Page 1 of Mr. Frosty Pants
Chapter One
If Casey Stevensignored the gaudy multicolored Christmas lights strewn through the bushes and trees—and the massive air-blown, glowing Santa popping in and out of a big, green box in the front yard—his old house looked the same as it had before they moved out. Although his dad would suck his teeth in disapproval if he saw how the new owners had decorated for the holidays.
All Casey’s life, Jonathan Stevens had insisted on keeping Christmas “classy”: single, white electric candles in each window, expensive greenery on the window sills, and a big wreath on the front door. To Casey’s dad, strings of lights all over the house were the epitome of tackiness, and colored ones? Well, they were downright trashy.
Casey slowed his Lexus RX—last year’s Christmas present from his parents—as he passed his old home. Nostalgia dug its nails into him with a bittersweet grip. His folks had moved out of the upwardly mobile Manor Crest neighborhood and into the uber-uppercrust Pearlwood community the autumn after he’d left for NYU. This was his first visit to Knoxville in almost four years, and his folks’ new neighborhood seemed nice enough, full of shimmering near-palaces, but it didn’t satisfy him or feel like home. Not the way the old Manor Crest house did.
In the new house, Casey didn’t have his own bedroom anymore. Instead, he had a generic, perfectly appointed guest room to crash in, complete with cream walls, cream bedspread, and cream carpet. Impersonal and threatening in its purity, it was nothing at all like the messy room in the Manor Crest house where he’d kicked back to watch YouTube videos of cats climbing into boxes and squirrels raiding bird feeders. The place where he’d first jerked off, fretted about the fact that it’d been to thoughts of Joel, and coped with the angst of falling in love for the first (and only) time.
Leaving his former house behind, Casey drove over the next hill, his eyes gobbling up the old, familiar sights. These were the streets he’d biked on as a kid, the houses he’d passed every day on the way to the bus stop, and the neighbors he’d ultimately lost track of.
He noticed Mrs. Weinstein had put her menorah in the window like she did every year. And Mr. Maples had put out his giant, glowing Nativity scene again. The same one Casey and Joel had stolen the baby Jesus from during their senior year. They’d hidden it in Joel’s garage for a night or two and then brought it back to Mr. Maples’s yard on Christmas Eve wrapped in a big, red bow.
Casey’s stomach fluttered remembering the way Joel had laughed as they’d run off into the cover of night, leaving the glowing baby Jesus behind where he belonged. Joel’s slanted smile had glinted like a knife in the darkness.
Joel.
Casey stopped the car and gazed longer at Mr. Maples’s nearly life-size Nativity scene. The shining Mary was pretty with her long, brown, painted-on hair and blue painted-on dress. Her rosy, holy lips were open in astonished joy as she gazed down at the child in the manger.
Casey’s cheeks heated. Those were the lips he’d stupidly kissed “for practice” on Joel’s dare the night they’d stolen the Christ child. Joel had knelt solemnly by the manger, his pale skin glowing and dark hair messy, clutching the baby Jesus in his arms as he’d watched Casey’s clumsy attempt with hot eyes. Casey would never forget how his adorably asymetrical face had lost all its usual crabby irritation.
A shiver shot up Casey’s spine like it always did whenever he thought of that night: the clarity of feeling in Joel’s shining gaze. He’d looked holy too—holier than Mary even—lit from below by the glowing, empty manger.
In that moment, Casey had almost let himself think…
Yes, for a second he’d reallybelievedit was possible that his own tender feelings were returned. There’d been something so undeniable in Joel’s eyes, something he’d never seen there before and never let himself look for again.
God,Joel’s eyes.
During an elective poetry class at NYU, he’d tried to describe them once. The best he’d come up with was a sad metaphor describing Joel’s eyes as akin to muddy water—dark, reflective but clear.
Obviously that poem never saw the light of day. He was better at ad copy than whimsical explorations of feelings and fanciful descriptions of nature. Poetry class had turned out like life in general for Casey: an exercise in pretending to show everything while actually showing as little as possible.
Which was why he was getting a degree in marketing. He could shine up shit like no one else. Maybe it was because when it came to ad copy, design, and branding assignments, he actuallywantedto draw people in. In day-to-day life, he’d learned long ago that to “keep up appearances,” he had to hold people at arm’s length.
Ann, his therapist in New York, said he was a master at presenting a smooth, likable façade instead of showing his raw humanity. And he agreed. There was a reason for that, after all. He’d been brought up in a household that prioritized image over reality, and it wasn’t like anyone was clamoring to know his personal shit anyway—not his parents, not his acquaintances at NYU, and hardly any of the guys he’d dated.
Even coming out hadn’t changed how alone he felt. There was something holding him back, keeping him from connecting. Something he was bound and determined to change because that was another issue he was working on with Ann: Coming to terms with the fact that at twenty-two, he no longer had anyone to blame but himself for his disconnected loneliness.
The fact was, there’d only ever been one person he’d ever been tempted to be entirely authentic with, even if he died from the humiliation of it. But he’d chickened out and pushed Joel away with both hands.
Putting the car back in gear, he eased past Mr. Maples’s Nativity scene and then past Mrs. Westfield’s gold-bow-and-holly-encrusted house—keeping it classy too, he guessed. Snowflakes drifted in hazy circles, flecking his windshield. Not enough to turn on his wipers and definitely not enough to stick.
Just the usual Tennessee tease.
He winced, thinking of his ex-boyfriend Theo packing up the small box of things he’d kept at Casey’s apartment. “Being with you is just a tease of the real thing, babe. You don’t love me. You act like you do, but you don’t.” Theo had run his hand through the fuzzy black curls on top of his head, sighing in frustration. “To be fair, I don’t love you either. We both deserve someone who wants more than ‘this doesn’t suck.’” He’d smiled sympathetically, his white teeth shining starkly against his dark complexion. “We deserve someone we’re crazy about.”
He’d had a point. Casey hadn’t even cried when Theo left for good, and he supposed that said something.
No, it said everything.
It’d been six months since Theo put a definitive end to their year-long, off-and-on relationship. Casey didn’t really misshimso much as he missed knowing there was someone he could rely on to hang out with every weekend. Someone that meant Friday and Saturday nights were handled. Someone he enjoyed sexually and liked as a person, even if he wasn’t in love. In a city as big and bustling as New York, the appearance of intimacy wassomething. It beat being alone.
At this point in his senior year, he was ready to agree with Ann that his parents had done him a disservice in getting him an apartment instead of letting him live in the dorms. He’d at least have gotten to know more people in a communal situation. Probably. But Jonathan Stevens wouldn’t have it. Not when he could afford “better.” Not for his son.
But now, months after his and Theo’s breakup, Casey’s ridiculously expensive one-bedroom apartment, just a few blocks from busy Washington Square, felt so lonely that, despite Ann’s warnings that he might regret it, he’d been eager to accept his mom and dad’s invitation to come home for Christmas break. Spending time with his family, putting up the tree, catching up with old acquaintances, and being back home in Knoxville again? It seemed like it would be a great change from the isolation of his life at college.
Until yesterday when he’d actually arrived after a tedious, twelve-hour car ride—something he’d rebelliously insisted on rather than accept his father’s offer to foot a ridiculously expensive, last-minute plane ticket—and discovered his parents’ new house wasn’thomeat all.
