It's amazing how quickly my muse will seize an opportunity. I finished reading my book yesterday on my lunch break and she immediately dropped this in my lap before I could get distracted by anything else. It feels good to have a Christmas story out before Christmas actually arrives. :)
The Sweater
"Babe," Carlos said, eyeing me cryptically before casting his gaze back to the item I was holding, something more akin to contempt flashing behind his expression before he could tamp it down. His teeth began to chatter, and the little droplets left behind on his face were starting to crystallise in the frigid air. Given how soaked through his shirt and sweater were, I'd wager it wouldn't be long before his clothes were also frozen stiff. Yet still, he protested.
Five minutes ago, we'd been on track to be not just on time for Manoso Family Christmas, but early. Carlos had finished his work early. My hair had decided to take pity on me and behave itself by not frizzing out or kinking weirdly as I dried and styled it after my shower. And the drive had been practically traffic free despite it being late afternoon on Christmas Eve. We'd just come off I95, about twenty minutes from Carlos's parent's house when our path was blocked by a large tree branch that had fallen across the road.
It would have been easy enough to back up and take a detour to avoid it, but there were other cars on the road today, and neither of us liked the idea of leaving the branch there to potentially cause an accident later on, so Carlos jumped out and hauled it out of the way. My heart was doing a little stutter step at the show of strength, heat pooling low in my belly as I watched, making plans to drag him out to the Manoso Sibling Makeout Greenhouse for a few minutes to show him how much I liked it. Until he slipped on a patch of ice, his arms windmilling as he scissored his legs back and forth, trying to find purchase and balance on the slick surface.
I held my breath for a long, tense minute, praying he'd stay upright. But just as I thought he'd righted himself once and for all, his legs disappeared from under him and he fell backwards, landing partially in the gutter puddle he'd neatly avoided as he dragged the branch out of the way, only to fall victim on the return trip.
By the time I was out of the car, he'd managed to stand again, glaring at the offensive pool of water as he picked his way to more forgiving ground. I met him on the sidewalk, holding out the wad of paper napkins I'd seized from my purse, allowing him to wipe the worst of the moisture from his face. There wasn't much we could do for his wet clothes, though.
In order to help with the tetris puzzle that was fitting all the Christmas gifts we'd bought for his family into the tiny trunk of the Porsche 911, I'd shifted the duffle containing emergency clothes out of the way while we were packing. And apparently we'd left it beside the rear tire of the neighbouring SUV.
I'd rummaged through the boxes and bags in the back, desperate for something that would make him more comfortable for the remainder of the trip and ensure that he didn't freeze to death, calling out in triumph when I found the item I'd forgotten I'd stuffed in the bottom of the large carry bag I'd used to haul his nieces and nephew's gifts downstairs. Judging by the stink eye he was giving it now, though, it was safe to say he wasn't as happy about it as I was.
"I'm not wearing that," he informed me succinctly.
"Well you can't stay in what you're wearing," I pointed out, exasperated at just how stubborn he could be. "You'll catch your death of cold if you don't get something dry and warm on. And I am not going to explain to Mama why your lips are turning blue when we arrive."
"'Catch your death of cold'," he repeated, deadpan. That one infuriating eyebrow hitched a little higher on his forehead than the other. It was good to know he could still move his face, but…
"Yes, I know I sound like my mother," I replied haughtily, even as I fought to keep from scrunching up my face in disgust at the thought that her repeated phrases have somehow made their way into my vocabulary. "But she's right." I shook the sweater at him. "Take that off, put this on, and let's get back on our way. I wanna get there before Elena and Lester eat all the good cookies."
He looked at me like I was crazy - it's a very familiar look. "Mama only has one type of cookie at Christmas, B-babe," he reminded me, an inadvertent stutter forcing him to to press his lips together in disapproval as he continued to work his hands up and down his arms, hoping to create enough warmth with the friction. Judging by the shiver that ran through him a moment later, it wasn't working.
"Yes, but everyone knows the gingerbread man and reindeer shaped ones are the best, because you can bite off the limbs and pretend it's screaming in agony and terror."
Carlos just blinked at me, his expression blank but for the twitch of his cheek as a bitter, stubborn wind blew down the road. Probably, he was re-thinking marrying me. Probably, he had those thoughts a lot when I came out with statements like that.
He sighed, dropped his tensed shoulders and reached for my left hand. I felt the slight tremble in his hands even as he tenderly grazed his bare thumb over the bump in my glove where the engagement and wedding bands rested. He'd discarded his hat and gloves immediately upon emerging from the gutter, because he knew that keeping those parts of his body wet and cold could have terrible consequences, but we were still standing at the back of the car, arguing about a Christmas sweater he didn't want to wear despite it being a far better option than the wet clothes he wore. "I have never once re-thought marrying you, Stephanie," he assured me, using my full name to be sure he knew I was serious. Apparently my thoughts were once again leaking out of my mouth. At least it wasn't anything embarrassing this time. "I knew what madness I was signing myself up for when I proposed," he added. "And I did it anyway."
"Because you love me?" I checked, leaning my hip against the Porsche and lowering my chin so I had to look up at him through my lashes. He gave a small, serious nod in reply, and I had exactly what I needed to win this standoff. "Then prove it by taking off those wet clothes and putting this sweater on."
"It's only a short drive," he tried to protest. "We'll just crank the heat. Or I'll go shirtless until we get-"
I narrowed my eyes at him and he cut himself off. Another heavy sigh dropped from his lips and he held out his hand for the sweater. Smart man.
