Edward's Twelve Days of Christmas: An Underwear Saga
A/N: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement intended.
I adore Barbara Pym and her humble tales of village life; no one can wring as much drama from a jumble sale as she can. I was thinking about her stories when I had the idea for this o/s. It's just a fluffy little Edward x Jasper holiday tale of love I would like to read.
Upper Manhattan, December 14, 2010:
Ten days before Christmas finds me casually performing a visual survey of my underwear drawer in search of a clean pair for work in the morning, when I'm struck by a universal truth.
I really need to restock.
Lazily pawing through a thick clump of faded green briefs that no longer match my eyes, I automatically reject a couple of never-worn gag bikinis (gifts from my sister Alice) and cringe at the sight of several frayed, once-white boxers with embarrassing stains. Nothing here appeals as housing for the rather spectacular Cullen family jewels.
Discouraged, I avert my eyes from the drawer, refusing to even acknowledge the existence of a trio of red, misshapen thongs purchased off a street vendor. Pinching pieces of shit! I swear I'll never wear another male-thong as long as I live.
Running my hand through my unwashed hair, causing further hair havoc, I remind myself mine is a good problem to have. Hell, after not working for two months, four weeks on the job at the City's no-kill animal shelter feels like I've won the lottery. I love animals, their softly beating little hearts and trusting eyes make me feel very possessive and protective. It's the best job I've ever had.
And one my physician dad reminds me I could have gotten without the Biological Sciences degree from Columbia. Like I care.
Since I'm short on quarters, and Xmas shopping can no longer be avoided, I decide to wave the white flag in a major way with a late night trip to the decades-old Mecca of all holiday shoppers. I exchange my smelly, animal love-drool smeared t-shirt for a nicer one from Mom, pull out my pea coat and lined leather gloves, and I'm set. Now to find my subway pass.
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The subway is so lame, but since I don't plan on buying much, a taxi is a splurge I can't really afford just yet. Thirty minutes later, I get out at the Herald Square station and sprint across the intersection to the main sidewalk.
The flakes are wet and thick tonight, depositing a soapy film that leaves the streets treacherous and the winter wear of my fellow New Yorkers soaked. It's almost Christmas and the City lights reflecting on the newly fallen snow turn everything magical. The festive atmosphere is contagious. I morph from a jaded twenty-three into an awed thirteen as I slowly pass the large storefront windows filled with unique holiday scenes.
The throngs jostle for an advantage as a collective shopping madness sucks me into the maelstrom. I'm inside the store before I'm able to look up to get my bearings, quickly overwhelmed by the abundance of retail cheer. Macy's flagship NYC store always assembles lavish decorations to entice the moneyed. I'm soon entranced by this year's themed trees and Santa in his sleigh, complete with fake reindeer and bags of goodies. Without many options, I simply allow myself to be carried along with the tide of bargain-seekers to the inner sanctum of the store. When the crowd thins a bit, I can escape.
I'm usually satisfied with buying everything I need at the Target store on the East River, but I'm shopping for Mom and Dad tonight as well. Macy's seems a good compromise between the discount retailer whose merchandise couldn't possibly measure up, and Tiffany's, where Mom likes to indulge. Looking for inspiration to strike, I spend a good many minutes just browsing the overstocked shelves and riding the escalators.
My navigation skills are non-existent when it comes to shopping, but eventually I find the men's section. It's considerably less crowded than other departments.
Drawn in by a lavish display of cashmere sweaters that are so finely woven and in such subtle colors, I'm soon touching each one, imagining it against my skin. I barely register the words of the salesman who has walked up behind me.
"Sir, may I assist you with a color choice?" he asks again, his gentle voice hinting at a slight drawl.
I whirl in embarrassment, knowing I've been fingering the merchandise with absolutely no intention of buying.
And there he stands, a long, lithe Bruce Weber billboard model come to life. He's dressed in a conservative blue button down, charcoal wool vest, and loose-fitting navy wool slacks. So GQ-worthy, all he needs is a tie for me to walk right past him, believing him to be an actor or other unattainable professional beauty.
