Cole in My Stocking

by Jessi Gage

  “’Morning,” he said, and such sweet longing smacked my heart, I could hardly breathe through it.

  My mouth opened and closed. No sound came out.

  Cole grinned. He slid the sunglasses on and put the truck in gear. Slinging his arm around my headrest, he backed down the driveway. His scent of ocean breeze soap and woodsy cologne reminded me of bonfires on the coast with my friends…only sexier. Once on the road, he took his arm back. “Buckle up, honey.”

  I’d forgotten my seatbelt. I never forgot my seatbelt.

  I hurried to strap myself in.

  His grin got bigger as he hit the gas.

  Forget the truck. Cole ought to come with a safety belt. And air bags. And a roll bar.

  I could fall for this man. Fall hard and not want to get back up. Just lie there, fallen into a safety net of affection and protection, rolling around in it like a horse in the first fresh shoots of spring clover.

  “You okay?” Cole asked as he crossed Route 125 onto Hunt Road. He was taking a route to Derry that would bring us through Kingston and Hampstead. Most journeys from Newburgh to anywhere of note meant crossing several other small towns on winding two-lane roads. “You look freaked.”

  “I’m fine,” I said a mite too quickly. I realized I was fidgeting with the crease in my pants and made myself stop.

  “Don’t freak.”

  “I’m not freaking.” I hated that he could tell I was freaking. And I marveled at the unexpected miracle of this amazing man actually liking me despite everything we’d been through in our separate but related universes.

  His mouth quirked. “You’re freaking. Weirded out about meeting my family?”

  “Maybe,” I admitted.

  “I’m going to introduce you as my girlfriend, you know.”

  Hey, Mom. Here’s my twenty-four year old girlfriend, who was fifteen when I was thirty-one. I was BFFs with her dad.

  I had no problem with the age difference between me and Cole. That didn’t mean his family was going to be psyched about it.

  “Stop freaking,” he said. “You’re going to gnaw a hole through your lip.”

  I made myself knock off the nervous lip-nibbling. “I can’t help it.”

  He reached across the console to put a big, warm hand on my knee. “We’re going to have a good day today, yeah? It’s Christmas.”

  I nodded and attempted a smile.

  “Tell me about the public health place you work at. What does a social worker do?”

  “What doesn’t a social worker do?” I quipped, finding my confidence at last. I launched into a description of what a day in the life of Mandy Holcomb, M.A.C.P., M.P.H. looked like, the phone calls, the counseling, the paperwork, the meetings, the in-service talks I gave once a month at local high-schools, the endless search for more funding. Then I asked Cole what he did. I learned that state troopers did a lot more than just patrol the roads and highways. They supported local law enforcement and carried out their own investigations via the major crime unit Cole’s friend Stacey worked for.

  Before I knew it, half an hour had passed and we were pulling up in front of a large, yellow Craftsman with a wrap-around porch. Colorful lights, plastic reindeer, and a waving snowman balloon made a Christmas playground of the front yard. Giant candy canes lined the walkway up to the house. I felt my smile stretch from ear to ear.

  Cole hopped out and started unloading bags of presents from the truck’s back seat onto the curb.

  “Someone’s been shopping,” I said as I walked around to help. I felt like a heel not having gifts for anybody. Well, there was the one for Cole, but I hadn’t decided whether or not to give it to him yet.

  “Most of these are for my nieces and nephews, but I got a few little things for my brother and sisters. And Ma of course. And Gramps.”

  That was the second time Cole mentioned his mother. He’d never said anything about his father. I wanted to ask why, but couldn’t figure out how to do it tactfully. I settled for, “Wow, big family, huh? How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

  “One older brother, three younger sisters.” He thrust a shopping bag stuffed with presents into my arms. “I’m the only one not married, so expect some well-intentioned scrutiny.” He winked and headed up Candy Cane Lane to knock on a door dressed with a wreath and a knitted decoration spelling out J-O-Y.

  J-U-M-P would have been a better reflection of my state of mind. Had Cole just implied his family would be inspecting me for marriage suitability? Jiminy Christmas! One didn’t just toss out the “m” word when casually conversing with one’s brand new (temporary) girlfriend, especially if he wanted her to exchange coherent greetings with his family.

