Page 34 of Jingle Bell Jilt
I guess I’ll just have to be content with staring at him—which really isn’t a terrible option. I allow myself the chance to really look at him from head to foot. Something I haven’t been able to do while he’s awake. He’s far too observant for any sly checking out.
His scruff, which is usually neatly trimmed, is a little longer and I can see the five o’clock shadow stretching down his neck. His deep green Ron Jon’s t-shirt is stretched across his broad chest, each muscle and bump winking at me from beneath the fabric. Or I’m guessing they’re winking. It’s hard to tell in the relative darkness.
I scoot closer, breathing in his cologne. I have no idea what brand it is, but I can smell an undertone of sandalwood and citrus. (Yes, my mom sells essential oils). As I move closer, I notice a small dark circle on his chest. I lightly touch it and it feels wet. My eyes widen at the same time my hand shoots to my mouth. Oh, crap on a cracker. Did I drool on him?
I wipe my mouth until there’s hardly any skin left, let alone spit. I have never been so happy that someone was asleep in my life. Hopefully the mark will dry before he wakes up. “Come on, Universe,” I whisper. “Just give me this one.”
I sit back. 1:16 in the morning and I’m not sure what I should do. The flicker of light from the TV hits the tinsel tree and it sparkles momentarily, reminding me that I have a Christmas present, an ugly sweater, and some stocking stuffers that need to be put in place.
Evan snores quietly on the couch. This is likely the best opportunity I’ll get to do this without protestations or ‘help.’
Slowly and quietly, I lift myself off the couch and hurry to my bedroom. In hindsight, I’m grateful to the quirky Mrs. Claus for wrapping Evan’s present. After the decorating, dinner, and the movies that I apparently fell asleep during, there hadn’t been time to actually wrap everything. I quickly put the sweater in a box and wrap it in some sparkly silver paper I found in single sheets.
I carefully grab the Mrs. Claus wrapped present, not wanting to accidentally drop and break it. That would be the ultimate irony, right?
I tiptoe to the family room and place the present next to the tinsel tree. Then I grab the felt stocking with Evan’s name on it and sneak it into my room.
Now, I’ll admit, these aren’t the most personal stocking gifts. But, I mean, I’ve only known Evan for, like, two days. Wow, two days? That’s it? It feels like way longer than that. Maybe it’s because we’ve been living together (sorry, mom) for most of that time. Except for sleeping, we’ve been together for all of it.
It feels weird because I don’t think I’ve spent this much time consecutively with anyone I’ve ever dated. Not even Nathan. Although, now that I think about it, maybe the warning bells would have sounded way earlier if I had. But who knows? There’s no sense in what-if-ing my relationship with Nathan. That ship has sailed and sunk.
Okay, I’m going to confess something else now. But you can’t judge. I may have snuck into Evan’s bathroom and looked at the brands of toiletries he uses. I know it’s a complete invasion of privacy, but how else was I supposed to figure out what to buy for his stocking? I may have made the stocking purchase seem spur of the moment when I showed them to Evan, but as soon as we decided to go shopping, I knew I wanted to do at least that for him. I mean, he opened his house to me on Christmas Eve.
So I peeked in his bathroom because there’s little worse than dumping out your stocking and finding a bunch of stuff that you’ll never use because it isn’t your brand. (I may or may not be speaking from experience).
As I stuff the shampoo and body wash into his stocking, guilt tugs at me. What if he can’t get past my snooping and hates his stocking because of it? I fist my hands at my side. “It’s a little late for regrets, Shay,” I whisper to myself.
The stocking is surprisingly full, and it makes me feel all kinds of happy. This may not be the Christmas either of us had planned, but hopefully it will still be memorable. In a good way.
I sneak back out to the family room and place Evan’s stocking on the floor in front of the entertainment center. Then I take the remote and find a channel with a crackling fire as its only programming.
A yawn stretches my mouth way bigger than it should. I guess I better get to sleep or Santa won’t come and leave me anything for Christmas. Not that I’m expecting him to. Just spending Christmas with someone is enough of a present for me.
* * *
EVAN
I throwthe blanket off me, the sound of a fire making my body sweat. I shift and my body screams out in pain. My neck is kinked and my back aches. I crack open an eye and see a crackling fire on the TV screen. I sit up and look around, disappointed when I discover that Shay is no longer snuggled on the couch next to me.
She must’ve awakened before me and turned the channel to the fire. I glance over at my arm draped on the back of the couch and look at my watch. 2:32. It’s Christmas.
I sit forward and drop my elbows onto my knees, rubbing my palms roughly over my eyes. I look down at my shirt, the warmth from Shay’s head still present on my chest. WhenDie Hardhad ended, she was sound asleep and I didn’t have the heart to wake her up, so I just channel-surfed until I fell asleep myself.
I stand up and rotate my shoulders and neck. My eye catches on a present sitting next to the tinsel tree. I move close and my foot knocks against something on the floor. My stocking. And it’s chocked full of stuff.
My head shakes, but I’m smiling. I knew she was up to something. I’m so glad I followed my gut and went shopping for her.
The present by the tree is neatly wrapped in elf wrapping paper, with a big bow on top. For a moment I think that maybe that’s just the ugly sweater she bought for the contest. But as I look closer, I realize that there’s no way a sweater is fitting in that box. It’s not tiny, but it also isn’t big enough for a sweater. Unless it’s child sized.
I have a moment of panic at that thought. The ugly part of the sweater isn’t because it was five sizes too small—I mean, she mentioned that, right?
I shake that thought off when I see the sparkly-wrapped clothing box on the other side of the tree.
But if the elf wrapping paper isn’t the sweater, it means she bought me a present-present. Not just stocking stuffers. I have no idea what she would have bought for me. I wouldn’t say we know each other that well. As my present for her will show. But every girl likes books and fancy soap, right?
As I stare at the present next to the tree, I begin to doubt that every girldoeslike books and fancy soap. What if she hates my present? What if she’s allergic to the soap and she breaks out in life-threatening hives?
I run a hand through my hair as a million terrible scenarios stream through my head. But what’s worse—not giving her anything or sending her to the hospital in anaphylactic shock? I’m ashamed to say that I actually have to think about that one.
