Secret Santa

by Noelle Adams

  Eventually he falls asleep for real, his head tilted over toward one of his shoulders. Gradually, as if in slow motion, he leans to the side in my direction. At this point, I’m more absorbed in watching him than I am in watching the show. When the episode ends, I don’t start another one.

  Jeremy slumps all the way over at last so his weight is resting on my legs. I let him stay there, feeling the weight of his body. The warmth. The way he breathes.

  I stare at him, seeing the man I’ve always known but also someone else. Someone who looks and feels different.

  I have no idea why.

  It’s unnerving and exciting at the same time, and I tell myself not to indulge it. Jeremy has fallen asleep on me before—just like I’ve fallen asleep on him too. In college, we would sleep in the same bed sometimes after watching movies or studying. It always felt safe. Sweet. Not sexual at all.

  I don’t want that to change. I don’t want anything to change with him. As soon as I can make myself, I ease my legs out from under him and swing them over so I can stand up. I look down at him for a long minute, feeling that same clench.

  It should be in my heart because I’ve loved him for years, but this clench is definitely not in the region of my chest. It’s lower. A lot lower. But it’s not lust or desire as I’ve always understood it.

  Jeremy has stretched out as if his sleeping self realized there was suddenly more room on the couch. I go get a soft blanket from the hall closet and gently cover him up with it.

  I leave him sleeping in my living room as I go to my bedroom for the night.

  THE NEXT MORNING, I get up and come out of my room for coffee in my blue fleece pajama set with big white snowflakes all over them. I jerk to a stop when I see Jeremy in my kitchen, looking rumpled and sleepy and pouring coffee into a mug.

  He glances back at the surprised sound I make. “Did you forget I was here?”

  “No. Yes. I don’t know. It’s too early to answer questions like that.”

  I’m not a morning person. This is crystal clear to anyone who knows me.

  The day’s worth of beard makes Jeremy’s square face look almost rakish. And his eyelids over the warm brown eyes are strangely sexy. He straightens the collar of his wrinkled shirt. “Well, I’ve already made coffee, so you should have no complaints in that regard at least.”

  I take the mug he pours for me and sip it before I respond. “Yum. Thanks. I knew you were good for something.”

  He leans against the kitchen counter. “You might be surprised by how much I’m good for.”

  I frown, since this isn’t a Jeremy-like comment, and my mind isn’t clear enough to piece out what he might mean. “I know exactly how much you’re good for.”

  “Do you?” His eyebrows lift in a way that proves he’s not entirely teasing.

  “Yes. Of course I do. What’s this about?”

  He shakes away the expression. “Nothing. Like you said—it’s too early in the morning.”

  I’m not convinced by his attempt to deflect. It seems like he meant something in particular, and it worries me. I frown at him as I drink more coffee, hoping the familiar punch of taste and caffeine will clear my thinking and lead to insight.

  “Stop staring,” he mutters after a few minutes.

  “Then stop saying things like that.”

  “Like what?”

  “You know what. Have I done something? Are you upset about something?”

  His eyes meet mine across the kitchen. He’s standing very still, his coffee cup halfway up to his mouth.

  My hearts starts to race. “Jeremy? If something’s wrong, you have to tell me. You can be all stoic and reserved with other people, but you can’t be that way with me. You know that.”

  He clears his throat. “I know.” He inhales and then lets it out.

  I can see him struggling to say something, and I know it’s hard for him. His life before he met me taught him that he couldn’t trust other people. Couldn’t ever open up for real.

  He was abandoned by his mother when he was five years old. She just up and left him one day and never looked back. He ended up in the foster system and remained there until he turned eighteen. He never really got into trouble as a kid. He just withdrew into himself. Into books and computers and theoretical concepts.

  Once he let me in, I learned how deep and thoughtful and generous and sensitive he really is, but he doesn’t let other people see that. Not easily anyway. And even with me it isn’t always a sure thing.

