"What is that?" Adam stares at the over sized red sock Rocky's proudly holding. It's crammed full of junk and, much more perplexingly, has his name crudely embroidered on one side.
"It's a Christmas stocking!" Rocky says, filled with pleasure at being able to tell Adam some minutia.
Unimpressed and shivering from the crisp, cold California morning, Adam chaps his hands and blows warm air onto them. "What's it do?"
"It doesn't do anything." He settles down on the back porch step. "It's full of presents."
Adam remains skeptical and, unable to bear the thought of sitting on hard, cold concrete, remains standing. "Why's it in a sock?"
Rocky blinks up at him. "Actually, I have no idea."
Adam raises an eyebrow at him. "Why's it got my name stitched on the side?"
"Do you like it?" He beams. "My mom helped me with it. She was really upset when I told her you'd never had a Christmas stocking before."
A strange tickle of warmth flitters through Adam, though he still doesn't sit. Not only is it cold, they're exposed in Rocky's back yard. There's no fence and it opens right into a field; it isn't safe. He tries to stomp circulation back into his feet. "My family doesn't really celebrate Christmas."
"That doesn't mean you don't have to." Reaching up, Rocky takes Adam's hand and tries to tug him down. "Come on."
Adam's most struck by just how warm Rocky's hands are. By contrast, Adam's an iceberg. He glances at Rocky's house. "Can't we go inside?"
"Not yet." Rocky tugs him again.
Wanting to get it over with, Adam acquiesces. His bottom is already so cold that he hardly feels the chill of the concrete step. He pulls back slightly when Rocky thrusts the red sock into his lap, but his annoyance is swallowed up by years of ingrained manners. "You really didn't have to do all of this."
Rocky shrugs. "I like making you happy."
An orange falls out of the sock, hits the step and starts to roll away. "You put fruit in here?" Rocky scrambles off to catch it, all gawky teenage limbs and hair. It's hard not to wonder if he'll ever cut that ridiculous rattail off.
"It's a tradition."
Adam sets the fruit aside when Rocky hands it back. There are a few packs of baseball cards and some chewing gum, which Adam feigns interest in before setting aside, and then he pulls out a pair of soft black leather gloves. "What the-?"
"Aren't they nice?" Rocky scoots closer, a pillar of warmth on Adam's left side. "I found them at a really cool old antique store. We should go there together sometime. You're hands are always so cold, I thought you might like them."
Adam's pretty sure they're old lady driving gloves, but they feel amazing and he can't help but slip them on. That they fit perfectly he attributes to the fact that gloves for a woman would surely fit Iany/i fourteen-year-old boy. "That's . . . that's really thoughtful of you." He flexes his fingers and finds his hands already feel warmer.
"You're gonna really like the next one." Rocky leans against him even more, peering down the stocking. "Oh, not that one. The next one."
Chuckling and silently loving it, Adam pulls out a Rubix Cube and sets it aside. The one Rocky's excited about looks like more baseball cards, but when Adam pulls it out, he discovers a little booklet of prepaid movie tickets.
"I know how much you always want to go to the movies, but can't ever get the money to go." Rocky grins. "Now you don't have to miss seeing your favorite films." He bumps his shoulder into Adam's. "My parents got me a book of them too, so we could even go together sometimes."
Adam's too overwhelmed to speak. He's been mocking Rocky all this time and here he is, smiling through the barbs, suffering to make him happy. He can see neatly wrapped cookies near the bottom of the stocking and his eyes start to burn, warning him of tears. How long has Rocky been planning to surprise him like this? Embroidered stocking, homemade cookies, movie tickets . . . The amount of thought put into it is beyond anything Adam can ever recall anyone doing for him. "This is too much," he whispers.
"That's made from Abuela's famous chocolate chip peanut butter cookies," Rocky says, his voice much softer. "You're gonna love them. We've got more inside, so take those home so you have a snack later."
Adam blinks furiously, demanding the stocking return into focus. He swallows the tightness in his throat. "Rocky . . ."
"There's one more."
When Adam can't make himself reach into the stocking, Rocky does, pulling out a sprig of a plant that looks a little worse for having been stuffed in the bottom of a sock. Its green leaves are slightly bent and little white berries fall off as he lifts it up over their heads.
Adam's brain scrambles to place the plant, following it's ascend with his eyes. "Holly?"
"Mistletoe."
Suddenly Rocky's even closer. As soon as Adam takes his eyes off the mistletoe, Rocky's mouth is on his, warm, inquisitive and soft. It's remarkably nice and inviting, but Adam's too stunned to respond.
When Rocky pulls back, he's smiling. "Merry Christmas, Adam." His eyes are shining, but they fade slightly the longer Adam sits there, stunned and overwhelmed into silence. Rocky soon lowers his hand, picks up the orange and gets to his feet. "We can go inside now."
Adam expects him to grow angry and storm off, but he doesn't. He helps Adam gather all his little presents and, smiling again, holds open the door to the home that's always blissfully warm and full of delicious smelling food.