by Kennedy Fox
He shoots me a curious sideways glance.
“No family?”
“My parents are going to the west coast to see my sister this year,” I say.
“No other family?”
Somehow, he asks it in a weird way, so I give him a weird look.
“No?”
Grady shrugs.
“All right,” he says.
And then: “By the way, they’re gonna give you a sweater. Just so you know.”
Chapter Four
GRADY
“I’ve got a jacket,” Adeline says, sounding confused.
“This will be a Christmas sweater,” I tell her, turning off the main road and onto my parents’ long driveway. “It might have lights. If they like you it’ll play a song.”
I can feel her staring at me, and I’m torn between explaining further and remembering that I called the county dump trying to ask her on a date. That’s a shitty thing to do to someone you just made out with, so I’m not going to feel about about her wearing a sweater that plays the world’s most obnoxious version of Jingle Bells.
“Will the sweater be mandatory?” she asks, slowly.
“I don’t think my mom’s gonna force it over your head,” I say.
She looks at me, then through the windshield, then at me again.
“But is this the kind of thing where refusing would be really rude?” she asks. “Like, is this refusing to eat someone’s home-cooked meal rude? Or more like… declining a drink rude?”
I glance over at her.
“It’s just a sweater,” I say.
“Oh! I don’t mind the sweater,” she says quickly. “I’m just trying to get a feel for the vibe. Which is apparently kids and loud sweaters.”
“Loud sweaters if she likes you,” I say, and then my parents’ house comes into view.
It’s out in the middle of nowhere, on what used to be a farm, so it’s designed to hold several adults and about twenty-four children. I pull up in the driveway next to two pickup trucks, a minivan, a small tractor, and a lawnmower, turn the truck off.
Suddenly, without the thrumming of the engine, it’s quiet.
“Just an hour or two,” I tell her. “Once the kids are in bed, I’ll take you home and come back.”
“You’re coming back?” she asks, and I laugh.
“I can’t miss Christmas morning,” I say, and grab my beard. “C’mon.”
I hop out of the truck — okay, I leap, this thing is fucking ridiculous — and I go around to help Adeline down, but she’s already out by the time I get there.
‘’Do I look okay?” she asks, straightening her coat and running a hand over her auburn hair. “Presentable, at least?”
For the first time since she got out of her car, I let myself really look at her, and even though it’s freezing out here and I’m wearing a dollar store Santa costume, I take my time.
Adeline is really, really pretty. She’s pretty in an old-fashioned way, with high cheekbones and a round face, someone who wouldn’t be out of place in a silent movie. Even now, after getting her car stuck in a ditch, she’s captivating.
Four months ago, in a sundress, it felt like she was bending all the light toward herself.
“What?” she says, worried. “Please don’t tell me this is a formal family dinner —"
“You look great,” I tell her, and strap on the beard, plop the hat on my head. “C’mon.”
As we head for my parents’ front door, I give her a very quick overview: there’s Patty and Mitch, my parents; Taylor and Bryce, the eight- and five- they’ve been fostering for about six months now, and Ryan and Sasha, the four- and six-year-old who came three days ago.
She exhales hard at that last part, her breath fogging into the night sky.
“All right,” she says. “Thanks.”
We head up the porch stairs, scuff our feet on the mat, and then I knock on the door.
Small voices start shouting, and I grin. The bells on the wreath jingle as the door opens, my mom standing there, an enormous smile on her face and a ridiculous sweater on her body.
“It’s Santa!” she shouts back into the house.
That’s when the screaming starts. We barely manage to get into the house when Bryce, who’s five, practically tackles me, followed by his eight-year-old sister Taylor.
“Ho ho ho!” I tell them.
“We just made you cookies!” shouts Bryce, jumping up and down. “Come see!”
“Cookies? They’re my favorite!” I tell him.
He grabs my hand and tugs me toward the kitchen. Besides me, Taylor takes my other hand and looks up at me, her face completely serious.
“I know you’re Grady,” she tells me.
“Can I still have the cookies?” I ask, winking at her.
The new kids are standing in the living room, looking uncertain. Ryan, the four-year-old, is just staring at me wide-eyed, but his big sister Sasha is standing in front of him with an expression that I can only describe as come at me.
“Santa. COME ON,” demands Bryce, still tugging.
“Hold on a second, bud,” I tell him, and turn to Sasha. I crouch, so I’m closer to her height.
Bryce sighs.
“Sasha and Ryan, right?” I ask the new kids. I’ve only met them once before, so it’s not too surprising they don’t recognize me.
Sasha nods solemnly, her face unchanging.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” I tell her, holding out one hand for a handshake. “I’ve heard all about you.”
Ryan glances at his big sister, still wide-eyed. Sasha frowns, uncertain.
“You have?” she asks.
“Yup,” I say. “I heard you know all the words to Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer. And I heard you,” I look at Ryan, “are an expert at baking gingerbread cookies.”
“I put the noses on,” he says, authoritatively.
Sasha’s still frowning. Finally, she takes my hand and shakes it once.
“Did you bring Rudolph?” she asks.