  It’s taking him so long to get it said that I search for some way to help him. I ask gently, “Did I do something, Jeremy? You can tell me if I did.” I suddenly remember something from last night. “Shit. It’s about yesterday, isn’t it? You’re still upset I didn’t tell you about George.”

  “I’m upset you lied.” A muscle in his jaw flickers, which is a sign that he’s gotten tense. This must be what it was about.

  “I didn’t—” I don’t bother to finish the argument. While technically I could justify how I acted by saying it wasn’t an outright lie, I did avoid telling him at first and both of us know it. “I said I was sorry about that. Are you really still mad about it?”

  “I’m not mad.”

  “Hurt?”

  “I thought you trusted me.”

  I suck in a breath. “Jeremy, I do trust you! You know I do. There’s no one in the world I trust more than you.”

  “Then why didn’t you want to tell me about Franks? If you really trusted me, you wouldn’t have hesitated the way you did.”

  “I don’t know.” I groan since I thought we’d gotten over this, and here we are again. “I don’t know. Maybe I knew you would act like this.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like you don’t like him.”

  Jeremy puts his coffee cup down and takes a step toward me. “Why do you think I don’t like him?”

  “Because I know you. Don’t act like I don’t know how to read you. Tell me the truth. You don’t like him, do you?”

  He chews his bottom lip for just a moment. “No. I don’t like him.”

  “See. I knew it. Maybe I already knew this, and that’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”

  “You think that’s what it was?”

  “What else could it have been?” My eyes are wide, and my tone is sincere. The question is utterly genuine. I have absolutely no idea what else might have led to my weird feelings yesterday when it came time to tell Jeremy about George.

  He looks at me. Keeps looking. I swear he can see into my soul.

  If it was anyone but Jeremy, I wouldn’t like it, but Jeremy already knows everything about me and loves me just the same.

  “Nothing. I don’t know what it is.”

  “So are we okay? Are you still upset?”

  “I’m not upset.” His voice is calm, and his expression is normal, but his body still feels too tense to me.

  “But you still don’t like George?”

  “No, I don’t like him.”

  “Why not?”

  He doesn’t answer.

  “Damn it, Jeremy, what’s gotten into you this morning? Why don’t you like George?”

  He shakes his head. “I just don’t.”

  “Well, if you won’t tell me what you don’t like about him, you can’t expect me to not go out with him.”

  He scowls. “I never asked you to not go out with him.”

  “I know you didn’t, but I trust you. And there are plenty of times when you see more than I see. If there’s some reason not to like a man, then I’ll listen to you. But you have to actually tell me what it is.”

  He opens his mouth, but no words come out.

  I make a frustrated sound and rub my messy hair. “Damn it, Jeremy. Say something. Why shouldn’t I go out with him?”

  He swallows so hard I see it in his throat. Then he turns away from me, picking up his coffee cup, rinsing it out, and putting it in the dishwasher. “You should go out with him,” he says at last. “If you lik
e him, go out with him.”

  “I am. I’m going out with him tonight.”

  “Then fine.” His eyes flash with some sort of strong emotion. Something akin to anger but not exactly that. His voice is thicker than it should be. “So go out with him. Have a great time.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.”

  “Good.”

  “Fine.” He’s going into the living room to put on his shoes and grab his jacket.

  “Fine,” I say, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

  “Bye.”

  “Bye.” I feel a flicker of amusement at my unintentional parroting of his words. Normally he would see this, and the humor would dispel the annoyance.

  But he doesn’t respond to it this time. He walks out of my apartment without another word, and I’m left feeling bewildered and frustrated and wishing I could shake him.

  And also so sad I almost cry.

  I’M OUT OF SORTS ALL day.

  I try to distract myself with errands, and then I call my friend Katrina and we go shopping in the afternoon. My excuse is that I need a new outfit for tonight, but the truth is I have plenty of things to wear.