While he changed, I rearranged some of the presents so we could use one of the plastic bags to contain his soaked sweater and button down at least until we could throw them in Mama's dryer. When we were back on the road a couple minutes later, I turned in my seat and watched him, running my eye over the pattern on the front of the soft knit sweater with a small smile.
It was predominantly black with the requisite red and green patterning Christmas sweaters were known for, and on the front was a gingerbread man, frowning as it held up it's own severed arm, the words above and below it challenging the reader: "You wanna piece of me?" It was true perfection on several levels.
Carlos's eyes cut to me a couple times before he finally asked the question I knew was on his mind. "Babe, why was there a Christmas sweater in my exact size in the trunk of the car?" he asked, collecting my hand with his now, thankfully, warm one from my lap to press it against his thigh, in the exact spot he'd positioned it that first night we both managed to get on the same page with our relationship. He had been so shocked to realise that we'd practically already been dating. And I had been just as stunned to discover that he hadn't thought we were. We'd both gotten a lot better at communicating since then, thank God.
I shrugged. "Because I saw it and thought of you," I said. Which was the truth, but what I didn't say was that the thought of him wearing it had launched me into a fit of giggles so uncontrollable that Elena and Fi - my shopping partners in crime that day - had had no choice but to join me in it. Especially once I'd explained the reason.
Like always, though, he caught the twinkle in my eye and knew there was more to the story. It was impossible to hide anything from this man. "Baaabe," he said, drawing my name out in suspicion.
"Carloooos," I returned, imitating his tone and his frown.
"Why did an ugly Christmas sweater make you think of me?"
I let my teeth show with the grin that bloomed on my face, shifting more so I was fully facing him. "What did you yell at the seagull that stole your sandwich when we were down in Florida visiting Julie and we had a picnic at the beach?" I asked, rather than answer directly.
His groan was subtle, the kind of sound you might think was the wind coming in through a crack in the window if you weren't accustomed to it. "You promised to let that one die," he said, lifting our still joined hands to nip at my fingertips when we stopped at the lights.
"No," I countered, trying not to laugh. "I promised to stop telling the story to the new recruits in the breakroom, complete with dramatic reenactment of you running down the beach after it."
He had put the act on for his daughter, I was sure. Over the years I'd known him he'd relaxed a lot more with his family from the stoic soldier, who had slipped in late and disappeared early, to the beloved son, brother, cousin and uncle we all knew him to be. He'd learned how to play with his nieces and nephew every month when they inevitably launched themselves at him when we arrived for family dinner, and as a result, he was able to show a more playful side to his daughter when we went down for a visit last year. She, like Eduardo, Zelia and Poppy, was delighted at this new side to her father, and his playfully outraged antics on the beach that day had been the icing on the cake.
"You wanna piece of me?!" I pretended to yell now, accompanying it with a frantic wave of my free hand. "I couldn't pass the sweater up when I saw it. It made me laugh. And it matches mine pretty well," I added, gesturing to my own red, green, and white sweater that had a plate of cookies in the centre and read "Official Cookie Taster".
His expression softened, especially when I leaned over the centre console and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "So why was it in the car?"
"I forgot it was in the bottom of the bag with the gifts," I lied. I knew exactly what I was doing when I stuffed it into the bag at the last second, just before he returned from his half day downstairs in the office. If there was a possibility I could get him to wear it, I couldn't pass it up.
"Hmm," he hummed, eyeing me suspiciously once more. "And we just happened to accidentally leave behind the duffle of emergency clothes?"
"I might have deliberately put it on the far side of the neighbouring SUV while you were distracted with your head in the trunk of the Porsche, but there was no way I could have predicted the branch on the road and the vengeful puddle," I pointed out truthfully. "That was just a lucky break."
"I'm lucky I didn't break something," he replied sullenly as he pulled into his parent's street. He found a park quickly and we both got out, hauling the bags of gifts from the trunk, along with the bag of wet clothes.
"Look, I'm sure Mama won't mind you putting your wet clothes in the dryer," I pointed out. "You can change back into them once they're dry if you really want to." I would miss the sight, but I didn't want to make him any more uncomfortable than he had to be.
He just nodded, gathered up all the bags in one hand, and my hand in the other, and we started up the path to the front door. The second we opened it and stepped inside, he dropped everything and crouched down to catch Eduardo and Zelia as they launched themselves at him, their cries of "Tio Carlos!" echoing out onto the street before I managed to close the door and sidle past them all.
I didn't wait until I'd reached the doorway to the living room before I was calling out, "Elena! Fi! Pay up! I got him to wear it!"
Their heads popped out into the hallways a second later, mouths agape as they took in the sight of my husband in his ugly Christmas sweater. The one we were all sure he wouldn't be caught dead in. The one they'd bet against him ever putting on his body. I couldn't help but grin as they stumbled the rest of the way out, talking over each other to ask how I'd managed it while the rest of the family crowded into the hall behind them. I quickly explained about the branch, the ice and the traitorous puddle, rewarded with laughs and a mild concern for Carlos's wellbeing in the wake of the accident, and then Mama was calling us all to the table for dinner.
Carlos's arms wrapped around me from behind, holding me in place when I attempted to follow behind the rest of the group, his chin resting on my shoulder as the warmth from his body radiated into my back. "Babe," he said, amusement clear in his tone. "You should have told me you made a bet with my sisters. I would have put the sweater on in a heartbeat."
End