The Stocking Was Hung(23)

I don’t know what the hell is wrong with me. One minute I’m sad about the thought of him leaving after Christmas, the next I only want him for sex and then in the blink of an eye, I’m back to wanting to keep him forever. For the sex.

Okay fine, for him too. He’s just so…perfect. My brain is fried from getting so worked up every time I look at him without a release to cool my jets. Once again though, all my fault. He was more than willing to diddle the doodlebug last night and I turned him down. Told him I was fine and it was just for him, that I expected nothing in return, blah, blah, blah, I suck.

“What do you think about this one? Does your Aunt Bobbie like blue?” Sam asks, holding up a light blue sweater with little sparkling crystals adorning the plunging neckline.

“Sam, I told you already, you don’t have to buy my family any gifts,” I insist for the tenth time since we got to the mall.

Today is family shopping day. We always come out to Great Northern Mall two days before Christmas to do our last minute shopping, spreading out from one end of the mall to the other, and then meeting back together for lunch in the food court. Thank God I already bought most of my presents before I lost my job and brought them with me. The meager savings account I have needs to last me long enough to find another job and get my first paycheck. And it needs to go toward first and last month’s rent on a new place when I get back to Seattle.

Dammit, even the thought of going back to Seattle depresses me. I love Seattle, I love the friends I’ve made in Seattle, and there is no justified reason why the thought of going back there should make me said.

“They let me into their home and keep me fed. Of course I’m going to buy them presents,” Sam informs me, tucking the blue sweater under his arm and moving to the next table that, coincidentally, has a display of A Christmas Story-themed items.

Yep, there it is. The number one reason why going back to Seattle makes me feel like an emo teenager.

Sam picks up a stocking cap with Ralphie’s face on it and the words “You’ll shoot your eye out!” Sam laughs, tucking that under his arm with the sweater.

“Yep, Nicholas is getting this. Wow, they also have matching socks! Oh, my God, look at this! A real Red Ryder BB gun!” he exclaims excitedly.

Watching him go from item to item, shoving more and more things under his arms for my family, makes me want to sit down on the floor in the middle of the store and bawl like a baby. When Logan found out I was bringing him home to meet my family for Christmas, he asked me how much was appropriate to spend on Visa gift cards for each of them. I just smiled and told him whatever he wanted would be good enough, when what I really should have done was tell him that gift cards are total bullshit gifts. Get to know someone, learn about what they like and what their interests are, and then tailor a gift that will be special to them. Sam has never had a family, never had anyone in his life he cared about enough to celebrate Christmas, and he already knows the proper way to shop for the holidays – with thoughtful, meaningful gifts, not a small piece of plastic that says “I don’t really know you or give a shit to know you. Here’s some cash, have fun with that.”

Sam hustles over to yet another display, this one filled with gift boxes of different Christmas sausages, jams, crackers and cheeses, immediately picking up a box with a red bow on it and turning it to face me, laughing so hard he chokes.

“A box of fifteen different cheeses, ten packets of hot chocolate mix and two mugs that say Eggnog Mugs. Yep, your dad is getting this special dairy collection,” he laughs.

Cry, or give him another blow job? Cry, or give him another blow job?

It’s really a toss-up right now which one feels like the right way to show how much I appreciate what he’s doing. He told me when we first walked away from my family at the entrance of the mall that he didn’t know the first thing about buying Christmas presents, and that’s when I told him he didn’t need to buy anyone anything. I wanted to wrap him in my arms and hold him tight, letting him know how sorry I am that he never had anything like this growing up, but I knew a guy like him would never want my pity. By the time we got to the second store, he had Christmas shopping down to a science.

“Okay, I’m running out of room to hold all this shit, I should probably check out,” Sam declares as I follow him toward one of the registers.

The soft strains of Christmas music has been following us from store-to-store all morning, and when we get to the counter and Sam drops his items on top of it, I hear Jingle Bells end and the opening notes to Dominic the Donkey. Right when I open my mouth to either apologize to him or laugh, I hear a sound come from him as he reaches in his back pocket for his wallet and realize he’s humming along to the song.

Maybe he doesn’t really hate Christmas as much as he says he does. I mean, he’s made it through holiday shopping hell this close to the big day, not yet growling or cursing at any of the idiots who bumped into us without so much as an apology and now he’s humming along to the worst song in the world. There’s hope for him yet!

“Merry Christmas!” the cashier tells Sam, handing him his receipt and the huge red bag with handles that holds his purchases.

“Uh, yep,” he mumbles, taking the bag and quickly turning away from her.

Okay, maybe there’s still a little more work to be done.

I rush to catch up to him as he holds out his hand for me like it’s the most natural thing in the world and I take it like it’s no big deal. Like we’ve been going Christmas shopping together for years. Like we’re a real couple, enjoying the mall’s decorations hung from every doorway and are madly in love during the holiday season. How in the hell am I going to go back to my boring, stupid, jobless, homeless life in Seattle in a few days and leave him here?