Chapter Twenty-Six
“Come on, Grandpa,” Stephanie heckled from her seat in her wheelchair.
“This thing don’t have a seatbelt. I’m not going any faster.”
“I’m fine,” she insisted. “Go faster.”
“Gonna go right ahead and remind you that we’re late because you wanted to watch that movie this morning.”
“No, I wanted to watch you watch it. There’s a difference. For the record, you laughed at all the right parts. Even if some of the jokes haven’t aged well.”
I had to admit, it had been a good morning.
If you’d told me just a week before that I would say I enjoyed waking up in bed with a woman and watching some ‘90s Christmas movie with a woman that I couldn’t even fuck, I would have snorted.
But that was exactly the morning we had.
We’d gotten up, had cold pizza for breakfast, then I cleaned and redressed her wounds as she flicked through the movie selections.
Then, well, we’d gotten wrapped up in the movie.
And so we were late.
By her made-up time clock, since this wasn’t exactly a job.
“I’m a little surprised there wasn’t a test afterward,” I teased.
She took her holiday movies seriously as fuck.
It was one of the many things to like about her.
“Who says I’m not working on a SAT-level test encompassing all the movies I plan to force down your throat over the next few days?”
“Fair warning, I’m shit with tests. Made it outta high school by the skin of my teeth. And maybe only because my history teacher changed my grade after I found the assholes who stole his watch and got it back for him.”
“Did you do it because of your grade?”
“Nah. I wasn’t running some con. I just liked that teacher and hated those assholes.”
“Fair enough. God, it feels like it’s been ages since I’ve been here,” she said as we neared the door. “Huh,” she said when I stopped.
“Huh, what?”
“I never realized how inaccessible some doors are. How are people in wheelchairs supposed to get into buildings without automatic doors?”
“Good question. But for you, that’s me,” I said, opening the door, then backing her into the warehouse.
I knew Steph had been sweating the charity, thinking the place would completely fall apart if she didn’t show up and micromanage every single day.
I had more faith in her crew of volunteers.
Sure enough, the heaters were running; people were talking to potential donors at the phone bank; a pile of wrapped toys was being moved to the completed bin.
Everyone was doing what they knew needed to be done to make Christmas for all the kids in the shelters.
“Huh,” she said again, brows pinching.
“Disappointed the roof ain’t caving in without you?”
“Yes. No.”
“Remember, you’re gone most of the day even when you are here. These people are used to knowing what needs to be done and doing it without anyone looking over their shoulder.”
“That’s true,” she agreed. “Hopefully, they are bringing in lots of money,” she said, smiling at the people on the phones.
“Stephie?” Craig called, making my fucking blood boil in just two syllables.
“Easy,” Steph demanded with a little smile, making me realize I must have snarled or something as Craig made his way over to us. “Hey, Craig.”
“What happened?” Then, to me, “What did he do?”
“He didn’t do anything. Well, actually, he saved my life. We were mugged last night. I cut my feet open. Venezio fought the attacker. And here we are. But I don’t want to harp on it. I want to discuss totals.”
Craig glanced at me, exhaled hard, and nodded.
“We got some good donations this morning,” he said, waving toward the phone bank.
Stephanie wheeled herself away.
As much as some part of me wanted to turn Craig into some fucking monster, I got the feeling the guy was just a little too into a woman who didn’t return his interest.
Could guys like that be dangerous?
Sure.
But judging by the way his shoulders slumped when Steph praised me, I felt like he was probably just going to lavish his attention on some other poor woman.
As Stephanie got the lowdown, I made use of myself, helping one of the other women organize a big pile of toy donations that had been dropped off sometime since the last time I was in the building.
By the time I was done, I nearly got rolled over by Stephanie.
“These are the brakes, babe,” I said, reaching over and grabbing them. “What’s the rush?”
“We did it! We more than did it, actually! Between the donations from the party, from the Costas, and the calls everyone has been working on the day before.
“I knew you would, babe. You wanna celebrate?”
“Um, no. I want to see if I can still change that order coming in from Jersey. I need a lot more toys!”
She was bursting at the seams at reaching her goal.
And I decided that no matter what it took, I was going to make sure she hit her goal every damn year.
“Sounds like you’re going to need to learn to wrap presents,” the resident gift-wrapper said. “I’m going to need a hand.”
I guess it was time to learn the skill.
Especially if I had presents to buy and wrap for Steph.
It would be another first for me.
