by Deena Bright
Putting the Hershey’s syrup back down, I close the fridge, smiling. Going to “her” cupboard, I get a bag of M&Ms and grab another beer for her and a water for me. Yes, she has a snack cupboard. Char and I do not exactly eat the same types of food. I prefer a clean diet, raw vegetables and lean meats and protein. To date, I have never seen Char eat a vegetable or anything remotely healthy. She claims she eats a lot of salads, but I’ve never seen her consume one.
Each night, after spending a few hours in my room, she always wants some snacks. According to Char, green peppers and carrots are not considered a snack in her book. So on my last trip to the grocery store, I picked up few items that I thought she’d like.
Yep, you got it.
Whipped.
And not of the cream variety.
Sitting next to her on the bed, with pillows propped against the headboard, we snack on M&Ms and soy nuts. (You can guess who snacks on what.) “I’ve never had this much fun not having sex in a bedroom,” I say, returning to our game.
“Well shit, I can’t even drink to that, because I have never had this much fun clothed in a bedroom either,” she jokes, nudging against me. “Give me another one.”
“Alright, I’ve never had sex with a girl who was… ummm… who was… completely bare,” I say, wiggling my eyebrows.
“Is that something you’d like to try?” she asks, curiously.
“Couldn’t hurt,” I admit, truthfully.
“Well, I can’t drink to that, because I’ve never fooled around with a ‘bare’ girl either,” she laughs. “But consider me listening… and taking note. Honestly, I have been considering trying the old Brazilian wax out.”
“Mmm this game just got so much better,” I say, kissing her neck. “Your turn.”
“Let’s see… I’ve got one. Until very recently, I never had sex with a man who didn’t have a tattoo,” Char states, eyeing me carefully.
“Well Hell, that doesn’t count, you didn’t say a current ‘I never.’ That’s not how you play,” I argue. “And don’t think for a second that you’re going to convince me to get all tatted up.”
“That’s fine, no big deal,” she states, feigning anger and annoyance, “but I hope you like Ch Ch Chia pets, because that shit’s going to need trimmed like a Bonsai tree.”
“Hey, I can forage with the best of ‘em,” I joke, running my hand up her thigh. “Give me a new one, something good.”
I love how she looks when she’s deep in thought. Char’s nose scrunches up, and one side of her mouth curls up as if it somehow helps her come up with whatever’s gotten her stumped. “Dirty or real?” she asks, eyeing me sexily.
“Uh… duh, dirty.”
“Okay dirty… let’s see… I’ve never hooked up with someone of the same sex,” Char states.
“Nothing? Not even something small in college—a little experimentation?” I probe, hopefully. What? I’m a dude. Back off. That’s stuff’s hot.
“Nada. Zip. Unless you count when I smack Janelle’s ass when we’re fucking around,” Char explains, laughing.
“Let’s keep my sister and her ass out of my bedroom,” I cringe.
“Your turn—give me something real—something not everyone knows.”
Looking at her expectant, hopeful face, I announce, “I’ve never been in love.”
Silence.
Silence.
Silence.
“Oh please, like I didn’t know that,” she says, rolling her eyes. “When you fall, you’re going to fall so hard; you’re going to turn into a puppy dog with an obsession. Everything you do, you go balls to the wall. Jasper Garrity doesn’t go big—Jasper goes MONUMENTAL. We’d all know it if you’d ever been in love.” Popping another handful of M&Ms into her mouth, she adds, “and that chick is going to be so damn lucky.”
What?
How can she of all people say crap like that?
Whoever officially captures her heart is going to hit the trifecta, jackpot, and power ball all in one.
The very thought of anyone else having her sends a jaded jealous fire through my icy veins. I won’t be able to sit through another year of the next Blaine Landers, especially now that I’ve spent this much one-on-one alone time with her. Tonight was pure torture. Watching all the guys at my house gawk at her and flirt with her, I wanted to pummel each one of them and kick them out of my house. Just not being able to touch her, kiss her, be around her was difficult enough. Seeing her date someone else and fall in love with some guy will be my death sentence—an electric shock straight to my heart.
