All I Want for Christmas (Underlined Paperbacks)

by Wendy Loggia

Charlie sighs, pushing his sweater sleeves up. “I know. There are so many people out there who have so little. It’s easy not to see them when we get caught up in our busy lives.”

  I look around, wondering if Reya is one of the ladies playing cards. “Do all the tags come from people who live here?”

  Charlie shakes his head. “No. Some of them are Stewart residents, but each year they help out different organizations. Usually it’s a mix of residential homes for people with physical disabilities and schools and retirement homes.” He holds up his tag. “Schools get angel tags, the residential homes get the wreaths, and the residents of the retirement homes get the trees.”

  I didn’t think it was possible, but being here puts me even more in the holiday mood. I love all the traditions I have with my friends and family, but it feels good to think outside of myself and help someone who might not have such a good Christmas.

  “I think this is the one I’m going to take.” Charlie lifts a tag off a tree. Richard, 83, a power cord and AAA batteries. “And I might just have to supplement it with an electric blanket…and maybe a winter coat,” he says, a twinkle in his eye.

  My eyes widen. I didn’t realize you can buy things other than what’s on the tag. But why not? The holidays are all about generosity and kindness. And really, how can you just give someone a power cord? Nothing says “bah humbug” like an eight-pack of batteries.

  The lady who had been working on the crossword puzzle comes over to us. “It’s so nice to see young people doing good deeds,” she says, touching my arm. She smells like lavender. “Makes my heart happy. Also, I love your scarf!”

  I smile at her. Old people are so cute. They make me think of my grandpa. “It makes my heart happy too. And thank you.”

  “Margie, hello!” the lady says, greeting a woman who works there as she walks by, a cheerful smile on her face.

  “Thanks for your help organizing the gift table, Louise,” Margie says, nodding across the room. “Can’t wait until we get to pass them all out.”

  Louise winks. “Well, we don’t get to do it. Santa does, remember.”

  Margie winks back. “Ahhh, that’s right—the man with the bag!” She hurries off down the corridor.

  Louise points over to a folding table that contains a small pile of wrapped gifts. “All you need to do is enter the number of your tag into this book and bring the wrapped gift back by Friday at seven p.m. with the tag taped to it. No bows.”

  “Friday?” I repeat. That makes sense—obviously they have to get the gifts back before Christmas so there is enough time to pass them out—but that’s just two days away. There are a lot of tags still on the tree.

  “So what happens to the tags that aren’t taken off the tree?” I ask, furrowing my brow. I’m afraid to find out the answer.

  Louise lets out a long sigh. “Well, it’s what you’d expect—they won’t get gifts.” I can tell it bothers her—and it bothers me too. I reach up and take one tag off. And then another. And another. Jade and Reya and Richard and Chiara and Javante and Sydney…I’m not sure how I am going to pay for all of them, but the holiday spirit has come over me and I just can’t stop. I am a tag-taking machine.

  Louise has been watching me and now she lets out a little gasp. “Oh my goodness. Girls!” She gestures to the other residents. “Look what they’re doing.” She lowers her voice. “Don’t let him get away,” she tells me, pointing at Charlie, who thankfully is talking with Mr. Radcliffe. “A young man as kindhearted as he is? He’s almost too good to be true!” She pinches my cheek. “And you—you’re an absolute doll. Charlie, she’s a beauty and generous—this one’s a keeper!”

  Charlie looks over at us and laughs. “I wouldn’t argue with that, Louise.” He reaches out and takes the few remaining tags off the tree. “Like I said the other day,” he says, looking at me with his warm hazel eyes that could reach into the depths of my soul and send a kaleidoscope of butterflies loose in my chest, “Bailey Briggs, you are forever and always on the nice list.”

  * * *

  • • •

  When I get home from the Stewart Center, I’m just in time for dinner…kind of. My family has all waited for me and everyone is a little salty about it.

  “I never said you had to wait,” I say, piling some baked rigatoni on my plate. “Don’t make me the bad guy.”