“He couldn’t come tonight,” I tell her, then look around conspiratorially. “Can you keep a secret?”
Both kids nod, and I pull the beard off.
“It’s just me, Grady,” I whisper.
Finally, Sasha smiles.
“We made cookies,” she tells me.
The kids descend on the kitchen, and I make my way back to Adeline, who’s politely chatting with my mom.
“Grady!” my mom says, and gives me a big, giant hug. “There, it’s finally my turn.”
“Merry Christmas,” I tell her. “Ho ho ho!”
“Bless you for the costume,” she says. “I think you made their entire year. And you brought a guest!”
Growing up, my house was always the house where anyone and everyone was welcome, no matter what, so I didn’t think twice about bringing Adeline over.
“I did,” I say. “Adeline, this is my mom.”
“Patty,” she says, holding out a hand. “Welcome to Christmas Eve!”
“Thanks,” says Adeline.
“Mom, this is Adeline,” I say. “She’s…”
Then, on the spur of the moment, I do a completely insane thing.
“…my girlfriend,” I finish.
Chapter Five
ADELINE
Patty puts both her hands to her mouth and gasps.
Somehow, I don’t.
“What a wonderful surprise!” she exclaims. “How absolutely lovely!”
I’m instantly engulfed in a hug, and clearly I have no choice but to hug Patty back.
“It is!” I say, and give Grady a look over her shoulder.
It’s an eyes-wide, nose-scrunched, full-on what the fuck look.
“I’ve heard all about you!” she says, pulling back but leaving her hands on my shoulders. “Darling, I didn’t know you were bringing her!”
“Surprise!” I say, and smile.
“Mont!” Patty yells. “Grady brought his girlfriend!”
“What?” comes a voice from the kitchen. And then, at a lower volume: “One more, all right? They’ll still be here after dinner, I promise. We’ll put them where you can see them.”
“Grady!” she calls. “Brought his girlfriend! Grady, take her to your father. Goodness, I need to go get you a sweater!”
With that, Patty bustles off and leaves Grady and I sort of alone.
“The hell?” I whisper.
For some reason, Grady also looks alarmed as his eyes follow his mom until she disappears.
Then he looks back at me.
“I don’t know,” he whispers.
“What do you mean —”
“It was a spur of the moment thing,” he goes on, still whispering through that stupid beard. “I didn’t mean to, I could just tell that’s what she thought and she was so excited that I kinda just went with it.”
“Who have you been telling them about?” I whisper. “Not me! She’s going to be pissed.”
Grady makes a face and scratches under the fake beard.
“I kinda made someone up so they’d get off my back,” he says. “My mom really worries sometimes, so —”
“You’re in luck!” Patty calls, coming back. “I nearly gave some of these sweaters away to Goodwill this year, but instead I said to myself, no, Patty, you just never know who’ll come by at the last minute and it always pays to be prepared! Ta-da.”
Patty is on the short side, gray hair brushing her shoulders, her own Christmas sweater showing elves at Santa’s workshop with all the machinery blinking.
Right now, she’s holding up a blue sweater with a huge green Christmas tree on it, various elves decorating the tree, a model train underneath it.
Every single part of it blinks.
“That’s amazing,” I say, and I mean it. Patty grins, and I realize that Grady got her smile: charming and infectious, the kind of smile that makes it impossible to do anything but smile back.
“Here’s the kicker,” she says, then holds it against herself and finds a button along the hem.
The shirt starts playing at very tinny version of O, Christmas Tree, and I laugh. I can’t help it.
“And,” she says, holding up one finger and silencing the song. “This.”
There’s another button, on the other side of the sweater, and this one plays Santa Claus is Coming to Town.
“Patty, I’ve never seen anything like this,” I tell her, and I’m not lying. She hands it to me, and I pull it over my head.
“Dinner’s in an hour,” Patty tells us. “But if you’d like to decorate some cookies, I think the kids have left a few for you.”
“That sounds great!” I say, completely sincere, and she beams.
As Patty leads us into the kitchen, Grady pulls me back for a moment, lowers his voice.
“You don’t have to,” he says. “Look, I’m sorry about the girlfriend thing, but —”
I push the Santa Claus is Coming to Town button, and it shuts him up.
“I’m already wearing this sweater and I think your mom and I are best friends now,” I tell him. “We’ll go decorate cookies, I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend, and then you’ll take me home later. Everyone wins.”
Grady smiles that charming, infectious smile, then offers me his arm.
“Everyone wins,” he says.
Thirty minutes later, I escape.
Escape isn’t quite the right word. I’m actually having a lovely time decorating sugar cookies with Bryce and Ryan, which mostly involves trying to get them not to squeeze the icing directly into their mouths.
There’s also Mitch, Grady’s lovely dad who’s mashing potatoes, monitoring kids, and telling me all about his woodworking projects, not to mention Sasha, who’s taken to sneaking up on me and pushing my O, Christmas Tree button.
It’s chaos, is what I’m saying. Fun chaos, but chaos, so I finally ask where the bathroom is and make a break for it.
