Getting Kole for Christmas (4 page)

I try to think of something else to say but fail. So I just sit here, looking out the windshield, willing him to stay long enough for me to undo the damage I’ve done.

Kole creaks open the door, drawing my gaze back to him. I look over in time to see him climb out of the car. He leans down to look at me.

In the two seconds it takes for him to speak, an entire world of unspoken hurt passes through his eyes. “Thanks for the ride.”

The door closes, and Kole barrels across his snow-covered yard toward a set of shovels leaning against the house. Every conscious thought in me says I should not leave. I need to forget about getting asked to the dance. Forget about a second chance at the mistletoe kiss. What I need to do is be a friend. I have wronged him, and I’m desperate to make it right.

With that thought, I shove the gear into park and shut off the ignition. I have on a black pair of high top Converse. My sisters wear heels and pumps no matter how much snow they have to trudge through. I am not like them.

“What are you doing?” Kole asks when he spots me heading toward the other shovel.

“Helping you.” I wonder if he’ll tell me I don’t need to.

He doesn’t, and I’m glad. I start on the opposite side of Kole, thrusting the shovel beneath the heavy layers of snow.

“So you know Melanie got asked…” I say, hoisting the laden shovel with a grunt. “But do you know
how
she got asked?”

Kole does his dark laugh. “Nope. But I can’t wait to hear it.” My heart does a little dance inside. I waste no time in telling him all about the fruit and the notes, and pretty soon we’re right back into our old groove.

“But I haven’t told you the worst part.”

“What,” he asks through a laugh, trying to kick the wet stubborn snow off his shovel.

“The basket shows up on our porch, but it doesn’t have a name on it. So both Trina and Melanie are freaking out because they’re thinking it’s for them, right? They ruled out Tiff because she’s already been asked and everyone knows she’s Evan’s girl so no one else in school would even try and ask.”

“Okay,” he urges.

“So Melanie and Trina start arguing over who gets to open note number one which they hope will have a name on it. In the end, my whole family decides
I
am the safe one to open it because nobody in that entire house thinks I’ll get asked.”

“Wow. Is your family blind?”

I glance over at him. “Huh?”

“You’re the best looking girl in the family. The only reason you don’t get asked is because you intimidate nearly every guy in school.”

Whoa. Did he just say I was better looking than the Bronson twins? “That’s so not true,” I mutter, but I can feel my face going red from the compliment. If I argue that point any more he’ll push and it’ll just get embarrassing. “And I doubt I intimidate anyone.”

“You do.”

Hmm. What a weird thing to say. I’m so caught up in guessing what he means by it that I nearly miss the next thing that comes out of his mouth.

“I’m sorry for kissing you the other day.”

I freeze in place, listening to the resounding echo of his words as they bounce off the closed garage door like mean, stabbing icicles. At least one of them catches me right in the heart.

A moment ago my fingers started to ache from their frozen state. Something my thin gloves can’t prevent. But that feels like nothing compared to this new, unreachable pain within me.

I want so badly to tell him that it’s okay. He doesn’t need to apologize, but I’m too stuck on the fact that he has. Time keeps ticking on and every second I’m further away from forming the right words on my lips. I’m devastated. How can he regret something that is such a wonderful, yummy, best almost-moment of my life?

Say something,
I shout to myself.

“Do you wanna make a snowman?” It comes out sounding like that line from the movie.

“Huh?”

“Yeah,” I say. “We’re almost done, and I haven’t seen snow that packs this well in years.” Probably because I usually avoid the stuff at all costs. (Except when I’m carving embarrassing, self-incriminating evidence into it with a stick.)

Kole gets this thoughtful look in his eye as he props an elbow onto the upright shovel. “Okay.”

We each finish up our last few rows until the driveway is clear and make our way to the center of the yard. Once we start to roll the snow, Kole says, “You know, my dad used to get furious with me if I played in the front yard snow.”

I frown. “He did?”

“Yep. One time, we had just gotten home from some holiday movie. Me, him and my mom. I was just a little kid you know. I remember zipping right out into the big open yard of fresh snow.”

