148: Soft Spot

The day was sunny so far, and Jon was taking advantage of the solar warmth beaming through the big living room windows.  Comfortably dressed in Notre Dame sweats and sneakers, he didn’t even mind the brightness that normally hurt his eyes.  The ambiance of the Christmas tree made up for it this morning, and he enjoyed a second cup of coffee in its shadow while pretending to read the paper. 

He'd had the brief idea of issuing a preemptive strike against the amount of calories that would be in the house today by taking a short run.  Then, remembering that Chiara was the chef-in-residence for the holiday feast, he decided he wouldn't eat enough to make a difference.  That’s why he was sitting on his ass with the dog at his feet, outwardly indulging in Christmas laziness when Jon hummed with anticipation underneath it all.

The last piece of the puzzle – well second-to-last – had dropped into place yesterday, allowing him to cross through the final fucking thing on that endless task list.  It was almost as satisfying as the counselor’s face as she hugged every single one of their children last night and pretended not to cry over some art supplies. 

The kids had been good sports about helping out with the surprise – more eager than he would’ve expected, and that made him happy because it meant everyone was getting along well.  Even Noah and Caleb were being exceptionally agreeable by spending the night here in the house instead of going back to Brooklyn last night.  They wanted to make their mom happy on Christmas, and it was Norman fucking Rockwell enough to soften Jon’s lukewarm, grey heart. 

As though the thoughts conjured his youthful presence, Noah chose that moment to leisurely swing around the end of the front staircase railing and begin a slow saunter down the hall.  It was only upon noticing Jon’s presence in the living room that he paused in the doorway to ask, “Where’s Mom?”

“Kitchen.”  Peering over the rim of his reading glasses at the counselor’s eldest, he sagely advised, “But I wouldn’t go in there if I were you.”

“Why not?”

The unmistakable clatter of pots and pans came singing down the hallway, loud enough to breach the hundred-foot distance between living room and kitchen.  Even louder was the ensuing, “Dammit all to hell!  I hate this!”

“That answer your question?”

The boy’s dark eyes were filled with indecision as he glanced speculatively toward the lion’s den.  “Maybe I should go help her.”

“Buddy, you do what you want, but I’ve heard at least a dozen times this week that she’s going to do it herself or die trying.”

Indecision turned to concern as Noah pushed both hands into the pockets of his red and black checked lounge pants.  “But what if she screws it all up?”

“I’ll tell you what I told everybody threatening to bring food ‘just in case’.  I don’t care how bad dinner is, she’s worked her butt off for a month to make this happen.  We’ll eat it and lie through our teeth about how wonderful it is,” Jon declared with finality.  “Then you and your brother will fix pizza later.” 

Noah’s laughter and reluctant agreement brought Jon’s own smile to the surface.  The counselor had raised exceptional boys.  They had their issues, but so did everybody.  Most of the time they were upstanding young men with just enough hellion to keep them interesting, and no parent could ask for much more. 

“And I have a caterer on standby,” he added in an undertone.  “But don’t tell her that.”

“Don’t tell me what?”  The counselor snuck up on him from behind, using the dining room entrance instead of the hall.   

“What I got you for Christmas.”

“You’re such a liar,” she scoffed at the tale that rolled so easily from his tongue.  “I have a gorgeous studio that you graciously outfitted as my Christmas gift.”

“That was from the kids.  I’m talking about what I got you.” 

“Hmpf.  I still say you’re full of it.”  Even though Jon told the God’s honest truth, she made no attempt to hide her blatant disbelief.  Pushing up the sleeves of her Stanford sweatshirt, the counselor demanded of Noah, “Where’s your brother?”

“Still asleep.”

“Well, go wake him up,” came the cross command.  “If I have to be up and confined to the pits of hell, he can get his happy holiday hump out of bed.”

Folding his paper in a neat square, Jon bit his tongue and held it long enough to take off his reading glasses while Noah disappeared up the stairs.  “You’re in a fucking festive mood.  Cheer the hell up, or I’m banishing you from the kitchen and calling a caterer.”

Cantankerous features smoothed into a far more pleasant expression as she proclaimed, “Oh, I’m plenty cheery.  I just want them to appreciate it, so I lead with the bitch mother routine.  The only thing wrong with me is that I’m impatient for them to see their gifts.”

“Ah, yes, the gifts.” He tucked the newspaper between his thigh and the arm of the couch as she took up residence on the cushion next to him.  “You’re gonna be the cool mom this year.”

“I’m the cool mom every year.  They just won’t realize how cool until they start playing Santa to their own kids.  When they figure out how hard it is to be both practical and indulgent…  I’m looking forward to some amazing gifts in my golden years.”

Chortling with delight at her master plan, he rubbed an affectionate hand up and down her back.  “I’m glad I fell in love with such a wise woman.”

“Wise men are drawn to wise women.”