"Umm, no thank you…Jasper," I reply, reading his name off the tag on his shirt pocket. Didn't they do away with those little pieces of plastic years ago?
"Are you looking for yourself or for a gift?" He persists in the canned sales interrogation, ignoring my signals I'm not a serious buyer.
I open my mouth to dismiss him, but am struck silent. Is it my imagination or are his eyes slightly wider than when he first greeted me? I'm not sure, but I'm drawn into admiring the mischievous blue devils that seem to dance in their depths.
"Umm, myself, but I can't afford to spend money on this right now," I admit sheepishly.
"Yeah, I know. I'm a junior at NYU; all I can afford to do is look, too. Christmas shopping for my mom and sister sucked up this month's disposable cash. Does everyone tell you to wear emerald or forest green to emphasize your eyes?" He finishes, breathless, and I see a slow blush creep over his cheeks.
That was a lot of information about him that I wasn't expecting, especially the color details. Green is what most people tell me. Period. I pull back from him a bit and watch his face fall as he realizes I'm putting some distance between us. But I was standing so close I'd picked up that beneath the spicy cologne, his scent was pleasant, both musky and strongly male, stirring something inside me. I wonder how long he's been working tonight; he's evidently suffering from radar failure.
"Long day?" At his weary nod, I nod in sympathy, and ask, "When do you get off?"
Aww, fuck, I would have to ask it like that. But the clichéd innuendo doesn't seem to faze him.
"The store closes at 10 tonight, and I'm out by 11:00, sometimes sooner. Home before midnight on the bus."
Silence ensues as we stare at each other, the canned music, wailing children, and raised voices of frustrated New Yorkers fading into a distant buzz.
Finally remembering why I came here tonight, I ask if he can direct me to the boxers section.
Clearly relieved that he now has a sales task to complete, he graciously leads the way to the rows of cellophane packages. I casually select the first pair of boxers I see and nearly recoil at the price.
"22.00? For two pair?"
I'm outraged and thinking I've made a rather large mistake. Up until this summer when I graduated, Esme purchased all my clothing. Now that I'm an adult living on my own, I'm well aware that I can buy the same thing at Target for half that amount.
"Umm, sir…" He hesitates, and I realize I want him to say my name.
"Edward. I'm Edward," I mumble, sticking out my hand for a shake.
The gesture must catch him off-guard, because he stumbles forward in his haste to touch my hand and the shock of his skin on mine feels like a bolt of heat shot directly to my gut.
While I've experienced something earth-shattering, his expression hasn't changed: he's still earnest retail clerk. Maybe he didn't feel it? If he didn't, then I'm a visitor from another galaxy.
"There are some from the Joe Boxer brand that are a better value, Edward," he continues doggedly, his voice cracking only slightly. "And we have several remaining in your size from the last mark-down. Let me show you, Edward."
There, he said it twice!
I follow him, humbled by the thought that he's so easily guessed my size. We take a few minutes to sort through racks until I find three pairs I can live with, size Large, that feel soft to the touch. My dick is gonna thank me in the morning.
"Thanks, Jasper," I offer as he retreats carrying my choices to the register. After he goes through the motions of swiping my debit card, and bagging my purchase, I realize I've nothing left to say to him, transaction-wise. I close my mouth to let him have a turn.
"So, have you finished all your Christmas shopping yet, Edward?" he gamely jumps in.
"Umm, I'm still looking for something for my Mom and Dad. Any suggestions?"
"How much do you wish to spend?" His tone has become more professional and distant now that he's made a sale, I suppose.
"Not sure. I was thinking about some hand lotions for Esme and a book for Carlisle. My dad's a physician and reading novels is a luxury for him. He likes spy thrillers."
"I'm going to be fired if anyone overhears us, but this isn't the best place to buy body lotion and B&N is just across the street. There's a Bath and Body-type store a couple of blocks down on 34th where your dollars will go a lot further."