“Well then, I guess that makes you the lucky one, because I don’t see any other women here tonight,” I say, looking around. “Unless, ya know, maybe you wanted to call someone and try out that girl-on-girl experimentation.”
“Oh yeah, give my phone. I’ll call Janelle now,” she teases, laughing harder when I fake gag and pretend to hurl on the bed.
“Way to destroy a dream,” I pout, defeatedly. “Alright, your turn. Give me something real this time—something nobody knows about Charlene Palmer. I want an exclusive.”
“I like it better when you want to know the sexy and dirty stuff,” she whines, biting down on her lower lip. “I’ve never… I’ve never… God, I can’t think.” Char scoots down in the bed, hugging the pillow. She looks so beautiful and innocent.
“Come on, there’s got to be something,” I urge.
“Okay, you’re going to think it’s lame though,” she warns, appearing nervous.
“Just go… say it.”
“I’ve never… never…” she stalls, taking a deep breath. “Okay, here goes, I’ve never… never… cried happy tears,” she admits, truthfully and sadly. “I guess I’d just like to know what that feels like some time.”
Christmas Eve
FOR A LONG time, my mom would complain about how badly her feet hurt at the end of the workday. She’d just moan every time she had to walk anywhere in the house, because the bottoms of her feet felt like little pins were stabbing them every time she moved. That Christmas, I found an aqua-spa foot massager that you just add warm water and bubble bath, and it was like giving your feet a hot tub of their own. It was the first time that I can remember ever being excited to give someone a present. I couldn’t wait for the look on her face. I was so proud of myself for knowing the perfect gift to get her. I didn’t tell Joz or Janelle, knowing that they’d try to ruin the surprise for me. I knew that my mom would think it was thoughtful—something she always emphasized for gift giving. I just knew she’d love it. I was right too; she used it every night until she wore the spa’s motor out on it. I’m even pretty sure it helped ease the ache in her feet.
Tonight, I have that same feeling. I cannot wait to give Char her Christmas present. Coincidentally, I got her name in the gift exchange, so that was easy. She drew Marcus’ name, which royally pissed her off and sent her into a binge-drinking frenzy that night.
Char and I had already decided that we’d have a private gift exchange, but now I get to give her this particular gift in front of everyone. Lately, Char and I have been butting heads and disagreeing. I’m ready to tell my family about us. It’s been almost two months. Neither of us have any intentions of dating anyone else right now. We haven’t exactly talked about being “official” or “exclusive,” but I haven’t dated anyone since Genevieve. Char hasn’t gone out with anyone since Blaine—unless you want to count the cashier at Buffalo Wild Wings.
“What’s that shit-eating grin?” Jocelyn asks, as I come in through the front door.
“Merry Christmas to you too,” I say, kissing my sister on the cheek, handing her a bottle of wine and a shrimp platter. “I’ve got to run back to the car and get the kids’ gifts and some other stuff.”
Each Christmas, I’m expected to shower my family with over-priced, extravagant gifts. It really is kind of bullshit, because the adults don’t really exchange gifts—except for the gift exchange. But somehow, I’m immune to that rule. Not only do I have to pa
rticipate in the gift exchange, but it’s a given that I will buy my sisters and brothers-in-law something too. I receive one gift—the gift from the gift exchange, which is typically a pack of cheap golf balls or a gift card to Applebee’s.
But guess what?
I love it. I love every single bit of it. I love taking care of them. I love being able to provide for them. I love that Donovan, Darren, Carlee, and Kara’s college educations are already paid for. I want to be able to do those things for my family, and I can. I love it.
Char pulls in as I’m getting gifts out of my trunk. I wait for her in the driveway. I want it to be the holidays all year round, because Char looks delectable in red, and she’s been sporting red all damn month. Is there another red holiday? If so, I can’t wait for it.
“Merry Christmas,” she says, greeting me cordially as Jocelyn’s waiting for us on her front porch.
“You too. Can I carry anything for you?” I offer, despite that I have no free hands.
“Nah, I just have this piece of shit ashtray I got Marcus and a tray of cookies.”
“You got him an ashtray? He doesn’t even smoke.”
