season to be jolly, fa la la la la, la la la la...”

  According to the program director that greeted us, City of Refuge is filled to capacity with families who have fallen on hard times and have nowhere else to go. I’m looking around as we’re singing, and I see a lot of smiling faces, despite the unfortunate circumstances they are in. I also see a few familiar faces, like Lance’s mother, Ms. Thompson, and his younger siblings, Aaron and Ericka. I’m taken aback and confused. What are they doing here, and where is Lance? When we’ve finished singing our final song, Aaron and Ericka jump from their seats and run up to me and hug me around the waist. “Bree, we missed you!” Aaron says, looking like a miniature version of Lance.

  “I missed you guys, too,” I say. “Are you here visiting or something?”

  “No, we live here,” Ericka blurts out before Aaron covers her mouth with his hand. I gaze over at Lance’s mom, who seems reluctant to come talk to me. When she finally does, she hugs me around the neck and says, “Hey, pretty girl, long time, no see.” Ms. Thompson is a beautiful woman, but seeing her up close she looks worn-out and sad, like someone who has been carrying the weight of the world on their shoulders. I have so many questions, but I don’t think it is my place to question Lance’s mother as to why they are apparently living at the shelter.

  My own mother must have read my thoughts, because she whispers for me to go ahead and help pass out the toys while she has a talk with Ms. Thompson.

  * * *

  “I had no idea what was going on with Brenda, but they have been homeless for almost four months,” my mother tells me on the car ride home from City of Refuge.

  And then she goes on to explain that Ms. Thompson worked at a local post office for many years, but a year ago, the postal service closed several locations in our area, causing Lance’s mom to lose her job. According to what she told my mom, Ms. Thompson’s plan was to fall back on the medical training she’d received while serving in the military, but unfortunately her unemployment benefits ran out before she could find another steady job, and before she knew it, their house had gone into foreclosure and they found themselves with nowhere to go.

  “Wow, that’s messed up,” I say, realizing that you never really know what people are going through. Lance is the type of person who is always smiling and laughing. Even if he’s having a bad day, you would never know it unless he told you.

  Now some things are starting to make sense. For instance, Lance and I grew up together on the same block, but a few months before our breakup, his family suddenly vacated their house and no one seemed to know where they had moved. Even when I asked him point-blank where they lived now, he never gave me a straight answer. Instead, he said, “We live way on the other side of town now.” And he just left it at that. Since Lance was always at my house anyway, I never really thought that much of it. It just never occurred to me that someone I knew could actually wind up homeless.

  “So where is Lance, and why wasn’t he there tonight?” I ask Mom as she navigates through traffic.

  “Brenda told me that he’s having a hard time dealing with everything that’s going on, so he tries to stay overnight with friends as often as he possibly can.”

  Even though I’ve despised him for the past couple of months, I feel bad for Lance. He may have cheated on me with my own cousin, but I wouldn’t wish what he’s going through on my worst enemy. If it wasn’t for the grace of God, my family and I could be in the exact same position.

  seventeen

  I’m brushing my teeth and getting ready for bed, and all I can think about is the fact that Lance and his family don’t have a nice, warm home to call their own. I know times are tough for a lot of families, but this is America, and I just don’t think anyone should have to live like that. One thing’s for sure, though: knowing that some people are going without the basics makes me more grateful for the things I do have.

  I’m in my room putting on my pajamas when Tiffany walks in. Since she and Lance are such good friends, surely she must have some answers. The thing is, we rarely talk except to ask each other to pass the salt or ketchup.

  “Hey, Tiff, can we talk for a second?”

  “If it’s about Lance again, then I’d rather not,” she says with more attitude than I think is necessary.

  “As a matter of fact, it is about Lance, but I just have one question to ask you.”

  Tiffany sighs and rolls her eyes. “Okay, shoot.�
��

  “Did you know that Lance and his family are homeless and living at City of Refuge?”

  Tiffany looks surprised by the question, but I can see her soften up a little bit. “So he finally told you, huh?”

  “Not exactly,” I say. “We gave away toys and sang at the shelter tonight, and I saw Lance’s family while we were there. Mom talked to Ms. Thompson, and she said that they’ve been living at the shelter for months now.”

  “Well, now you know. You always thought there was some big secret between us and that we were hiding something from you—and that’s what it was,” Tiffany says sincerely. “That’s what we were talking about when you overheard me telling him to tell you the truth.”

  “So how is it that you knew?” I ask.

  “Because for about three months before I came to live here, Mom and I were living at the same shelter,” Tiffany says and then breathes a long deep sigh of relief, like she’s finally happy to have gotten that off her chest.

  I am in complete shock. “You and Aunt Linda were homeless? Why is it that the rest of the family didn’t know?”

  “Most people don’t go around broadcasting things like that, Bree. It’s embarrassing, and that’s why Lance didn’t want you to know what he’s going through,” Tiffany tells me. “I thought he should have told you from the very beginning, but for some reason, his pride just wouldn’t let him.”

  “But I was his girlfriend. He could have talked to me about anything,” I say. “Well, I was his girlfriend until—”

  “You had it all wrong, Bree. Lance never cheated on you with me. Neither one of us would ever do that to you,” she says. “I should have never let things go this far. I would have told you myself, but I promised Lance that I wouldn’t.”

  “But what about all the times people said they saw the two of you together out in public, and when Noelle said that Lance came over to see you when no one else was here?”

  Tiffany laughs and shakes her head at me.

  “You have the perfect parents, and a perfect life, so you’ll never know this firsthand, but the food they serve in homeless shelters is horrible,” Tiffany tells me. “Noelle was telling the truth. Lance did come over that day, and, yes, I gave him food, but since he has diabetes, I was just making sure he got something decent to eat, just like I was doing all those other times people told you that they saw us together.”