  A man answered the door. He looked like Cole but not quite as tall and with more hair. This must be his brother.

  “Hey! It’s Cole!” he announced loud enough for the whole house to hear.

  This was met with cries of “Hi, Uncle Cole,” and, “Uncle Cole, Uncle Cole! Come see what Dad gave me in my stocking!” And “Cole, honey, how are you?” The last came from a tall, stocky woman with a gray bob as she barreled toward the door in a mauve pantsuit and a frilly apron streaked with flour. She squeezed past Cole’s brother and hauled Cole inside a narrow, coat-cluttered entryway and then into a fierce hug, presents be damned. “I’m so sorry about Gripper, honey.”

  “Thanks, Ma.”

  “Yeah, bro, me too,” Cole’s brother said. “Must have sucked to be there when your friend passed. Though I’m sure he appreciated it.”

  Cole sniffed and cleared his throat as they exchanged one of those manly, back-thumping hugs. “Yeah, thanks, man.”

  Cole’s mother leaned back to project her voice into the house, “Kids, come take these presents from Uncle Cole and put them under the tree.”

  About half a dozen children of various ages descended on the entryway in a tornado of squeals and grabbing hands. After they made off with the bags Cole and I had been carrying, I felt the need to look down and make sure I still had my purse and pants.

  Only after the kids disappeared did I register what Cole’s brother said. Cole had been there when Dad died?

  I remembered how thick his stubble had been the night he found me with the flat. “Been a long day. Couple-a days, actually.” He’d watched Dad die, then he’d put in a twelve-hour patrol shift. Ever since, he’d been taking care of me. For all Tooley’s huffing and puffing about how he’d been there for Dad, Cole was the one who’d held his hand at the end.

  I searched his eyes as he slung an arm around my shoulders, but he wasn’t looking at me. He was beaming at his mother and brother.

  “Ma, Bill, this is Mandy. Gripper’s daughter. My girlfriend as of last night.”

  His mother gasped. I couldn’t tell if it was a good or bad gasp until she smothered me in a hug. I stood very still while she petted my head and gave me her condolences for my father. “Oh, honey, I couldn’t believe it when Cole told us Gripper was sick. That cancer. Tsk, tsk. That’s what took Cole’s father. Four years ago now, rest his soul.”

  Cole’s father had died of cancer? I caught his gaze, wondering how to extricate myself from the embrace. I wasn’t a hugger. Well, not with anyone but Cole.

  He just stood there with smiling eyes, offering no help at all.

  His mother released me and took both of my hands in both of hers. “How are you coping?” Her eyes, blue like Cole’s and made up with neutral shadow and tasteful mascara, widened as she awaited my answer.

  “Um, fine,” I said. Her intense attention threw me for a loop. I wasn’t used to maternal concern. My throat worked in an awkward swallow.

  “You call me Bernice,” she said. “And you phone me or message me on Facebook if Cole treats you like anything but a queen.”

  “Ma,” Cole said, exasperated, but with affection in his voice.

  Bernice reached past me to tweak Cole’s cheek.

  Bill thrust his hand toward me, and I
shook it. “Nice to meet you,” he said. “Heard a lot about you. And Gripper. Sorry for your loss. My wife, Gina, is around here somewhere. And four of the little monsters are ours. I’d introduce them, but Grandma has them all sugared up. No way they’ll stand still long enough for me to say their names. Come on in out of the cold, you two.” He led the way into a large living room with hardwood floors.

  In case the front yard didn’t effectively communicate the festive occasion, the décor inside screamed Christmas! from top to bottom. The corners were filled with table-top Christmas trees and ornaments. A handsome sideboard along one wall held a Christmas village on a bed of cotton that looked like snow, complete with ice-skating figurines on a mirror-pond. Jars of candy canes and peppermint candy added a holiday touch to the windowsills and mantles. The main attraction was an eight-foot tall Christmas tree taking up the wall between a large, stone fireplace and a bay window that looked out over the front yard. At least I assumed it was a tree. It was cone shaped but otherwise covered with too many lights and too much tinsel to make out exactly what lay underneath.