Stephanie - 4 Days
“It’s happening!” I squealed as the trucks pulled out of the lot, each heading to different shelters across the city. Every one of them was full of colorfully wrapped paper hiding toys, games, beauty supplies, clothes, everything my heart had hoped when I’d taken up the mantle of director.
I wasn’t naive.
I knew a huge part of the reason it actually happened was thanks to Venezio and that last ‘donation’ from the Family.
But I didn’t care.
It didn’t matter.
All that mattered was those kids were going to wake up feeling the joy of Christmas morning, that none of them were going to wonder why Santa had forgotten them, or what they had done to end up on the naughty list.
Next year, with or without the Costa donation, I would do the same. Or more. Maybe I could try to include presents for the moms, who could surely use a little joy as well. Or for kids in domestic violence shelters.
I would have a whole year to prepare this time.
It was going to be amazing.
But I wasn’t going to let the hopes for the future outshine the joy of the moment.
“How do you want to celebrate?” Venezio asked, spinning my wheelchair around to face him. “Champagne at a bar? Fancy dinner at a restaurant?”
“Freshly baked cookies in bed with a cheesy made-for-TV holiday rom-com?”
“I see your holiday rom-com and raise you an action-suspense.”
“We’ve been through this. Die Hard is not a Christmas movie.”
“Says who?”
“Me. The Christmas expert between the two of us, I might add.”
“Fair,” he agreed. “What kinda cookies are we making?”
“Chocolate chip. With a side of Snickerdoodle.”
“Sounds good. But we have a check-up with Salvatore on the way home.”
I grumbled at that.
We both knew it had nothing to do with Salvatore, just the whole being laid up thing.
I wasn’t used to having to think through literally every aspect of my life.
There was no going into the kitchen to get a coffee or food, since there was nowhere for me to stash a cup or plate.
There was no taking a shower, making me curse my way through a bath every morning after Venezio undid my bandages but before he slathered on cream and wrapped me back up.
Sure, Venezio was there all the time.
I was just not accustomed to relying on someone else for just about everything.
That said, Venezio kept my spirits up by keeping me naked and too come-drunk to even form a coherent thought, let alone a complaint.
“You’re just cranky because Salvatore told you it was going to be at least two more weeks until you’re walking somewhat normally again.”
“Hey, he also said I’m a fast healer.”
“Yeah, which is why he said it’s gonna be two weeks, not four to six.”
“Ugh. Don’t remind me.”
I felt my stomach bottom out at that first estimate. Luckily, though, between Venezio, the wheelchair, and my own healing abilities, we cut that down.
“After Christmas, you’ve got nothing to do,” he reminded me.
That was fair. While the charity would run through the year—mostly relying on me setting up plans for the fall—I had nothing on my schedule but recording a fun summery rom-com in January. And, eventually, taking down all the decorations.
“But for Christmas, I have lots of plans.”
“That you will relay to me and I’ll handle.”
“Says someone who has never even made pasta before.”
“Everyone’s gotta learn sometime. And you’ll be there overseeing it all.”
I would be doing more than overseeing. There was no reason I couldn’t prep the foods while seated, then just trust him to do the cooking part. With lots of instructions.
I was disappointed that I couldn’t be the one doing it all. I really wanted to be the magic-maker, to prepare Christmas for Venezio the way my mom had done it for me for many years before I insisted on starting to help.
Especially because this was Venezio’s first real Christmas.
Well, at least he would have presents.
I’d been on my new phone, ordering gifts to be delivered to Andy and Sammy’s house for him.
I was going to have to find a little time to slip over there to wrap them, since Andy would put everything into gift bags if I asked her to handle it.
But I wanted Venezio to experience opening mismatched, colorful wrapping paper like I’d done for years.
“Where you going?” Venezio asked later that night as I tried to discreetly gather extra tape and scissors to bring with me to Andy and Sammy’s place.
“Andy and Sammy’s. Just for like an hour.”
“No,” he said, the sound bursting out of him.
“What?”
“I mean… did you call and ask?”
“I don’t really need to call and ask. We’re drop-in kind of friends.”
“Yeah, but they’ve been, you know, busy…”
He was being really weird.
“Alright. I’ll call,” I said, reaching for my phone in the little bag that I bought that hung off the arm of the wheelchair. “Hey!” I said when Andy answered. “I was just going to come visit for an hour, you know, before Christmas.”
“Oh. Um. No,” Andy said, making my brows pinch. “No, uh, we’re… about to have sex.”