Chapter 4 #2
“Dear. Being a librarian for all these years, I’ve gotten to know most of the children in town, generation after generation.
That one?” Mom nods in the direction where Tori’s holding up an ornament and smiling like she discovered a buried treasure.
“... constantly turned her books in late or lost her card. But she had the sweetest way about her. Always smiling. A man could do worse.”
“Than?” I glance at my mom. “Are we still talking about the library?”
“No, son. I’m talking about your picker. It’s broken. You’re surrounded by delightful and pretty young women and you select the one who couldn’t figure out what a catch you are.”
“I’m not a catch. You’ve got rose-colored glasses where your children are concerned.”
“Maybe so. Because if you ask me, you can’t find a better man. You’re loyal and thoughtful and generous. And you’d go to the mats for anyone you love. That’s a catch if you ask me.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Oh, Gage. Well. I’ll take that as my cue to mind my own business.”
“Sorry, Mom.”
She squeezes my shoulder and I wrap my arm around her and squeeze her back. “I love you,” I say, softly.
“Good man,” she says, nudging me with her hip. “Now make my day and hang some ornaments with me.”
I don’t even argue. It means something to my mom that I uphold this tradition.
My two older sisters live in Austin and Cambridge.
They’ll be home around Christmas with my nieces and nephews and their husbands.
For now, it’s me and Mom. If she wants to hang ornaments, I’ll stuff my bah-humbug down into a private corner of my heart and give her what she wants.
The ornaments are hung in absolutely no pattern. Some spots of the tree are bald. Others have clusters of mismatched ornaments. I don’t even know where to place my ornament.
“An OCD nightmare,” Tori says, stepping up next to me and surveying the tree. She glances at my mom. “Oh! Hi, Mrs. Lockett!”
Tori throws her arms around my mom. They embrace like old friends. “It’s been too long. I really need to pop in and pick up a good book.”
“Anytime. You know the hours.”
“I do. Well, I do, but then I always seem to show up on Sunday when you’re closed, or after hours. I’ll come in at lunch one day.”
“That will work,” Mom says with a smile.
“Just slap it anywhere,” Tori says, turning to me. “It’s not that deep.”
Then, as quickly as she popped into our bubble, she flits away, shouting over her shoulder, “Come get cocoa when you’re finished. Or, better yet, lend me a hand.”
I turn to Mom. If she raised her brows one more inch, they’d reach her hairline.
“Fine. I’ll help.”
“Good man.” She smiles at me.
“Stop saying that,” I nearly whine.
But I walk over to the cocoa table anyway. Not because I have to. Tori’s got my gloves on. I need those gloves back before the night’s out. This way I’ll be right where she is and I can get them without a lot of hassle.
The town square is glowing. Christmas music is being piped through speakers. People are laughing and hanging around, grabbing cookies from platters, clustered at the cocoa table where no one really needs help because the cocoa’s in a coffee carafe and the toppings and cups are already laid out.
A little boy walks over with his mom.
He’s struggling to get the marshmallows into his cup.
“Here,” I say to him. “Let me do it. You just say when.”
“When?”
“Yeah. When. It’s what you say when I put enough in.”
“Okay,” he says. “Not when.”
I chuckle. I scoop a spoonful of the mini marshmallows on top of his cocoa.
“Not when,” he says.
I scoop another spoonful.
“Not when.” Another spoonful. “Not when.” And another. “Not when.”
His mom scolds him, “Benson.”
“What?”
“That’s enough.”
“There’s more room in there, Mama.”
“Five scoops is plenty.”
He pouts. “Yes, ma’am.”
The mom looks at me. “Thank you.”
I nod and say, “No problem.” Then I pick up a few of the marshmallows that fell onto the table when Benson was serving himself and I say, “Stick out your hand, buddy.”
He does. I plop the marshmallows in his palm. He looks up at me with a big smile. “Thank you, Mister … Mister … Mister … What’s your name?”
“Gage. Mister Gage.”
“Thank you, Mister Gage.”
I’m saying “You’re welcome” as he pops his handful of marshmallows into his mouth and then clasps his cup with both hands before turning to follow his mom off toward the secret Santa table.
I already picked up my card earlier tonight when I first got here.
Mitch made me. I was going to try to pretend I forgot, but he made sure we both had ours.
I didn’t open it yet. Kind of like putting off getting my wisdom teeth pulled.
I know it’s inevitable. But a little postponing feels like I could drop out if I wanted to.
I can’t. I know that. My friends would hunt me down.
“That was sweet,” Tori says.
“What was?”
“The way you put extra marshmallows on Benny’s cocoa.”
Was she watching me? I didn’t realize.
My friends walk up, saving me from answering Tori.
“Hey, man. Look at you, Father Christmas!” Carson jokes.
“He’s got more spirit than Will Farrell!” Liam says in a rare moment of teasing.
“Nah,” Mitch says. “He’s not fooling me. He’s an angry elf.”
Mitch cracks up at his own joke. I stare at him until he settles down. Tori walks to the other end of the table to help someone unwrap another tray of cookies.
Mitch watches her. “See? She’s not so bad.”
“Maybe you should date her,” I suggest.
Mitch stares me straight in the eyes. “Maybe I will.”
I feel my eyes narrow. He’s trying to goad me.
“Great,” I say, offhandedly.
What am I thinking? Mitch would not be a match for Tori.
Then again, why do I care?