Feeling very foolish, I guess my plan for this evening's Christmas shopping segment wasn't well conceived. Maybe too many days spent with doggies is beginning to scramble my brain. Meanwhile, he looks perplexed that I don't seem to know this basic information.
Left with absolutely nothing to say, I thank him, wish him a happy holiday, and reluctantly head for the exit. My good mood has completely evaporated and going home on the subway will take more energy than I can summon.
I hail a taxi.
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Three days later, and Macy's most intriguing employee is still on my mind. It's December 17th now, and I'm wearing the last pair of underwear I purchased from him. Tonight I have a choice. I can go to the Broadway Bubbles Laundromat and start fresh with clean underwear, or I could make the trip back to Macy's and find more bargain briefs. It's not snowing and the Laundromat is close, making a visit there clearly the adult thing to do.
I start searching for my subway pass again.
This time I see him as he's helping a frazzled female customer sort through some plush robes displayed on a graduated fixture. He seems absorbed in his work. The lady appears to be asking a lot of questions. Disappointed I have to wait, I move along to my favorite fantasy aisle. In minutes, I'm fingering the expensive cashmere as I imagine draping a light blue one over his naked skin and pulling it around his ribs until I have him cocooned in the material.
Naturally, he interrupts my thoughts just as I'm getting to the good part.
"Good evening, Edward. Did you enjoy your new boxers?"
"Yes, Jasper, and thank you. I'm contemplating making another purchase," the gleam in my eye fueled by the knowledge that he remembered my name.
"Hmm, that was a clearance, Edward. Those Joe Boxer markdowns are gone. We do have some Hanes briefs that are two packages for one…"
He and I both pause, puzzling over the underlying significance of his words. I'm thinking I'll have to turn a dirty pair inside out for a second wear in the AM, and Jasper is mulling over losing a sale, when he has a Eureka! type moment.
"But there are some really good deals on socks right now. How are you set for socks?"
He looks so hopeful and proud of himself for thinking of this, I haven't the heart to tell him that I'm never at a loss for socks. My cousin Emmett keeps me well supplied. It's one of the perks of his job as club pro at the Century Country Club frequented by our families.
"I do need some navy socks. What's the price?"
He joyfully grips the sleeve of my jacket and steers me to the sock department. I'm soon the proud possessor of two pairs of thick red wool hiking socks. Yeah, I was looking for navy dress ones, but I need hiking socks just as badly as the other. I realize I'll have to relocate some socks into the bare underwear drawer to make room for the new members of the clan, but don't find that to be a fact worth sharing.
"Did you buy those gifts for your parents after you left on Tuesday?" He's happily humming 'White Christmas' under his breath as he waits for my response and my debit card to be accepted.
"No, actually, I was too tired and just ended up catching a taxi back to my apartment."
He raises an eyebrow in question over my extravagance after I'd complained about prices for underwear, but refrains from comment.
Socks neatly bundled into a cheery handled Macy's-logo bag, Jasper asks if he can help me with anything else.
Since I'm fresh out of ideas, low on money, and still without presents for Esme and Carlisle, I regretfully decline. Once again wishing him a happy holiday, I trudge back to the store entrance, gritting my teeth at the thought of the subway ride back home. It's only eight o'clock, though, so there's no need to stick around for three hours until Jasper is off for the night. What would we do on a Friday night, anyway?
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The next day, I put in a half-day at the Shelter, leaving the afternoon and the rest of the night free. It being the last weekend before Christmas, I'm feeling a little desperate about finding presents for my parents. (Alice's gift I purchased back in October when she took me shopping so I wouldn't screw up. It's already wrapped and waiting for the upcoming weekend events.)
I think some more about Jasper's suggestions, and emboldened by the fact that I am wearing clean underwear, having arrived home in time to go the Laundromat last night after all, I resolve to put this task behind me. Summoning all my energy, I decide to return to the 34th street area, find a bookstore and track down the lotions retailer he mentioned.