When he pauses there, I glance over to see him. His back is turned to me, his gloved hands working to form a snowball that is already twice the size of a bowling ball and four times the size of my sad beginnings.   

“All of the sudden,” he says, “I get ripped off the ground by the back of my coat. He was cursing up a storm. Saying that I had the entire back yard to mess up. And didn’t I know anything… you’re not supposed to mess up the front.”

My already hurting heart stings in a new way. I hate the idea of someone doing that to a child. But I extra-hate the idea of Kole’s father doing it to him. I want to call him a name but I’m not sure if that would hurt Kole’s feelings.

He surprises me by bursting into a laugh. “You should have seen my mom. She went ballistic. Snatched me out of his hands so fast and started going off on him.” He glances over at me, a sad smile on his face. “Nice Christmas memory, huh?”

My lips turn down at one side. “Yeah.”

“What a d-bag,” he says. “Freakin’ hate that guy.”

“Me too,” I blurt.

Kole grins and goes back to rolling the growing mound.

“Just so you know,” I say, “you can play in our snow anytime you want.”

“I can?”

Oh, how I love the sound of his voice. “Yes.”

I spend the next few minutes thinking of the contrast between Kole’s now-absent father and my ever-present dad. Never would mine yell at me over such a thing. I wish Kole would have had a decent dad. A loving one, like mine.

But soon my thoughts turn back to that deep longing in my chest. The aching need I have to be with him all the time. To be more to him than a friend.

I spend the remainder of our time – most of it anyway – obsessing over why he would want to take back the kiss. The answer is probably clear enough, to a person who’s willing to see it, anyway: Kole doesn’t really like me like that, and he doesn’t want to send the wrong idea.

Fine.

Point taken.

My heart is numb from the cold anyhow.

I sum up my situation in a thoughtful, not-going-to-cry-about-it-when-I-get-home sort of way. Kole and I are friends again, and that’s good. He will not be asking me to the Christmas dance and that’s fine.

I picture Meg and Cassie getting all dressed up for the night. Going shopping for the right jewelry, polish and shoes. And as I consider what that night will be like for them and for that whole group of friends – I have a terrible thought come to mind. One that nearly strangles me with the image alone: It’s one thing if Kole doesn’t ask me to the dance. I only hope that he does not ask anyone else. 

“Kylie?”

I hear someone yelling my name from upstairs as I bounce the soccer ball on my knee.

“Yeah?” I say, wishing I could go out back and give the thing a solid kick. Playing soccer is therapy for me. And now I’m stuck suffering without the aid of my therapist. How is this fair?

“Jacob got hurt skiing.” Melanie bounds down the stairs in tears. Her hair is pulled into a high ponytail but wisps of it are fraying left and right.

“He did? The one who asked you to the dance?”

She nears enough for me to see tears in her eyes. “Yes,” she sniffs, “and he broke both legs. His mom says there’s no way he can take me now.”

My heart sinks. “You’re kidding.”

She shakes her head and drags the back of her hand across her nose. “Nope. We can’t go now.” She bursts into full-on sobs and I suddenly want to do the same.

I drop the ball and toss my arms around her. “I’m so sorry,” I say, and I mean it with all my heart. At one point I may have thought something like this would be good news. But I’m glad to realize that’s not how I feel in the least. I have enough pessimism and angst for the both of us. Melanie doesn’t need to taint herself with any of that. I like her the way she is. I
need
her the way she is: Happy and hopeful. Cheery and kind. I can’t watch her suffer through something like this after she’s been so excited about going. I just can’t.

I spend the next two hours taking Melanie to her favorite burger joint where we pig out on shakes and onion rings and steak fries. When Tiff and Trina get upset they starve themselves for days. Melanie and I take a different route. Once we’re done, I take her to the hospital where she runs in a shake with a note. I help her write it by stealing the idea Cassie talked about using for Chase:

Guess we’ll have to shake the night away another time. Hope your legs heal soon!  

Melanie doesn’t know it, but the entire time I am racking my brain, trying to think of just who I can get to ask her to that dance. I’ll pull from my personal account and pay for the evening myself, if the kid’s too poor to take her. I just know that she has to go.