“I know. I’m hoping he starts and dies,” Char states, shrugging her shoulders.
“There’s the Christmas spirit,” I joke, walking in the house behind her.
“Stop! Stop, don’t move,” Jocelyn squeals. “Look up guys! Mistletoe!” Rick takes the ashtray and cookies out of Char’s hands.
Dangling right above Char and me is a sprig of mistletoe, mocking us in holiday fun. “Well Jasper, would you look at that? Looks like you’re going to have to kiss me after all,” Char states, easily and carefree.
Remembering my old actions and demeanor, I roll my eyes in annoyance at their juvenile games and festivities. “Well let’s just get this over with.”
Char leans in and kisses me lightly on my lips, lingering only for a slight second. It’s not nearly enough. I drop my gifts on the couch, pull her back under the mistletoe, dip her back in my arms, and kiss her as if my life depended upon it, right there in front of my entire family.
The fire in her eyes tells me that I’ve ignited that familiar burning in her. “Geez Jasper, it’s not April Fool’s,” she jokes, nudging my side. “But hey, thanks for the cheap thrill.”
“Dude, we ‘ve got to get you laid if Char’s starting to look good to you,” Marcus sneers from across the room.
“Marcus, it’s the holidays. Stop being a fucking dick and lighten up,” I say, not able to stop myself. “And look at this woman,” I continue, spinning her in a circle under my arm, “she’s stunning.”
“Yes she is,” Nelle agrees, hugging both of us. “And be careful, Jasper, you don’t want to make her head get any bigger. We can’t have that.”
I’m shocked that nobody, not one person, took my public display of holiday affection seriously. Char might be right. It just might be harder than I think to convince them that we’ve got a good thing going here. To them, we’re so different—from different ends of the social spectrum. We couldn’t possibly work.
But we can.
We do.
We are.
“JASPER! MY KIDS do not need their own iPads,” Joz says, shaking her head at me. “The girls are way too young for those.”
“The girls might be, but we’re not,” Darren says, ripping the device right out of the box. “Thanks Uncle J.”
“I thought you might think that, so you can keep them in the box until you’re ready for the girls to have them,” I explain, handing Joz an envelope. “Airfare, hotel, park hopper passes, and rental car for Disney this spring break. Six people. All expenses paid.”
Carlee and Kara lose their shit and jump all over me, covering me in tiny, midget kisses and snuggles. I never thought I’d want little nuggets of my own, but damn, these two princesses sure make me question that sometimes.
“Fuck, do we have to take them?” Rick asks, feigning exhaustion.
“Richard! Don’t be rude,” Jocelyn scolds in disbelief, her jaw dropping. Smiling, she adds, “Of course not, that’s part of the gift. Jasper and Genevieve are taking them.”
Char immediately chokes on her drink, spewing a spit-ridden chocolate martini all over the back of Marcus’ head. “Damn it Char, don’t you think Christmas Eve could be the one night of the year that you can hold your liquor?”
“I can hold my liquor you twat-drier,” Char snarls. “I was just surprised to hear Jasper was still seeing… that… that… Geraldine chick.”
“Genevieve,” I clarify, smirking knowingly at her. I love that she’s squirming. Maybe she’s squirming enough to let the cat out of bag. “And Genevieve and I stopped seeing one another… and yes, you assholes, you have to take your own kids.”
“Jasper! Come on,” Janelle whines. “Wasn’t Genevieve a world-traveling model who spoke eight languages? Or some shit like that? What was wrong with her? Sooner or later, you’re going to have to settle down and get married.”
“No he doesn’t, Aunt Janelle,” Donovan, my other nephew disagrees. “If he marries some lady and has kids of his own, then he won’t spend all of his money on us anymore. And that would suck.”
“Donovan! Language!”
“Mom! It would,” he argues, ripping into his iPad box. “I vote bachelor for life for Uncle J.”
“That’ll never happen little D,” Marcus states smugly. “Your uncle just loves to flaunt his money around—that’ll never change. He’ll always get you the extravagant, over-the-top gifts. Don’t worry.”