By six o'clock, I've made my Christmas purchases, plus a few others, and am feeling both thirsty and hungry. Drawn to the damn store like a magnet, I'm once more standing outside the entrance to Macy's, weighing my options. I could visit the Subway deli chain across the street from the canopied entrance, and then make my way home to wrap gifts. But I'm lousy with paper, scissors of the metal variety, and tying knots; have been since first grade.
Or, there's the option of eating at the department store's Cellar food operation.
Once again, there is simply no choice to be made here.
I now readily recognize the various themed Christmas trees that are situated high above my head, and use them to navigate my way to the store's escalators. I don't even think about going to the men's section today. I'm just satisfying my hunger with a Boar's Head Honey Ham Sandwich. That's it.
There's quite a long line, to be expected on a Saturday in this City. I've been waiting for nearly twenty minutes for my turn at the counter when I feel a hand encircle my elbow. I startle just as a soft drawling voice mumbles, "Hello."
"Jasper?" I yelp in amazement, feeling idiotic even as I say his name. Of course I know he works here.
"Edward, thanks for saving me a place in line, I'm starving," he states boldly, giving me a conspiratorial look.
"Are you off work?" I whisper so the twenty or so people behind me don't hear.
"Yeah, just got done. I came in early today; luckily I don't have to stay until midnight." Leaning in close against my ear, he says, "Let me order your sandwich, and you'll get the employee discount," as if that could be the only inducement that would convince me to let him cut in line ahead of me.
Doesn't he realize he smells like vanilla crème soda today?
I can tell he'd like to say more, but finally I've made it to the head of the sandwich line, and telling my order to Jasper, he decides he wants the same thing. "Is a bottle of water okay for you? I'll treat for the water," he generously offers.
"Sounds good, and thanks," I reply as I slip him a ten dollar bill for the sandwich and a tip.
Transaction completed, we sit down to wait for our food and self-consciously sip our bottles of Evian, both seemingly absorbed in the antics of others around us.
"Did you need more underwear or socks, Edward?" Jasper finally breaks the silence with the question I've been dreading since seeing him in line, a bewildered expression gracing his delicate, feline features. I watch his tongue trace a pattern on his full lower lip, biting it as he awaits my answer.
"Nope, but I picked up the gifts for Esme and Carlisle at the stores you mentioned. When I found myself standing in front of Macy's, I remembered Cucina down here. So, it was a lucky coincidence we ran into each other." At least, I think that's what happened; I'm a little dazed by the idea that we are sitting here, about to have dinner together on a Saturday night. I'm usually alone on Saturday nights.
Our sandwiches are ready, and Jasper excuses himself to go collect our meals. I watch him, his tall, narrow form angling between the tables, and then leaning far over the pick-up area to retrieve our bags from the counterman. Doing so stretches his loose slacks tightly over his ass, and the full, fleshy shape is suddenly outlined for my admiring eyes. I have a few seconds to drink in the sight before he turns back to face me, catching me ogling him, and I have to turn away quickly, shifting in my seat.
"Nearly grabbed the wrong bags," he offers, eyes downcast when he finally drops into the chair opposite mine and hands over my sandwich. "Good thing I caught it; I hate pastrami."
My reply is unintelligible, my mouth conveniently full of the ham on challah roll with lettuce I'd ordered.
Jasper wisely says nothing more, and we eat quickly, the only sounds those of the other diners sitting close beside us.
He finishes first, and leaning back in satisfaction, thanks me again for letting him place his order with mine.
"No problem, and thank you for the discount." Then I go way out on a limb, wondering at my temerity even as I ask the question. "So, are you going home after this?"
I might be imagining it, but I think I hear regret in his voice as he confirms he's planned to escort his mom and sister to a special Christmas mass and then a buffet at their church in Brooklyn.
"I didn't realize Mass was even held on Saturday nights." I remark soberly, but gleefully filing away that he isn't spending Saturday night with a date.
"Catholics never miss an opportunity to go to Mass." He grins, and I guess that he's comfortable with his religion. "My dad died several years ago, and this is a family tradition. I've never skipped one yet."
"I'm sorry about your dad," I reply, genuinely sorry for anyone who has lost a parent. "How old were you when it happened?"