  Liam just grabs a crescent roll and grunts—he is too busy eating to argue with me. Karolyn rolls her eyes as she pours ranch dressing on her salad. “While you were out with your friends, you missed all the fun. Unloading the dishwasher, setting the table, chopping celery…”

  Thankfully my parents are too busy chattering about problems at their jobs, the stock market, and dentist appointments—they aren’t paying any attention to what my sister is saying. So much for quality time at family dinners.

  “I wasn’t with my friends,” I whisper under my breath. “If you have to know…I was out with this guy.” I shoot a look at Liam to make sure he isn’t listening. When it comes to my dating life, he is strictly on a need-to-know basis. And he rarely, if ever, needs to know. “And we were doing a good deed.”

  “Like what?” Kar asks, arching an eyebrow.

  “Cheering up senior citizens.” I give her the two-minute version of my time at the Stewart Center.

  But to my surprise, my sister doesn’t look impressed. “Santa’s nice list isn’t actually a thing, Bailey. You aren’t going to get service points for helping a bunch of old people.”

  Now Dad is stressing to Mom the importance of getting an oil change before the end of the year. I gape at my sister. “I can’t believe you just said that.”

  “Yeah, well, most people stop believing in Santa when they’re—”

  I wave my fork at her, sending a rigatoni noodle flying onto my place mat. “Not that, but that’s a whole other level of nonsense.” I blow out a hot, angry breath at my sister’s insensitive words. “I wasn’t doing this for ‘service points,’ ” I insist. “I was doing it because the person I was meeting thought it might be a fun way to spend the afternoon while at the same time doing something good for someone else.”

  Karolyn holds up her hands. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I wasn’t trying to make you all mad or anything. Chill.”

  “You chill,” I tell her, shaking my head.

  She takes a dainty bite of salad. “So who’s the person you were meeting, anyway?” she asks at the same time Mom asks, “Who wants more pasta?” and holds up a silver serving spoon.

  I wipe my lips on my napkin. “Not me—I’m full. Thanks, Mom.” I leave the table to go rinse off my dishes in the sink. Dickens trots over, hoping for a crumb. I pat his soft white head instead.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” Karolyn says, coming up behind me. “Who were you with?”

  “This guy I met a couple weeks ago,” I tell her, opening the dishwasher and putting my silverware inside.

  My sister whips out her phone, her finger hovering over the buttons. “Is he in your grade? What’s his name?”

  I shake my head. “He doesn’t go to Bedford and he’s not on social media.”

  Karolyn’s eyes widen, as if I’ve just told her Charlie is a bank robber. “That’s so weird.”

  I shrug. “I think it’s kind of cool,” I tell her. I don’t think it’s weird, exactly, but I would have liked to stalk him a little if I could. “Guess he just likes his privacy.”

  She mulls this over. “It does make him kind of mysterious.”

  “It does, doesn’t it,” I say thoughtfully. But after my sister leaves the room, I take out my phone. Louise had taken a photo of the two of us today, standing in front of the tree, holding our tags and smiling for the camera. She only took one picture, but thankfully it was in focus. There’s something about Charlie’s eyes that pull me in…but keep me at arm’s length.

  I can’t s
hake the feeling that Charlie has a lot more secrets—just like that hidden lion tattoo—up his sweatered sleeve.

  The next morning, I wake up with a start and throw off my comfy down comforter before realizing this isn’t a normal school day and I don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn. Sighing, I flop back on my flannel sheets, pulling my pillow toward me in a happy hug. “No more school for two weeks,” I whisper, yawning before falling back asleep for three more hours.

  When I finally reopen my eyes, the sun is streaming through my half-raised shades. The house is completely silent. I pick up my phone and look at our family group chat. My parents are at work, Liam is out for a run, and Karolyn is out to breakfast with her friends. Having the house all to myself is a rare and special occasion. I slide out of bed and pad down to the kitchen in my T-shirt and shorts. Dickens is asleep in his beanbag and barely lifts his head when I walk in.