  Mostly, I want to stop thinking about Jeremy for a little while.

  I manage with limited success, and if I keep checking my phone to see if he texted and am constantly disappointed when he doesn’t, there’s nothing I can do about that.

  I intentionally shift my focus to George as I start to get ready—showering, blow-drying my hair straight and smooth, applying makeup, and putting on a short, casual shirt with a black sweater, black tights, and tall black boots.

  He sent me a message earlier to let me know we were going to dinner and a movie, so I can safely look nice without feeling ridiculously overdressed.

  Dinner and a movie feels like a real date. Not just a casual get-together to test the waters.

  This is good. It’s exciting. It’s the kind of sparks I’ve been hoping to find. And I’m not going to let Jeremy and his obtuseness get in the way of it.

  George picks me up, looking handsome and more pulled together than normal in khakis and a nice shirt. He drives me to a midpriced restaurant, and as we eat, we talk about our jobs, our families, and people we both know. I tell him a story about when I was six and the only thing I wanted for Christmas was a picture frame with a dog on it that I’d seen in the drugstore and how I cried when my parents got me a much more expensive frame with a different dog on it because that wasn’t the one I wanted. Then we go to a superhero movie I’ve been looking forward to seeing.

  In fact, it’s probably the movie Jeremy had in mind when he suggested we go see one tonight.

  I wish I hadn’t thought about that since the idea festers. Instead of interacting with George—smiling over at him, leaning over to say things in his ear, and otherwise being an appealing date—I sit and stare at the movie screen and think of how much more fun it would be if I’d gone to see this movie with Jeremy.

  It’s a highly upsetting situation.

  I try to pull it together afterward. George suggests we get coffee, so he must be having a good time. I do my best. I smile and keep smiling. I laugh at his jokes and meet his eyes and nod when he says things like I’m interested.

  And I try to keep him from seeing that I’m ready for the evening to be over.

  He drops me back at my apartment at twenty after eleven. He walks me to my door and leans over to brush my lips with his. It’s a nice kiss. Not too demanding or intrusive but exactly right for a first date.

  I make myself kiss him back, and then I smile and tell him I had a nice time.

  He says we should do it again.

  Then he leaves and I can finally let down my guard.

  I stand in my entryway, looking out the window until George’s headlights disappear down the street. I hug my arms to my stomach and make a little sound that’s almost like a sob.

  It’s late. I should go to bed. I should sleep off the weird feelings and then give Jeremy a call tomorrow to work things out.

  I’m sure we will.

  We always have before.

  But I don’t want to wait that long. There’s no way I’m going to be able to sleep—not feeling this way. I grab my purse and my keys and head out the door.

  I end up a few blocks away at Jeremy’s cute little brick house, ringing his doorbell.

  His dog, Leo, starts barking. I can hear him running toward the door with big, deep belly barks that are aimed at scaring away anyone who dares to intrude. A minute later, I hear Jeremy’s muffled voice from inside. “Shut up, Leo. You’ve already proven your manliness. No sense in waking up the neighborhood.”

  The dead bolt turns, and he swings the door open.

  I gape when I see him. He’s wearing boxers and a white undershirt. He hasn’t shaved since yesterday, and he obviously just got out of bed.

  “I’m sorry.” I can’t help but stare. He looks different without his clothes on. Stronger. Rougher. Not as cuddly. “I didn’t know you’d be asleep already.”

  “I wasn’t asleep.”

  My eyes drop to his blue boxers. His bare legs.

  “I was in bed,” he replies to my unspoken disbelief. “I wasn’t asleep. What’s the matter?”

  “Can I come in?”

  “Of course you can come in.” He steps out of the way. His expression is changing as he processes my appearance here at this time of night. “What’s the matter? Did something happen with Franks?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.” Leo’s ferocious barks have immediately transformed into ecstatic pants and yips of greeting as he realizes who the unexpected visitor is. His entire small black body wiggles.