"I was seventeen, and Rosalie was twenty-one. He was a Battalion Chief in the Brooklyn Fire Department. We moved here from San Antonio when I was twelve. Now it's just the three of us."
"Do you and your sister still live at home, then?"
"Yes, even though I'm in college, it's just less expensive. A long ride on the subway, but worth it. I'd have to work a lot more hours to pay for a dorm room, or an apartment."
I'm searching for another topic of conversation when Jasper glances at his cell phone and jumps up, flustered and apologetic.
"I'll be late if I don't leave this minute, Edward. If I miss my bus, there's not another one for half-an-hour. Thanks again," and he's gone, blending into the crowd and gone from sight before I have time to think about getting his number, or something.
I clean up the remains of our dinner, and prepare to take the subway home alone, yet again. I'm no nearer to solving the mysterious attraction I've developed for Jasper, Retail-Clerk. And Christmas is just seven days away.
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The last Sunday before Christmas passes in a food and alcohol-induced haze. I'm visiting my parents, who are hosting a large gathering of friends for brunch. Only the close family members have been invited to stay over for dinner. I'm always expected at these events, which would be so much easier to bear if I brought a friend.
Sprawled out on a leather couch in the great room, the 52 inch screen holding sway over most of the other men, I'm bored. Lately, I feel a large emotional disconnect whenever I visit here in White Plains. I begin imagining the ruckus if I were to introduce Jasper to my family, and try to guess at their reactions. First, he'd need to win over my dad with several hours spent watching college and pro football games, and then he'd have to eat heartily of the rich, elaborate dishes Esme insists on serving at family gatherings. Considering his job demands and slim physique, I think he'd probably strike out on both counts. Finally, he and Alice would have to retire to her bedroom to review the latest additions to her wardrobe… Ah, now I have a winner.
Alice chooses this moment to inquire how my Christmas shopping is going. Maybe it's just good-timing, but I suddenly see an opportunity to make use of my sister and her eerie skills, both retail and otherwise.
"Not bad, but I'm wondering if you could meet me at Macy's on Herald Square tomorrow night?"
She squeals with excitement, nearly shouting "You want to go shopping with me? What time?"
Before I can answer, she pulls a frown and stops me. "Nope, not Monday night. I'm meeting Bella for a movie, the next Chronicles of Narnia installment. But Tuesday works."
I'm disappointed by the delay, but we make plans to meet Tuesday night at the main entrance around eight. It's late when I head home. I need to be at work by seven, but can't fall asleep. First I'm too hot, then too cold, and then the night sounds of the City are amplified to a feverish pitch. All too soon, the bleat of the alarm interrupts my fitful tossing, and I groan as I rise and head for the shower.
Another long subway ride later, I'm bleary-eyed as I tend to my grateful little warm-bodied charges, but the day passes quickly enough. I return home, fix myself some spaghetti, and after surfing the web for porn and a satisfying orgasm, fall asleep thinking:
Only one more day until I see him again.
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Tuesday night is December 21st. We are down to three shopping days before Xmas.
In spite of my eagerness at the near certainty of running into Jasper again, I'm late meeting Alice. My sister is looking slightly disgruntled until she takes in my carefully constructed appearance and lets out a whistle of admiration.
"Woot, woot! I knew I had a beautiful brother, but you really clean up well. Who is it? Are we meeting the…person here?" I wish she would lower her voice, but we are too far away for Jasper to overhear.
"There's no one, Alice." I chide her as we stand beneath an enormous silver and gold tree covered in tiny white winged figures of varying sizes I belatedly recognize as angels.
"Uh-huh. Well, can we visit the fourth floor first?"
I reluctantly give in, and kept in check by Alice, it is nearly nine-thirty before she thinks to ask me why I needed her shopping services.
Given that I've had two days to come up with an answer, and still have nothing, I just shake my head. "I think I need some undershirts."
"From here? Why not get them at the Target in your neighborhood?"
"Umm, I want a good selection," I hedge, thinking about the cashmere sweater colors.