“You’re right Marc, I do love to spend money on my family,” I agree, knocking his feet down and sitting in front of him on the ottoman. Scowling, I ask, “Who else would I spend it on, anyway? My secretary? Personal trainer? That’d be way too cliché, don’t ya think?”
“Guys,” Joz grits through her teeth, “it’s Christmas—a time for giving and family.”
“Exactly,” Nelle says, pulling Marcus back in the chair, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. She’s been standing behind him, doting on him since they walked in the door. Never once have I seen him do something nice for her. Janelle continues, “Plus, we haven’t gotten our gift from Jasper yet.”
“Fine, I see how you are,” I laugh, handing Janelle her gift. “Start living your dreams, little sis.”
Tearing open the paper, Janelle squeals. “A Mac! Oh my God, Marcus, he got us a MacBook. Holy shit!”
“Oh Joy,” Marcus says, staring only at the television. “It’ll be a great place to put my new ashtray on.”
“Now, you can start writing like you’ve always said you wanted to,” I explain.
“Jasper, you’re the best!” she squeals, hugging me. “On second thought, I hope you never get married and have kids either. You make me feel like a little kid on Christmas morning.”
“Well… I mean… he could probably still do that if he were married,” Char adds, picking up the laptop box.
“I certainly could,” I agree, eyeing her, hoping for a sign that we’re about to come clean right here and now.
“There’s one more gift,” Carlee squeals, lifting a package. “Is it for me?”
“Geez! Greedy much?” Darren asks, taking the box from Carlee and handing it to Char. “It’s for Char.”
“I drew your name in the gift exchange,” I explain, as Char strokes the ribbon on the box.
“Hell yeah!” she yells characteristically, “You better have gone over the price limit, buddy.”
Watching her open the package, I suddenly feel very uncomfortable with my entire family all here. I thought I’d wanted them to witness this, but maybe I shouldn’t. Maybe, I went a little too overboard. One night the idea hit me, and I couldn’t even imagine getting her anything else. I went to a local artist and had him paint a canvas for her. One half of the canvas looks like fire and the other half looks like ice. I had him paint the words to Frost’s poem, “Fire and Ice,” in the flames and icicles. From far away, you can’t see the words, but whe
n you get close enough, the words spell out the struggle between the opposing forces. They finally blend together in one burning, icy heart.
“God Jasper, that’s gorgeous,” Joz says, taking the canvas and scrutinizing the artistry.
“It is beautiful J, but when are you going to stop trying to get people to read? Leave it alone already. Hell, I’m an English teacher, and I don’t even try that hard,” Nelle explains.
Standing up, Char walks over to me, wraps her arms around me and whispers, “I love it. I’ve never loved anything more.”
Letting me go, she eyes everyone in the room and excuses herself. Watching her walk away, I can’t really read her reaction. I know she likes it, but I’m not sure if I overstepped our invisible and unclear boundaries. When you’re sneaking around like we are, there are no certain terms or rules to what is acceptable and what is not.
“Jasper, I can’t get over how gorgeous this is. Where did you get it?” Joz asks, still admiring the painting.
“I had one of the artists as Don Drumm paint it,” I explain.
“One of the artists at Don Drumm custom painted something for you?” Janelle questions. “Jesus J, you really did go overboard this year. I can’t even afford a cheese spreader in that place.”
“Well buddy, you did it again. You wowed us all. Thanks man,” Rick says, thumping me on the back. “Don’t let that dumb fuck ruin your fun.” Rick glares at Marcus, who incidentally is once again frantically texting someone—on Christmas Eve for fuck’s sake. “I, for one, love that my wife’s brother is loaded. Makes things much easier.”
Laughing, I nod, “Hey anytime, bro.”
“Alright kids, we’ve got to pick up all this wrapping paper and get your stuff together,” Jocelyn calls out, clapping her hands for order and speediness. “We need to get all of this cleaned up in the next 20 minutes.”
“That’s our cue,” I say to Janelle and Marcus, grabbing handfuls of ribbons and paper. “We need to head out, too.”
Still yelling, Joz says, “Come on kids… let’s get to it… Santa’s coming… we still need to get the cookies out and make our Santa Juice.”