  Cole helped me out of my jacket, and Bernice took both mine and his down the hall, presumably because the row of coat hooks in the entryway was at capacity. While she was gone, Bill shouted, “Hey Gina!” in the general direction of the kitchen.

  “Yeah?” came a shouted response.

  “Come meet Cole’s girlfriend!”

  “Cole has a girlfriend?” I heard five exclamation points at the end of the feminine shriek, the exact wording of which was repeated by two other women and then in a squeaky voice that had to belong to a pre-teen girl.

  “As of last night!” Bill shouted back at the kitchen, eliciting a chorus of squeals.

  Cole chuckled and pulled me in front of him so I was standing with my back to his front. His forearm banded across my upper chest. The way we were standing, his family would have no doubt that yes, Cole had a girlfriend and I was she. Either he was trying to make that statement, or for reasons of self-preservation he was using me as a shield from the horde of gibbering females clomping in our direction.

  A striking blond woman in a dress with a bold red and white print led the parade out of the kitchen. Skipping at her side was a girl with braces who looked about twelve years old. Behind them was a plump older woman with a dark blond bob who had to be kin to Bernice and a solidly-built woman who looked to be in her thirties wearing a sweater in the exact same shade as the one I had on. She had her dark blond hair scraped back into a ponytail tied with a green ribbon.

  The woman in the red dress stopped in front of me, her bright eyes bouncing between me and Cole.

  Bill slung an arm around her shoulders. “Gina, this is Mandy. Gripper’s daughter.” To me, he said, “This is my wife, Gina, and this is Mallory, our oldest. Bill Junior, Tom, and Zach are our boys. This is our Aunt Suzanne,” he said, indicating the woman with the bob. Nodding at the woman with the ponytail, he said, “This is our sister, Holly. Her husband, Glen, is a cop in Derry. He’s on duty today, but he’ll stop in to say hi. Nancy, Viv, Don, Van, and Gramps aren’t here yet. When they come in, the number of kids will double, so brace yourself.”

  “Nancy and Viv are our other sisters,” Cole said in my ear. “Don and Van are their husbands. Gramps lives with Viv and Van and their kids.”

  Everyone smiled at me warmly. I would never remember all their names.

  “Hi.” I gave a little finger wave. “Thanks for letting me crash your Christmas.”

  Bernice snagged my hand and dragged me to the kitchen. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. You’re not crashing. You’re practically family.”

  I cast a frantic look back at Cole. I didn’t do excited female chit-chat, and I had a feeling that’s what I had in store unless my new boyfriend intervened.

  Grinning from ear to ear, he made no move to rescue me. He actually seemed to be enjoying my panic.

  I narrowed my eyes, sending him the message that he’d pay for this later.

  He winked and headed deeper into the living room with Bill.

  Those Oakleys were going back. First thing in the morning. Unless Cole made this up to me in a big way.

  Chapter 14

  “It’s present time!” Gina announced once the dining room table had been cleared by the older children.

  Christmas dinner had been turkey and gravy, mashed potatoes, yams, green bean casserole, cranberry sauce, and the best stuffing I’d ever tasted. Though dinner had been scheduled for two p.m., the turkey hadn’t “popped” until four thirty. The lengthened cooking time had confounded Bernice. No one else had been surprised, since she had a habit of opening the oven door to ponder the doneness of the turkey while letting out all the heat. She had done this several times per hour until her eighty-five-year-old father, whom everyone called Great Grandpa, had taken a break from frosting cookies to stand guard over the oven door. “I’ll pop you if you touch that oven door one more time, Bernie!” He’d slapped a rolling pin against his palm for emphasis. “Every time you do it, the damn thing needs to preheat all over again.”

  “How else will I know when it’s done?” Cole’s mom had said.

  “When we all drop dead from starvation. That’s when it’ll be done if you keep opening that door!”

  Cole had guided me though the kitchen as if his mother and grandfather hadn’t been shouting at each other, and made me his accomplice in plundering the cheese and cracker tray.

  “Here,” he’d said. “You carry the pickles and olives. I’ll get a new box of Ritz from the pantry. You need another Coke, honey?”

