I look out the window for a few moments, thinking.
“That must be really hard,” I finally say.
Grady brakes carefully going around a curve, doesn’t answer until we’re out of it.
“I think it takes a very particular kind of person,” he finally says. “I don’t think I could do it. I was fourteen when they took in the first pair, and after those two got adopted by a family down in Emporia I cried my eyes out.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “You must get really attached.”
“That’s why I couldn’t do it,” he says. “My parents are older, and I think they see themselves as sort of a… safe harbor for these kids on their way to something permanent, whether it’s back to their parents or to adoption. I’m still Facebook friends with those two. The oldest one’s in college.”
Grady grabs a thermos mug and takes a sip.
“What about you? Christmas plans?”
“You mean besides calling a tow company?”
He shoots me an irritated look.
“I didn’t have a thing to do with you going in that ditch,” he says. “You slid down that hill all on your —”
“Okay, okay,” I say, especially because I’m beginning to suspect that he’s right, based on his snow driving strategy, which differs considerably from mine.
I take a deep breath and clear my throat.
“I’m gonna snuggle up on my couch and watch Nightmare Before Christmas,” I say. “Tomorrow I’m doing Christmas with some friends.”
He shoots me a curious sideways glance.
“No family?”
“My parents are going to the west coast to see my sister this year,” I say.
“No other family?”
Somehow, he asks it in a weird way, so I give him a weird look.
“No?”
Grady shrugs.
“All right,” he says.
And then: “By the way, they’re gonna give you a sweater. Just so you know.”
Chapter Four
GRADY
“I’ve got a jacket,” Adeline says, sounding confused.
“This will be a Christmas sweater,” I tell her, turning off the main road and onto my parents’ long driveway. “It might have lights. If they like you it’ll play a song.”
I can feel her staring at me, and I’m torn between explaining further and remembering that I called the county dump trying to ask her on a date. That’s a shitty thing to do to someone you just made out with, so I’m not going to feel about about her wearing a sweater that plays the world’s most obnoxious version of Jingle Bells.
“Will the sweater be mandatory?” she asks, slowly.
“I don’t think my mom’s gonna force it over your head,” I say.
She looks at me, then through the windshield, then at me again.
“But is this the kind of thing where refusing would be really rude?” she asks. “Like, is this refusing to eat someone’s home-cooked meal rude? Or more like… declining a drink rude?”
I glance over at her.
“It’s just a sweater,” I say.
“Oh! I don’t mind the sweater,” she says quickly. “I’m just trying to get a feel for the vibe. Which is apparently kids and loud sweaters.”
“Loud sweaters if she likes you,” I say, and then my parents’ house comes into view.
It’s out in the middle of nowhere, on what used to be a farm, so it’s designed to hold several adults and about twenty-four children. I pull up in the driveway next to two pickup trucks, a minivan, a small tractor, and a lawnmower, turn the truck off.
Suddenly, without the thrumming of the engine, it’s quiet.
“Just an hour or two,” I tell her. “Once the kids are in bed, I’ll take you home and come back.”
“You’re coming back?” she asks, and I laugh.
“I can’t miss Christmas morning,” I say, and grab my beard. “C’mon.”
I hop out of the truck — okay, I leap, this thing is fucking ridiculous — and I go around to help Adeline down, but she’s already out by the time I get there.
‘’Do I look okay?” she asks, straightening her coat and running a hand over her auburn hair. “Presentable, at least?”
For the first time since she got out of her car, I let myself really look at her, and even though it’s freezing out here and I’m wearing a dollar store Santa costume, I take my time.
Adeline is really, really pretty. She’s pretty in an old-fashioned way, with high cheekbones and a round face, someone who wouldn’t be out of place in a silent movie. Even now, after getting her car stuck in a ditch, she’s captivating.
Four months ago, in a sundress, it felt like she was bending all the light toward herself.
“What?” she says, worried. “Please don’t tell me this is a formal family dinner —"
“You look great,” I tell her, and strap on the beard, plop the hat on my head. “C’mon.”
As we head for my parents’ front door, I give her a very quick overview: there’s Patty and Mitch, my parents; Taylor and Bryce, the eight- and five- they’ve been fostering for about six months now, and Ryan and Sasha, the four- and six-year-old who came three days ago.
She exhales hard at that last part, her breath fogging into the night sky.
“All right,” she says. “Thanks.”
We head up the porch stairs, scuff our feet on the mat, and then I knock on the door.
Small voices start shouting, and I grin. The bells on the wreath jingle as the door opens, my mom standing there, an enormous smile on her face and a ridiculous sweater on her body.
“It’s Santa!” she shouts back into the house.
That’s when the screaming starts. We barely manage to get into the house when Bryce, who’s five, practically tackles me, followed by his eight-year-old sister Taylor.
“Ho ho ho!” I tell them.
“We just made you cookies!” shouts Bryce, jumping up and down. “Come see!”
“Cookies? They’re my favorite!” I tell him.
He grabs my hand and tugs me toward the kitchen. Besides me, Taylor takes my other hand and looks up at me, her face completely serious.
“I know you’re Grady,” she tells me.
“Can I still have the cookies?” I ask, winking at her.
The new kids are standing in the living room, looking uncertain. Ryan, the four-year-old, is just staring at me wide-eyed, but his big sister Sasha is standing in front of him with an expression that I can only describe as come at me.
“Santa. COME ON,” demands Bryce, still tugging.
“Hold on a second, bud,” I tell him, and turn to Sasha. I crouch, so I’m closer to her height.
Bryce sighs.
“Sasha and Ryan, right?” I ask the new kids. I’ve only met them once before, so it’s not too surprising they don’t recognize me.
Sasha nods solemnly, her face unchanging.
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” I tell her, holding out one hand for a handshake. “I’ve heard all about you.”