Ranger's Christmas Eve

By

DimariS

RPOV

It's my practice, along with the rest of the Core Team, to cover essential duties at Rangeman so our staff can have time off with their loved ones on major holidays. I just returned from overseas and was able to fulfill my share of the tasks. Tank, Lester, Bobby and I sat around the Control Room catching up on company business then discussing my debrief in D.C. A couple of contract workers were due in shortly so Lester and I would be able to hit the Mañoso/Santos holiday meal about an hour north of Trenton.

After my shift on the monitors in the Control Room, I was on my way to Newark and a late Christmas Eve dinner with my family. This year Mama decided to have the meal later in the evening so my siblings' families could celebrate with their in-laws earlier in the day. Upside is the kids should be overstuffed with Bacalao Croquetas and in a tryptophan-induced stupor rather than a glucose-induced frenzy. One can but hope.

When I called earlier, Babe said she was dining with her family who, unfortunately, did not require sugar to reach a level way beyond frenzy. Her mother's high-pitched, manic voice tended toward Babe bashing; a performance I'm happy to miss. Wish Babe could miss it, too, but her mother "guilted" her into attending.

My mother used the guilt card to ask me to bring Stephanie to our celebration, or any dinner, more times than I can remember and I've always chosen to push back using the refrain, "just a friend who has other responsibilities." It sounded good and was a decidedly better response than "my life doesn't lend itself to relationships." Even I'm tired of that excuse. My life, or my contractual responsibilities to the federal government, no longer require my being unattached to protect loved ones from danger.

I have just returned from my final mission and refused to sign another contract much to the Army's dismay. Frankly, dismay is a slight understatement for the hysteria my decision caused the brass. Although I have accumulated a great deal of wealth which allowed us to start up Rangeman, expand it to highly lucrative offices in, at present, four cities with expansion plans for two more domestic and three foreign branches, I no longer have the need or desire to devote months or years to a contract. Rangeman takes priority.

Actually, Stephanie takes first priority. It's time for me to step up, tell the lady how much I love her and put a ring on her finger, if she will accept it. The guys told me tonight that she showed Morelli the door and I haven't had a chance to ask her if it's true. Well, whether true or not I'm throwing my hat in the ring, asking her out, wining and dining her and taking her to meet my parents.

Then why was I leaving my Babe behind when I could be introducing her to my lively but loving family? Taking the first exit, I put the 911 Turbo through its paces back to Trenton and grabbed my cell to call Steph.

"Hey, Babe," brought me the whispered response, "Hey, Batman, thought you were on your way to see your folks."

"I was, but now I'm outside your parents' door to ask you to go with me so you can meet my family tonight. Can I convince you to come with?"

"Ranger, you want me to meet your family? Why and why now?"

Okay, Carlos, time to tell your lady the truth. "Babe, it's a long story which I promise I'll tell you on the way. Short version is the mission I just completed was my last one. Now, my life is my own and I want to share it with you. Please come with me."

I hear a sniffle as Stephanie tells her family she has to run because something's come up. Then "something" did…just below my belt.

Unfortunately, I hear her mother give a shrieking whine (I thought that was physically impossible) shouting she couldn't leave because it was Christmas Eve AND she PROMISED to spend it with her family. Poor Babe. Maybe I should go in and diffuse the situation. Tragically, my methods for "diffusing situations" are usually severe and looked upon by law enforcement as requiring unpleasant punishment. Personally, her removal should be rewarded for reducing the neighborhood decibel level at the very least. Who says Batman has no sense of humor? Black humor seems to be an acquired taste.

Suddenly, the front door slams and my babe is striding toward me with a beautiful smile on her face!

As I rush around the car to open her door, Babe pushes me up against the passenger door and kisses me with such passion I can't breathe. Withdrawing, she whispers, "Let's go meet your family then come back to your place and 'share' each other."

Self, explain to me again why I waited so long to tell my Babe about my feelings for her?