“Damn.  It really is Christmas.”  The happily sighed observation came as he inclined his face toward hers.  “You’re being nice to me and everything.”

“Don’t get used-“ The rest of her smartass retort was smothered by a kiss that disheveled her already messy knot of hair.  He roamed hands through it, unhurriedly slicking his tongue against hers just because he liked the way it felt.  He also liked the way her burrowing hands encouraged him as they snuck under the Fighting Irish sweatshirt and lightly scratched his spine. 

“Oh for God’s sake,” Caleb groused.  “This is what I had to get up for?  Seriously?  I’m going back to bed.”

Neither Jon nor the counselor rushed to end the kiss, taking longer to separate than they normally would have just to be mean.  She didn’t even bother wiping the shine from her lips before flashing an evil grin at the boy.  “I can’t help it.  I like him.”

Such simple words, but damn if they didn’t hit Jon in an expectedly soft spot.   The harsh demands he’d put upon himself in the last month were going to be worth it, and he smiled at her like a besotted fool as she tormented her son.

“Can you be a little less demonstrative about liking him?” Noah’s plea was made as he slid past them and dropped into one of the nearby floral chairs.  “I’m glad you’ve got… whatever this is, but please.  We don’t need to think about what you do behind closed doors.”

“We don’t need you to think about it either.” Jon definitely did not need that and tossed his chin toward the fireplace.  “I think an elf came by stuck something else in your stockings this morning.  Why don’t you check it out while we sit here and chastely hold hands?”

As the counselor laid a cheek on his shoulder and tucked both of their hands into her lap, she let loose a delicate giggle that delivered another blow to his soft spot.  When she whispered something equally sweet and dirty in his ear, it was a one-two punch.

He could stop to think about all the ways she managed to manipulate that soft spot, or he could stop thinking altogether and just enjoy everything the day would bring.  They were going to make some beautiful memories today, and since he didn’t want to miss a thing, Jon chose to snug an arm around his girlfriend and hold her close.

“My camera’s in the office,” he murmured into her hair.  “Do you have your phone to get this?”

“No, dammit.  It’s in the kitchen.”

When she would’ve bounced up, his arm constricted to keep her close while he dug in his pocket.   “Here.  Use mine.”

“You’re supposed to be chastely holding hands, not crawling into each other’s skin,” Caleb caustically reminded as his brother tossed an aged Pokèmon stocking at him, and then sank into the adjoining chair with a Spongebob one.  Sentimental Chiara refused to replace the stockings of their youth, and another blow landed in that soft spot. 

Maybe that’s why he was less reserved than usual when flipping the kid a middle finger behind the counselor’s shoulder and offering the gruff order to, “Shut up and stick your hand in Pikachu’s head.”

The bed-headed young man shot a sideways grin at the couch and did as instructed, coming up with a box the size of his palm.  Noah held a nearly identical one, the only difference being that his was wrapped in red instead of green.  They both displayed a finesse more suitable to the small boys who’d originally received those stockings than the young adults they were now, but they didn’t seem concerned.  The paper was ripped away to reveal matching white boxes, whose lids were lifted simultaneously by the brothers.   

“Are you fucking kidding me?” drowned out, “Holy shit!”, but just barely as each held up a set of car keys.

“I raised such genteel sons,” the counselor remarked in a dry aside while snapping photos of wide eyes and open mouths.  “Classy as fuck.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, “They are their mama’s boys.”

“Gah.  I guess they are.”

Caleb shook his keys at Jon.  “If these go to a Mustang, I’m gonna need you to adopt me.”

“This is all your mother,” came the immediate denial, accompanied by innocent hands in the air.  “All I did was make a suggestion – and agree to pay the first six months’ insurance.”

“Whatever.”  Noah hopped up, hot on the heels of his brother as the two raced toward the front door in their socked feet, and more classy excitement could be heard once they came face-to-face with the vehicles parked out front.

The counselor chuckled as they went to join the excitement from the semi-warmth of the doorway. “I think they like them.”

Considering that they circled the silver Ford Mustang and white Dodge Challenger like hyenas closing in on a wounded wildebeest, Jon would say her assumption was a safe one. 

Busy shouting the features of their new rides back and forth to one another, neither seemed to mind that the cars weren’t brand new or that they were the most conservative sports cars their mother could find.  They were just happy to have something to call their own, and it made Jon remember the feeling of getting his first car. 

It was only a beat-up piece of crap, but it belonged to him and he’d been so damn proud.  Seeing that some rites of passage never changed had him adopting a sentimental smile as he draped an arm around the counselor.

“You did good, baby.”

“We did good.  But I wonder…”  Twisting her neck, she looked up at him with a wry grin.  “You think they’re going to be just as excited when I tell them they eventually have to get jobs to pay for the insurance?”

Seeing how high these kids were flying as they revved their engines, he doubted it would make a damn bit of difference.