She's doubtful, but agrees to scout the men's department for me. I know the way by heart now, of course, but let her navigate as if I'm clueless.
Grabbing my hand, she drags me into the aisles holding the packages I remembered from my last visit, searching until she finds the area with Hanes products again.
I'm trying not to look around for Jasper, but finally locate him speaking with an older, neatly dressed man, obviously a clerk as well. Just as I'm about to signal him to come over, he turns away and the older man approaches us.
I try to see around the new guy, but he so completely blocks my vision, I miss seeing wherever Jasper went.
"Can I help you find anything, miss?" The clerk directs his question to Alice after shooting me a curious look.
"My brother needs some undershirts. What's the best value of these brands?"
As they move to solve my non-existent undershirt problem, I'm fidgeting and wondering why Jasper left. And can't resist asking.
"Jasper? He saw another customer, an old friend, I think he said." Alice doesn't seem to notice this exchange, and for once I'm grateful for her retail obsessions.
In minutes, I am both $35.00 poorer and clutching a four-pack of size M undershirts I don't need. But still no closer to finding Jasper. I think I'd like to introduce him to Alice, but unless he comes back in the next five minutes, it's hopeless.
In desperation, I steer her to the table with the $300.00 cashmere sweaters, mumbling something about freezing.
"Ah," she offers, "these are Italian cashmere, very good quality, Eddie. I like the emerald one; it matches your eyes." Bending her head and standing on her toes, she whispers in my ear, "But the day after Xmas, you can probably buy it for 50% off. They have a lot of stock left."
"Thanks for the advice," I scowl. I really can't think of another excuse to linger, and it's already close to 10:00, when the store closes. I guess Jasper has gone on break, because search as I might, I never catch sight of him again.
Alice and I part ways at the subway, and I wait a few minutes, then walk back up the stairs and hail another taxi, feeling completely defeated.
Five subway rides, four new undershirts, three pairs of new boxers, two pairs of wool hiking socks, and one sister wrangling, and I still don't have his phone number.
Christmas is just three days away.
And I decide to give up.
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On Christmas day, we gather once again at my parent's house in White Plains. Alice brings her boyfriend, Demetri, a foreign exchange student, and as usual, I arrive alone. Food and drink and merrymaking abound, but there isn't much I find very cheering. After watching football games all day, and drinking more beer than I should have, I wish I could just forget dinner and presents and go home. My Aunt Jane takes it upon herself to find out why I'm acting so glum, but all I hear is the accusations: why didn't I bring someone with me, and why am I not married. Parrying her verbal thrusts nearly drives me from the house.
Luckily, Alice sees what is developing and rescues me with a few well-timed questions about Jane's married son and pregnant daughter-in-law, and I escape. All-too-soon, it's time to open presents. I had to make a last minute run to the grocers yesterday to locate candy and flowers, so I've covered all assembled with age-appropriate gifts and can relax. When it's my turn to open my gifts, I'm surprised to see a gift card with my name on it at the bottom of the pile. I think it's from Alice, but when I turn to her in question, she informs me it's from Mom and Dad, but she helped them select it.
"Plus, I have a coupon from the Times," she offers with an excited grin.
Opening the envelope, I realize I've received a gift certificate for $150.00 to Macy's. "You can get the cashmere sweater, the one that matches your eyes!" I look up to find both Esme and Carlisle smiling proudly at finally giving me something I both want and need, and Alice hands over the 10% off coupon. I tuck it safely inside the gift card envelope, thanking them profusely to smiles all around. The gift exchange continues around me, but it's faded away as I begin to plot my next moves. I've been wishing for the sweater, of course, but even better is that I now have a handy excuse for revisiting the store. For seeing my Jasper.
When Alice and Demetri drop me off at my apartment, I'm actually feeling very happy. I don't have to work, but I expect Jasper will need to do so on the second biggest shopping day of the year. I'm almost out of the car door when Alice grabs my wrist and pulls me back in.
"Good luck tomorrow," she says with a knowing smile.