  I pour myself a glass of orange juice and pop a slice of rye bread into the toaster. Today I have to shop until I drop. The Stewart Center gifts need to be turned in tomorrow—Louise reminded me of this several times when I signed the book. The pile of gift tags is where I left it, on the desk in our kitchen.

  I pick it up and look at each tag. Some of the items aren’t too expensive—the batteries, mascara, a pair of gloves. But some things do sound a little out of my price range. I chew on my cuticle. I don’t have a great sense of how much things cost. Like…how much is a queen-sized comforter? Or a Packers jersey? Or a soccer ball and cleats?

  Trying not to panic, I turn on the TV on our kitchen counter. “The countdown is on,” the perky reporter is saying. She is standing in the middle of a crowded shopping mall. “If you didn’t take advantage of all that free holiday delivery we told you about last week, guys, well, you’ve most likely missed the window with most retailers. Unless you’re willing to pay big bucks for expedited delivery—and no guarantees that packages will reach you on time—you’re going to have to do your shopping the old-fashioned way. Fighting through the hustle and bustle. Jim, back to you in the studio!”

  “What was I thinking?” I mumble, cradling my head in my hands. Yesterday I’d been swept up in Christmas Magic. Today I am facing Christmas Fear. It had taken me forever to pick out the string of fairy lights to give to Phoebe. The good thing is I don’t have to guess what people want—it’s all spelled out on the tags—but how long is it going to take to find all these things? It’s probably too late to order online, and there’s definitely no room in my budget for rush shipping fees.

  My phone buzzes. It’s a Snap from Jacob. His face looms large on my screen. So there’s this thing called Holiday Carnival reads the caption in the Glow font.

  Wow. After a few days without seeing him, I wasn’t expecting to wake up to this. I immediately send him an equivalent Snap of my face with a caption that reads I’m familiar with it and add an avocado sticker over my mouth.

  Another picture of his face, this time with the psychedelic glasses filter. Do you want to go with me?

  I hesitate, the conversation I’d had with Mellie the other day ringing in my ears. It has been a few days since I’ve seen Jacob. Does that mean he doesn’t like me, like me? Or does it mean he was just busy? Maybe he just wants to be friends and is asking me as a friend. Not everything has to mean something.

  I think back to our day together at Marleys’ Christmas Tree Farm. The trees, the snow, the tree tag—it was awesome. But then I think back to the day I went sledding with Charlie and the Parker kids. That had been a really fun day too.

  Technically there is no reason why I can’t go to the carnival with Jacob. I’ve heard people talking about it at school and it sounds really fun. But part of me feels guilty, as if I’m somehow cheating on Charlie if I spend time with Jacob. Would Charlie’s feelings be hurt if he knew I was spending the day with Jacob? Or would Jacob get offended if he knew I spent yesterday with Charlie? Relationships are so confusing.

  You could just DTR it, the Mellie in my mind reminded me.

  “No,” I whisper angrily to Mind Mellie. I am not about to ask Jacob to DTR our relationship. Or our situationship. Our whatevership.

  Something had occurred to me last night. I was texting my friends and finally telling them a little more about my friendship with Charlie—I’d decided it wasn’t right to only confide in Mellie—and how we’d gone to the Stewart Center together. The truth—and it is a little disconcerting to admit it—is that nothing remotely romantic has happened between me and Charlie. No holding hands, no kissing, not even any Oops, we were almost kissing moments. Sure, the situations we have been in are romantic, and Charlie and his dimples are about the hottest things I’ve ever seen, but when I think about it, all our interactions have been totally platonic. Our last “date” together was at a retirement home, for Pete’s sake.

  Am I reading into something that isn’t even there?

  Rut-ro.

  A Snapchat message pops up. Yo you still there?

  And even though I should be freaking out about all the gifts I have to buy, a strange calmness settles over me. Don’t ask me how, but I instinctively know everything is going to work out okay. After all, good things always happen at Christmas—and Santa told me never to stop believing in the magic.

  I chug the rest of my juice and put the glass down so hard on the counter, Dickens’s head pops up like a prairie dog’s. What time can you pick me up?

