Chapter 31
Elizabeth
THE FIRST NOEL
Merry Christmas
I hear sniffing next to my face before I feel Whiskey’s nose in my eyeball.
I moan and turn my face to the other side.
I don’t know why I expect him to walk away but I do.
He doesn’t. Instead, I now hear him sniffing my hair and licking my neck.
“No.” I lift my hand and give a little laugh when his nose feels like it’s in my ear.
“Whiskey,” I say his name and he immediately jumps on the bed, stepping on my legs to get over to the other side.
“Whiskey,” Nate grumbles in a sleepy voice, “down.” Instead of getting down off the bed, all he does is move excitedly to his side of the bed. “What is wrong with you?” I open my eyes to see Nate on his back with Whiskey on top of him as he pets his head.
“He probably knows it’s Christmas and I got him some special treats under the tree.
” I lift my hand up to rub his neck. “Is that why you are all excited?” I turn on my side and Nate’s hand that is under the cover moves to my leg where he rubs it softly.
“You want to open your presents?” I ask him and he gets off of Nate and jumps off the bed.
“Great,” Nate complains, “now he’s really awake.”
I laugh as he tosses the covers off him and gets up. His naked body is on full display as he reaches down for the boxers he took off last night after our shower and before sliding into bed after he put out Whiskey one more time. “Come on.” He rubs his hands through his hair and looks at me.
“Merry Christmas, Nate.” I smile at him and he puts one knee in the bed, followed by his hands on the bed before kissing my lips.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” he replies softly, giving me one more kiss before moving off and walking out of the door.
I hear Whiskey trample down the stairs and toss the covers off myself and stretch.
Swinging my legs off the side of the bed, I get up and head to the bathroom.
Last night, as soon as we got home, I took off the makeup and took a shower.
My hair now looks like a rat’s nest and I have some black smudges under my eyes, even though I took off the makeup and then took a shower.
I clean up my face with a wet washcloth, grabbing my pajama bottoms and one of Nate’s shirts before heading downstairs.
The smell of coffee lingers in the air and the bright sun from outside fills the kitchen. “It’s so bright out.”
“It’s almost eleven,” he reports and I gasp.
“No wonder he was all over us,” I say, walking to the back door and looking out at Whiskey jumping into the little snow that is left on the ground before running away and then back again.
“Yeah,” Nate says, “definitely wouldn’t be able to do that if he was a puppy.”
“I’ve never had a puppy,” I admit to him.
“Would you want a puppy?” he asks me and I shrug. “It’s lots of work at the beginning, and not something that should be done if you aren’t home.”
“Yeah.” I go to the door when Whiskey charges over to the door and I open it, the cool air hitting me right away.
“Maybe that’s why I never got one. I work long hours and it would be silly to have a puppy and not give it enough attention.
” Whiskey runs in and heads straight for his food bowl.
I walk toward Nate, who is standing right in front of the coffee machine.
My arms wrap around his waist as I kiss his bare back, I close my eyes for a moment. “Are you tired?”
“Not as tired as I should be.” He puts one hand on my hand on his stomach. “Do you want to do presents before or after breakfast?”
“I have to admit something to you. I hate Christmas.”
“I don’t think that’s a secret, baby,” he says softly, his chuckle warming my soul. My stomach flutters from the sound of it.
“I wasn’t finished, Nate.” I let go of him and he turns around, his chest to mine. His hand comes up and he holds my hips, making sure I don’t go anywhere. I put my hands on his chest, my fingers moving back and forth. “What I was going to say is, I hate Christmas, but I love presents.”
He laughs and I can’t help but smile at his laughter. He puts one of his hands on the counter beside him but keeps a hold on me. “So I’m always ready to open presents.”
“But you hate surprises.” I shake my head.
“No one likes surprises, but everyone likes presents.”
“So I could buy you a present but I can’t surprise you?” He smirks.
“Yes,” I agree with him. “If I don’t know about it and it magically appears, I’m okay with it. But if you go on and on about ‘oh, I have a surprise for you,’ then it’s a solid no.”
“Noted,” he says. “So we should do gifts now, then?”
“Yes!” I clap my hands, giddy like a kid in a candy store. “Who is going to go first?” I ask him as he turns to hand me my coffee and then both of us walk toward the Christmas tree.
“As you can see”—I point to the presents under the tree—“I’ve color coded mine.”
“Of course you did.” He sits on the couch. “Because not having them the same color makes it more of a surprise for you.”
I gasp, “I didn’t even think of that.” I put my coffee to the side. “Okay, I’m going to give you one first.” I get up grabbing the medium-size box. “I want you to keep in mind that I didn’t have a lot of time to prepare for gifts.”
I walk to him and he opens his legs for me to stand in between them.
His hands go to rub up the back of my legs.
He looks up at me, his lips in a little smile as I bend my head to kiss him.
I hold his cheek with one of my hands while the other grips the box.
“Okay.” I push the box at him and he grabs it, opening the Santa Claus wrapping and seeing the white box.
I sit next to him, almost bouncing in my seat.
He opens the top, and when he pulls out the white mug, he turns it over and laughs.
“This is going to be my new mug.” He looks down at the white mug I had made that says Whiskey, Bean, and Baby Cat’s dad, with a picture of them all around the cup.
Then in the back it says Best Dog and Cat Dad Ever.
“I might have gotten one for myself also,” I mumble to him, “minus the ‘cat dad’ stuff.”
He looks over at me and it’s a look he’s given me often over the years, but a look I might have locked out of my memory to protect my heart from being more hurt than I was. A look that even now if I wanted to lock it away, I knew I couldn’t. “For you to take back home?”