  Meanwhile, three feet away, “You had to have been switched at birth with my real daughter. My real daughter would know how to cook a turkey!”

  Hooking an arm around my neck, Cole had steered me out of the kitchen.

  “Is this normal?” I’d asked over the snack-laden plate in my hands.

  “Is what normal?” That had been answer enough.

  Cole had a big, boisterous family, and they had all gathered in this house for the holiday to love each other the way people who have known each other a lifetime do. I found the dynamic fascinating, probably because this family was completely different from mine. For Dad and me, Christmas had usually included an exchange of unwrapped, utilitarian gifts like flashlights and pocket knives and a pizza from Bruno’s to be consumed in front of the TV. We would watch the characters from our favorite Christmas movies work out their problems in lieu of acknowledging our own.

  Eventually, the turkey made it to the ten-foot, antique table, which was set with mismatched, everyday plates and silverware. The older kids sat with the adults while the younger ones ran around and played. Each of Cole’s siblings got up at least a dozen times to feed, change, or correct a little one. Direct relation to a child didn’t seem to be a prerequisite. Everyone pitched in with all the kids. This made it hard to remember who belonged to whom, but the demonstration of family closeness left me as sated as the delicious meal. Not once had anyone raised their voice with any real anger. Not once had anyone insulted anyone else. Not once had anyone made me feel unwelcome or unworthy.

  After depositing a load of dirty silverware in the dishwasher, I found Cole helping Holly arrange the kids into a semicircle around the tree. When he saw me, his face lit up, and he extended his arm. I snuggled right up against his side, where I’d been pretty much all day except for the initial hour of female getting-to-know-the-new-girl time. He’d hardly left my side since reclaiming me from the estrogen-laden kitchen, so I’d decided he was forgiven. Also, it hadn’t been that painful. The women in Cole’s family were friendly and welcoming and actually pretty fun to talk to.

  He drew me down with him onto an overstuffed, plaid-patterned loveseat.

  Gina clapped once and said, “I’ll be Santa. Is everyone here? Zach, where’s Nathan and Bill Junior?”

  “Upstairs playing with Grandpa’s train set,” Gina’s youngest said.

  Bill pushed
himself off the couch with a groan. “I’ll go get them.” He pecked Gina beside her lipsticked lips on his way to the stairs.

  A few minutes later, Bill herded his two older sons into the living room, and the crowd was complete, if not exactly orderly. Smooshed beside me and Cole on the loveseat was Viv, Cole’s youngest sister, who was eight years older than me and nursing a one-year-old. Viv chatted animatedly with another of Cole’s sisters, Nancy, who sat on the end of the nearby couch. Nancy was pregnant out to here with twins. Her husband, Don, yakked with Bill over by the window while he nudged a pudgy toddler back toward the other kids with a foot. Holly, Cole’s oldest sister, was waving a prettily-wrapped present before Cole’s little nieces and nephews, attempting to bribe them into compliance, I assumed. Bernice was perched on the arm of the couch, telling Gina which presents to start with. Viv’s husband, Van, was next to Bernice, looking haggard but happy. And Cole’s grandfather was deep into a turkey coma over in the recliner.

  Gina and her daughter, Molly, worked together to distribute presents. Gina kept reminding everyone to wait until all the presents were handed out before opening them. A few of the younger kids couldn’t quite manage this feat, and the adults greeted their lack of patience with fond smiles instead of harsh words.

  While the two “Santas” handed out parcels wrapped in shiny paper or tucked into gift bags, Cole kept his eyes on me. His gaze was soft, a tummy-tingling contrast to his usual intensity. He was probably checking to make sure I didn’t feel weird about not having anything to open. He needn’t have bothered.

  The kids all had a lot of presents, but most of the adults only had a few. I didn’t mind not having one, and I’d decided to return the Oakleys tomorrow, so I wouldn’t have an awkward moment of giving Cole something and him feeling weird about not having anything to give me.

  I returned the smile in his eyes, happy just to be here to share this experience. This was how I’d always imagined family should be, but it was completely disparate from the reality I’d known. Cole and I had only been together for a short time, but I knew I would cherish the chaotic beauty of this day for the rest of my life.