"Shopping, you mean?"
"I mean finding the one you want."
"I'm sure if the emerald one is gone, I can choose another one," I stumble over my reply, wondering how much she has guessed.
"There's also that beautiful blue one," she offers seriously.
I put her remark down to just another odd, Alice-type coincidence and lean in to kiss her cheek. Shouting a heartfelt Merry Christmas, I watch them drive away before running up the few steps to the brownstone's front door, energized by thoughts of the shopping excursion I've planned for tomorrow. I'm turning into such a girl, I think in disgust. Even more so as I now understand why bargain-hunters end up sleeping outside stores waiting for the doors to open.
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At 8:00 a.m. I'm ready to make my way inside Macy's. I've been outside the Herald Square entrance for an hour; luckily I bundled up and the store has hired someone to hand out cups of hot chocolate and coffee. I really need to pee, but I don't want to move and risk losing my prime location by the wall, less than three feet from the front doors.
An excited buzz ripples through the crowd, and I pick up on the energy, ready to push if necessary. But as the doors open, the crowd assumes an orderly line. I'm warmly greeted by store personnel I willfully ignore as I impatiently scoot around gawkers who've slowed down to drink everything in.
I know exactly who and what I want, and where to find it.
Much to my disappointment, when I survey the men's department, there are plenty of male clerks, but none have the blond waves, and tall thin frame of my Jasper. However, the clerk who helped me and Alice the other day recognizes me and scoots over to capture the sale.
"More undershirts, sir?" He inquires politely, quirking an eyebrow at me.
"Umm, not today. Is there another clerk who might help me?" I ask, knowing it sounds rude, but I'm desperate to find him.
"If you mean Jasper Whitlock, he has the day off to spend with his family in Brooklyn, I think." The man gives me a sympathetic look, and asks if there's anything else he could help me find.
My face must give me away, because he moves a little closer, and offers quietly, "He didn't know you had a sister until I told him after you two left."
Busted! I swallow down the lump in my throat, but slowly realize this man isn't judging me. He's trying to help me.
Screwing up my courage, I blurt, "When does he work again?"
"It would be against store policy to reveal that information unless you are a family member?"
"No, not a family member. Just a friend."
"Wouldn't a friend know that he lives in the Brooklyn Heights area?" He offers this information with a big wink. "And as a good Catholic boy, I would imagine Jasper's once again taking his mother and sister to church on the day after Christmas."
"I really need a new sweater, can you help me?" And instead of buying the sweater from Jasper, who I make sure isn't being cheated out of his commission, I end up with a pale turquoise cashmere pullover that the sales clerk recommends. It's a good mix of green and blue. Somehow, I think he understands.
Or maybe it's a sign.
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Uncertain how to proceed once I'm outside on the sidewalk again, I try typing in Jasper's name and town on my Blackberry, praying his family still has the anachronistic land line everyone else has dropped. In seconds, a 718 area code comes up under J. Whitlock in Brooklyn Heights.
I debate calling him for all of five minutes, but I'm so eager to make contact, my fingers are twitching at the thought of hearing his voice. I have to redial twice before I hear it ringing.
"Whitlock residence," a young female answers crisply after the fourth ring.
"Hello, may I please speak with Jasper?" My voice is a quavering mess; I'd forgotten he has a sister.
"Who is this?"
"This is Edward Cullen, I know him from the store."
"Edward Cullen? Underwear Boy? Maaa!" She whoops.
Oh, shit, this is bad. I hear her calling her brother, and grind my teeth as I debate the best explanation for why I'm calling.
When he answers the phone, he sounds sleepy. I immediately apologize for waking him. He's silent, waiting, too polite to query me further.
"Ummm, Merry Christmas." I offer as preamble. "I bought that cashmere sweater this morning at the store, half off. Your friend Clark sold it to me. He said he would save the receipt, and you'd get the commission for it. I hope that was okay."
"Edward, thanks, and thanks for tracking me down to tell me this. That's… really nice of you."
"You're welcome, Jasper."