The minute he says that, my eyes get dry and with each blink it feels like I have sand stuck under my lids, and the lump forms in my throat, knowing in seven days this isn’t going to be my morning anymore.
I don’t answer him, instead I just nod my head.
He puts the mug to the side and then gets up to grab one of the presents bringing it to me.
“I also didn’t have time and I scrambled.
It didn’t help that I tried to ask Joshua and he told me to give you a stocking full of coal. ”
I laugh as he hands me the thin present, the wrapping paper is filled with Grinch faces, making me laugh. “This is very me.” I hold up the soft gift and then I open it and it’s a calendar. “What is this?” I open it and every single month is a different picture from this past week.
The tears in my eyes make it blurry to see all the images. Once I get to October I laugh when I see Whiskey with a stuffed pumpkin in his mouth. “That is from last year,” he admits, “but the one in December was taken two days ago.” I flip to it and the three of them are together.
The cats have red collars on that have white balls at the end of them and Whiskey has a Santa hat on his head.
Lying on the ground, he’s the only one looking at the camera.
Bean looks like she’s desperately trying to get the collar off of her, while Baby Cat is glaring at the camera.
I can’t help the laughter that comes out.
“This one has to be my favorite.” I hold it up, fighting back the tears.
“Thank you.” I smile at him. “I’m going to put this up in my locker at work.
Might have another one made so I can also have it on my fridge.
” The tightness starts to form in my stomach.
“My turn,” I say quicky, looking away from him, going to the gifts. “This one is a gag gift.” I hand him the long box and sit next to him. He unwraps it and the top of the box says Oral Fun: the game of eating out while staying in. “It’s a board game.”
He turns it around and smirks. “We’ll be playing this hourly”—he puts it to the side—“which makes my gift even better.” He grabs the small square gift. This one is wrapped with little Christmas bows all over it.
I rip it open and turn it over, the black box with Quickies written in white. “What in the world?” I open the box as he sits there with a smile on his face, every single card is black. One side has a scratch pad, the other side has Quickies in glossy black writing.
“So you pick a card and scratch it off, and you have to do what they tell you to do.”
“Ohh, I need something to scratch with.” I get up and rush to the kitchen, grabbing a butter knife.
“You really doing that now?” he asks and I look up at him.
“Um, yeah,” I reply as the white words appear. “In the next twenty minutes, try at least five different sex positions,” I read out loud and then read the rest to myself. “We can’t do this one.”
“Yes we can,” he assures from the couch and I hold up the card.
“The goal is to not climax before the twenty minutes is done,” I shriek. “Fuck that.”
“So it’s a challenge,” he goads me. “You are always good with a challenge.”
“It’s a challenge that is dumb,” I retort, walking to him. “There is no way I can last twenty minutes.”
“I’ll help you,” he offers and I laugh at him.
“That is super kind of you. Thank you so much for that. You are such a great friend.” The minute I say the words, something changes on his face.
I want to take it back as soon as the words are out of my mouth, but what else am I going to call him?
My hookup? My holiday fling? Nothing would be good enough, except for the word I should be using.
Right person, wrong fucking time, I keep hearing the words play over and over in my head.
“My turn,” I say walking back and taking the big box in the back. “It’s thin, but—” I say bringing it to him. “I love it, and I really hope you do also.”
I hand him the box and he unwraps the paper slowly, the white square box showing him nothing of what is inside. He takes the cover off and then the white tissue paper and the black frame greets him. His mouth opens in shock and he looks over at me. “How the fuck?”
I sit next to him and look at the picture I had professionally made.
It’s a picture of his clinic and in front, on one side, are his parents that I took from the picture he had on a side table, and then on the other side is a picture of his grandparents.
In the middle, sitting down, is Nate with Whiskey and the cats by his side.
“How did you do this?” he asks me, speechless.
“I found the picture of you in front of the clinic in my parents’ house,” I explain to him as he runs his fingers over the image of his parents.
“Then I asked if we could add the two other images in there.” He looks over at me and smiles, but it’s a smile filled with sorrow.
“You said that you wouldn’t have it without them, and I think that—” I shake my head, correcting myself. “I know they are so proud of you.”
“Elizabeth,” he says my name, his voice cracking, “this is the best gift I’ve ever gotten in my life.”
I wrap my arm around his shoulders and smile. “So what you mean to say is, I win.” He laughs and his lips come to touch mine in a gentle kiss.
“You win, baby,” he agrees softly, “you really fucking win.” He puts the picture down and goes to get the small box. “This sucks now that I got that, but—” He hands me the box. “Well, here it is.”
“I’m sure it’s perfect,” I assure unwrapping it and seeing the jewelry box. “What in the world?” I open it, the gold bracelet sits in the middle in a circle.
“It’s a customized charm bracelet,” he tells me.
“The E is obviously for Elizabeth.” It hangs in the middle and then beside it is a heart with a diamond it in, another one is a star, and then the last one is a Christmas tree.
“I know that you hate Christmas but I put a tree there so you would remember this Christmas and know how much it has meant to me and how I’ll remember it forever. ”
“This is so…” I shake my head. “This is so thoughtful.” I take it out and hold it out to him. “Will you put it on me?” He nods his head as he wraps it around my wrist and fastens it.
“There,” he says, kissing the inside of my wrist, “now it’s perfect.” I look down, my eyes going to the heart that is dangling, all the words are stuck in my throat. “Merry Christmas, Elizabeth.”