She falls asleep on the couch while we watch back-to-back episodes of the Bachelorette and I realize it’s time to make my move. Since losing my phone I’ve been using Melanie’s to text and chat with Kole, but this time that’s not an option; she can’t possibly know what I’m up to.

The old phone in the den has Kole’s home number on speed dial. I tap the oversized button and wait, not certain they even have the home phone anymore.

“Hello?” It’s Kole’s voice. Bless the heavens and everything in ‘em.

“Hi,” I say as heat spreads into my face.

“Hey.”

Mercy
, I love the sound of that voice. I decide that’s enough small talk and move right into the purpose of my call. The topic means so much to me that I find the words flying out in a frenzied flurry.

“I can probably find somebody to ask her out,” Kole says once I take a second to breathe.

“Really?”

“Yeah. Before school started I helped train the junior league. I met a ton of sophomores and freshmen, you know? Let me see what I can do.”

I gasp. “You are …” I shake my head while thinking of how to finish that sentence.
My hero? My rescuer? My future husband?
“…the best,” I finally say. “Thank you.”

I can’t help but wonder if Kole can really pull this off. If so, when will it happen? Melanie wakes up from her depression-induced nap and we watch two more episodes of The Bachelorette and heat up soup for dinner since Mom and Dad are out on a date and Trina and Tiff are on dates of their own.

When the home phone rings, I quirk a brow in confusion before rushing to answer it. “Hello?”

“Is she home?” he asks. It’s Kole and I think I love him.

“Yes,” I answer. “This is the Bronsons, but neither of my parents are home right now.” I glance over at Melanie as her shoulders droop in disappointment.

“Your parents are gone?” Kole asks. “Maybe
I’ll
come over too.” The playful tone of his voice makes my body respond in ways I can hardly fathom.

“Make sure she answers the door.”

“Okay.”

“Oh, and Kylie?”

“Uh-huh?”

He clears his throat. “The guy has a class with her. Said he was thinking about asking her, but didn’t because Jacob beat him to it. He’s a good guy too. I wouldn’t have called him if he wasn’t.”

I spin around so Melanie can’t see the wide, ridiculous grin on my face. “Alright,” I say, still trying to sound businesslike. “Thank you.” I hang up the phone before I can shout out an impulsive
I love you
, and scurry back to the couch.

I barely sink into the cushions when the doorbell chimes out the chorus of Jingle Bells.

I look over at Melanie, checking the braid I did for her, glad to see that she still looks just like a brunette version of that ice princess with the side braid.

“Let’s go get the door,” I say. “Hurry.”

“No,” Melanie says. “What if it’s someone who’s asking Trina to the dance?”

“Well, Trina’s not here,” I say. “And somebody’s got to get it.”

She follows reluctantly upstairs. “Hurry and grab it,” I say, “I’ve got something in my throat and I need a drink.” My excuse is so lame I want to laugh at it. 

I snag a glass and start filling it up at the fridge. Melanie shoots me a dark look before twisting the knob with a huff.

I stare at my water glass as I hear her gasp, then set the untouched drink on the counter and dash in to join her.

“It’s for me,” she exclaims. “It says it’s for me.”

I hold the screen door open for her while she leans down to secure a colorful plastic box. Candy bars and cookies fill the container. A piece of cardstock – taped to a long stick – tops the candy.

“Melanie,” she reads, “I wanted to give you a tasty treat, because I think you are really sweet. But there’s something I’d like to beg in return, a date at the dance I’m hoping to earn. To see who’s asking, look through the candy. I think our night will be quite dandy.”

She turns to look at me, and when she squeals – I can’t help it – I squeal too. I’m seriously excited for her. “Well, let’s see who it’s from.”

I hunker down beside her as she digs in. “You look through the licorice,” she says, tapping the bag. I’ve heard people talk about discovering the true meaning of Christmas and it always seems to have something to do with the spirit of giving versus receiving. I can’t help but think that – if I can’t go – at least Melanie can. Maybe I’m finally evolving the way I should.

If I had to gauge my misery on a scale from one to ten, I’d say I’m down from a nine and resting somewhere between five and six. I shrug to myself, knowing I can deal with that just fine.