On the way back, instead of returning directly to the kitchen, I detour by the living room just as Grady’s coming through the front door, an enormous wrapped box in his arms. The top of the Santa Costume is wrapped around his waist, so all he’s got on is red velvet pants and a white v-neck undershirt.
I watch him take it into the living room. Technically, I believe what I do is called ogling, but that makes me feel like a desperate pervert, so let’s go with watch.
His forearms are flexed, biceps bulging, triceps dimpling on the backs of his arms. When he turns to go through the door to the living, I can see all the muscles in his shoulders and back bunched and flexed too, the way his shoulder blades move against the thin shirt as he puts the box down.
And I think, ever so briefly of his lips on mine, his big hands on my waist, and my back against a tree in the groom’s mother’s back yard.
Before I can get much further with that train of thought, he brushes his hands together, then notices me.
“You surviving?” he says, the ghost of a smile on his face, nodding.
I make eye contact, which deserves a medal.
“I’m doing all right,” I tell him. “Though I’m not sure Bryce and Ryan are ever going to sleep again.”
Grady just laughs.
“It’s Christmas Eve, no one under the age of ten was going to sleep anyway,” he says, and crosses his arms in front of himself, then looks over at the pile of gifts. “Think there’s enough?”
The presents take up an entire wall. There are big ones, little ones, weirdly-shaped ones. They’re all wrapped and all have nametags.
My first instinct is to be impressed.
My second is to be sad that I missed watching Grady carry all this stuff.
“This is all from your office?” I ask.
“Nah, some is from the radio station’s drive,” he says. “Some my parents asked for and I picked up. A couple are from the office.”
There’s a tiny voice in the back of my head that says: he’s the world’s nicest guy, but he never called?
Sigh. I look at his forearms one more time, then look away before I get too flustered.
“Anyway, if you want, I can take you home now,” he says, turning back toward me. “I think there’s still a little while before dinner, and now that I’ve got everything out of the truck I can just run you over there —”
“That’s okay,” I say quickly.
Grady blinks.
“You sure?” he asks, skeptical.
“I don’t mind staying for dinner,” I say. “I mean, if you don’t mind. Saves me having to microwave something for myself.”
He shrugs.
“Unless you want me to leave already?”
“I’m happy for you to stay,” he says. “My parents are thrilled and the kids are having a great time, I just wanted to make sure that —”
“You’re supposed to kiss,” a voice says.
We both turn. Taylor, the eight-year-old, is standing in the wide entryway to the living room, looking at us, arms crossed over her chest.
Instantly, I feel like someone’s lit my face on fire.
“What?” I say, my voice higher than it should be.
“Who says?” Grady asks, voice perfectly calm, teasing.
“There’s mistletoe,” Taylor says, and points. “You have to kiss.”
I follow her finger, and she’s right: there’s mistletoe hanging in the center of the doorway, a good ten feet from where Grady and I are standing.
“We don’t have to kiss,” I point out.
“We’re not even under it,” Grady says at the exact same time.
We look at each other, and suddenly, I feel like Mitch has taken his potato masher to my insides.
Grady doesn’t look annoyed, or grossed out, or exasperated. He looks… amused? Like he’s smiling a little bit. Teasing.
He looks like he doesn’t hate the idea. For a moment, I swear I can feel rough bark against my back.
“Yes, you do,” Taylor says, with an air of absolute authority. “It’s the law.”<
br />
I can’t help but laugh.
“It’s just tradition,” I tell her. “Mistletoe isn’t legally binding, it’s only —”
“Are you sure?” Grady asks.
I stop. My face gets hotter. I’m probably the same color as his Santa outfit right now.
“I’ve never actually read all the laws,” he continues. “Have you?”
I give him a quick head-to-toe look, heart thumping, mind racing.
“I can’t say I have,” I tell him. “You think that one’s in there?”
“Of course it’s in there,” Taylor says.
“I’d hate to risk it,” Grady says.
Now I’m giving his flirty smile right back to him, my head cocked to one side.
“Better safe than sorry, right?” I ask. “I wouldn’t want to get your family in any trouble.”
He closes the distance between us in a few steps. Puts his hand on my waist. I put mine on his shoulder and swallow hard, feeling the muscles flex under my fingers.
“Just in case?” he murmurs, raising one eyebrow.
“Just in case,” I agree, tilting my face up.
Then Grady leans in and kisses me.
Chapter Six
GRADY
Adeline’s lips are soft and warm. She moves into me as I kiss her, the slightest forward motion, and I slide my hand further around her waist until we’re fully touching, her fingers now around the back of my neck.
I’ve been thinking about this for four months. I’ve been trying not to, but I have. I open my mouth and touch my tongue to her bottom lip and she pushes forward again, her lips parting under mine, my hand tightening around —
“Gross,” says Taylor.
Adeline and I both startle backward, just in time to see the eight-year-old roll her eyes and walk off.
Then we look at each other. She’s still bright pink, the same color she turned when Taylor suggested we kiss. Her lips are bright red, and I can’t stop looking at them, or at her because even in that sweater she’s driving me crazy.