  • • •

  The Holiday Carnival is in full swing by the time we arrive and park the truck in a makeshift parking lot in a field. There are aisles of jewelry, pottery, candles, quirky art prints, and holiday crafts from a variety of vendors, all set up in cozy temporary stalls. Garlands frame the stall entrances, and overhead, strings of large holiday bulbs zigzag, giving the market a festive glow. The familiar notes of A Charlie Brown Christmas play over tinny-sounding speakers.

  “Wait, where is that hot chocolate place?” Jacob asks as we pass a stall selling leather belts and cross-body bags. He hasn’t held my hand today, but he purposefully knocked into my shoulder a couple times, pulled my ponytail, and rested his chin on my shoulder while we were waiting in one of the food lines. It seems like he’s trying to be close to me. I’m deliberating asking him about the other day at the mall. I’m dying to know if he went there with Kaylee and Jessica. But I don’t want to bring it up and ruin the fun we’re having.

  I blink in amazement as I watch him look in earnest for the hot chocolate stall. “Seriously? I’m so stuffed!” We already shared a paper boat filled with maple glazed mini-doughnuts, truffle fries, and a warm pull-apart pretzel, washing it all down with hot mulled cider.

  He rubs his stomach. “Bottomless pit and proud of it.”

  I groan as we pass a cart selling caramel-covered apples. “I don’t even want to see food.”

  “So…I guess that means stopping at the diner later is out of the question?” Jacob tries putting his hands together like he’s praying.

  I dead-eye him. “Not answering that.”

  We’ve been here long enough that the sun is slowly setting. I am starting to get a little cold in my chunky sweater and skinny jeans, and my boots are pinching my toes. The lights above the stalls have turned on, making everything look extra fairylike now.

  I take out my phone to check the time. It’s 5:30. As much as I’m having a good time, I have to get home. I decide I’m going to come clean to my parents and tell them about the gift tags. They won’t be happy, but they can’t argue with my good intentions. We’ll have to hit one of the superstores that’s open for late-night shopping. But I’m not about to let Louise or the other residents down.

  At the end of the aisle, we come to an outdoor ice-skating rink framed by a white picket fence. Couples are holding hands and smiling as they skate past us. Jacob rolls his eyes. “So cliché, right? Holiday skating rink.”

  I shrug. “I
think it’s nice.”

  “Oh,” Jacob says, sounding surprised. “Are you a good skater?”

  “Mmmm, I wouldn’t go that far,” I say, remembering the last time I was on the ice—the day I met Charlie. “But I think it’s a fun thing to do.”

  “So are you saying you want to skate?” Jacob asks me.

  I shake my head. I could literally feel the junk food sloshing around in my stomach. “I just like watching. I make up stories in my head about the people.”

  Jacob grins. “Love that. Okay, what’s their deal?” He points to a guy and girl who look like they are in college. They are very good skaters. The girl has on a skate skirt and tights.

  I tap my chin. “Okay, he’s very into skating and secretly wishes he could go to the Olympics. She feels the same way about the Olympics, but she’s not interested in him romantically. But neither of them has told the other how they feel.”

  Jacob nods. “I could believe that. What about them?” This time he is looking at a couple who are probably my parents’ age. The man is tall with a goatee, and the woman has short blond hair and is wearing a bright magenta jacket. They are skating really slowly and the woman is laughing a lot.

  “First date,” I say confidently. “She wanted to do something fun in case she ran out of things to say to him. He’s just happy to be out on a date—he hasn’t dated much since his wife left him for their plumber.”

  “And how’s it going?” Jacob asks, leaning against the fence. “Their date, I mean.”

  “Very well,” I say as the man reaches for the blond woman’s hand. “In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he tries to kiss her right out there on the ice. It’s the quintessential spot for a first-date kiss.”

  Jacob isn’t looking at the ice rink anymore. Instead, he is staring right at me. “Wait,” he says, cupping my face with his hand.

  My breath kind of hiccups in my throat. What is happening right now? Never breaking our gaze, he reaches up and brushes my cheek with his fingertips. “You have some serious doughnut crumbs on your face.”