  Leo is a five-year-old cocker spaniel.

  I squat down to give him rubs and head scratches as Jeremy closes the front door behind me.

  “May, tell me what the hell you’re doing here. What happened with Franks?”

  “Nothing happened. I told you. The date was fine.”

  “Then what are you doing here?” He reaches down to drag me back up to my feet, away from Leo’s enthusiastic wriggling. “Tell me what’s happening.”

  “Nothing’s happening.” I’m a little annoyed by his demanding tone. He’s not normally like that, and it’s making my insides feel weird. Plus I feel embarrassed and kind of guilty for coming over here like this at all. “The date was good. It’s not about that.”

  “Then what is it about?”

  I just blurt it out. “I don’t like fighting with you.”

  Jeremy blinks, rubbing his face as if he’s trying to wake himself up. “We weren’t really fighting.”

  “Well, we were doing something, and I don’t like it. I want it to get better. Tell me what I can do to make it better.”

  He sighs hoarsely. “It’s not like that, May. There’s nothing you need to do.”

  “Then what is it? Is it George?” I bite my lip as I think through possibilities. “Do you know something about him that I need to know?”

  “What?”

  “You know what I mean. Is there something about him that you know that I need to know too? If there is, you need to tell me. Please tell me.”

  He opens his mouth and closes it again. Then he says, “It’s nothing like that. I don’t know anything about him like that.”

  “Then what is it? Something is going on here—something that’s getting in the way of us—and I need to know what it is.”

  Something changes in his stance, his expression. He’s suddenly so tense I can feel it shuddering off him. I hold my breath, knowing he’s going to say something.

  Really important.

  He opens his mouth again and then closes it without saying anything the way he did before. But this time he doesn’t follow it up with an answer. He blows out the tension and doesn’t say anything at all.

  I make a little whimper. “Jeremy?”

  “It’s nothing big,” he says, reaching down absently to pat Leo’s head since the dog is head-but
ting his leg, indignant about being ignored like this for so long. “I just don’t like him. I’m sorry, but I don’t.”

  “You’ve got to have a reason for not liking him. Has he not been nice to you?”

  “I’m not sure he knows I exist at all. But that’s not it. I just don’t like him. It’s not rational. He just feels... entitled. Like things have come too easily for him. Like he hasn’t had to work for them. I don’t like guys like that. I’m sorry. I just don’t.”

  I frown, some of my urgency relaxing now that Jeremy has told me the truth. “I haven’t sensed that about him. Are you sure he’s like that?”

  “I don’t know,” he mutters. “Maybe I’m making it up. I don’t know him very well. I’ve just never liked him. I’m sorry I’m not being supportive, but I don’t like him. I think you can do better.”

  Despite his words, this feels better to me. More familiar. Less scary. This is close to the way we normally interact, so I know what to do. “My experience hasn’t proven that statement to be true. I’m not overwhelmed with romantic possibilities, and I’m not going to throw a good one away because you’re grumpy about him.”

  “I’m not expecting you to throw him away.” He’s giving me a faint scowl, but it doesn’t worry me. I’m familiar with that look. “Did I ever say you should?”

  “Well, I also don’t want to hear constant complaints about the guy I’m dating.”

  He gives me a quick look. “You’re dating him now?”

  “I don’t know. He said he wanted to do it again, so if he asks, I’m going to say yes.”

  Jeremy chews his lower lip, staring down at the floor for a few seconds before he looks back at me. “So you really like him?”

  “I don’t know. I want to give him a chance.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay what?”

  “Okay, I’ll try to do better. Be supportive. That stuff. You know.” He’s staring at the floor again, clearly embarrassed by the earnestness of the conversation. “Sorry.”

  I laugh—mostly in relief—and reach out to pull him into a hug. “Thank you. I knew you were my teddy bear for a reason.”

  He makes a grumbling sound at the appellation, but he wraps his arms around me and holds me tightly.