"I hope you enjoy the sweater, I guess. And Merry Christmas to you, too."
Fearful that he is very gently telling me goodbye, I try the only idea I have. "Are you going to Mass again today?"
There's a long pause, before he clears his throat, and asks, "You're not Catholic, are you?"
"No, but I'm thinking about becoming one."
"Since when?"
"Very recently. Can you take a non-Catholic to church with you?" For someone who maintained a 4.0 GPA at Columbia, I realize there are still serious gaps in my education.
"Yeah, sure, if you are thinking about joining, especially. Mass is at noon today. Can you make it?"
"Of course, it's only 9:15. Where should I meet you?"
He hesitates before answering. "Umm, Edward, it really isn't necessary for you to go to Mass with…us. You could come by the house later, maybe meet my mom and sister."
"No, it's Mass or nothing. Which church, and what's the address?" I am a man on a mission and will not be dissuaded. Plus, I can't wait to see him again.
When I have the information I need, and he has my number in case I get lost, I quickly get off the phone. Not sure if meeting at Church is a date or not, I still want to look good. I have almost no time to get back to my apartment, change clothes, and make it in time for the service if I take the subway. Another expensive cab ride later, and I'm tearing through my motley assortment of clothing. Finally satisfied with black jeans, a black silk shirt, and the vibrant new sweater, I slip on a pair of polished nailhead-trimmed ankle boots, and I'm hailing another taxi. If this keeps up, I'm going to have to go to Carlisle for a loan soon.
With five minutes to spare, the taxi lurches to a stop in front of St. Joseph's, a two story tan brick structure built sometime in the 1940's. I see Jasper fidgeting in the cold, locks of his hair lifted by the chill wind. He waits for me as I pay off the taxi driver, bouncing on the balls of his feet to stay warm. Looking over his casual jeans, checkered flannel shirt, and well-worn outerwear, I flinch, thinking I might have overdone it for Sunday mass in Brooklyn Heights.
"Ready to explore the Catholic faith?" he greets me, rather cynically, as I bolt from the taxi and up the stairs, grabbing his arm as I race us through the front doors.
"Doesn't this beat leaky tubes of Gun Oil, leering bouncers, and $14 drinks?" I hiss, wondering where we are supposed to sit.
"Shush, please, and follow me," he says, leading me down a side aisle to a pew where two equally plainly dressed blondes, one older, one younger, watch us expectantly. They scoot closer together, making room for us to sit with them. I slide in next to Jasper, our thighs finally touching, and feel the tension drain from my body.
"Edward, this is my mom, Violet, and my sister, Rose." I lean over him and Violet clasps my hand in hers in welcome, Jasper's same blue eyes sparkling back at me as she searches my face. I look past her to see Rose give me a little wave and a knowing smile, and I settle back against the pew with a sigh, my hand finding Jasper's as he pulls it down into the small space at our hips, hidden beneath our coats. My shoulder grazes his, and I catch the curl of his lip before he shifts his leg more firmly against mine.
"With that outfit, and your snuggling, good thing I'm out," he mutters, finally turning his head to let me see the grin transforming his face into that of an angel.
As the swell of the organ music floods the modest room, I decide I don't know about anyone else, but I'm dropping $20 in the collection plate in thanks to the underwear gods for leading me to Jasper.
The white-robed elderly Celebrant advances up the center aisle, flanked by two altar boys, and I mimic Jasper's actions, standing with the rest of the parishioners who break into a soaring song about birth, heavenly hosts, and the Savior. The whole church is ablaze with Christmas joy, fat white candles everywhere. Balsam wreaths give off a strong smell of winter woods, and every available surface is covered in huge baskets of red and yellow Poinsettias. Jasper's strong alto voice washes over me, the hymnal held between us giving an excuse to be touching him when he leans down to whisper against my ear, "New Year's Eve, understand that I'm inviting your grandparents to go dancing with us."
Sliding my fingers across the page to briefly lock with his, I whisper back, "I'd expect nothing less," already planning where we'll have our first kiss.
Author's Note: Happy Holidays, all.