“Aw!” Rod says, clapping his hands together. “Isn’t that adorable? Your dog and I have similar instincts when it comes to you.”
I laugh even as my face heats. “You’re not allergic to dogs, are you?”
“No, why?”
“I’ve been toying with the idea of bringing him home with me. But my dad wants to keep him, even though he’s my dog.”
“Ouch.”
“If I didn’t work two jobs, I’d’ve already kidnapped him.” I scratch Rexie behind the ears. “My hours are long, though. Maybe Dad is right.” Although I suspect he’s keeping Rex out of pure stubbornness.
“Is that your Christmas-tree farm?” Rod asks, pointing at a row of nicely shaped Douglas firs.
“That’s the spot. Show me the tree you like best. It will only take me a couple minutes to cut it. Carrying it back to the truck is the hard part.” We can’t bale it up like they do at a store.
“Excellent,” Roddy says, rubbing his hands together. “This is like lumberjack porn, but real.”
“Lumberjack porn is not a thing,” I argue. “Nobody would watch that.”
“I’d watch the hell out of it,” he says simply. “I have a lumberjack kink, apparently.”
He’s ridiculous. But I still like hearing it.
“Well, this one is taller,” Rod says, pacing around the tree at the end of a row. “But that one has the more perfect shape.”
“God, just pick one,” I grumble. I’ve already cut a tree for my parents and carried it across the meadow. We could have been done here fifteen minutes ago, but I didn’t account for Roderick’s over-analysis of Christmas-tree size and shape.
“You’re an artist,” he says, scandalized. “This kind of thing should matter to you.”
“Trees aren’t supposed to be perfect,” I argue. “They grow the way they grow, and they don’t care what you think. Pick a favorite?”
Rod does one more circle around one of the trees. “This one,” he says. “I have chosen.”
“Hallelujah.” I drop to my knees, set the saw blade against the trunk, and start cutting.
“Oh baby,” he says. “Work it. Work it.”
I snort. “Want a turn? The pine sap smells good.”
“Nah, I’ll just lick it off you later.”
I have to stop sawing, because I’m laughing so hard.
Christmas has its moments. Who knew?
Roderick
When Kieran and I are alone together, he’s loose and easy, and he talks more. He talks a lot, actually; he’s much more open than he used to be. But the minute we approach his family’s farmhouse with the tree, I can almost see the tent flaps go down. He stands the tree up and gives it a little shake, and his face is all business.
The door opens to reveal a middle-aged woman with Kieran’s pretty eyes. “That’s gorgeous!” she says. “Thank you, honey.”
“Sure,” Kieran grunts. “Mom, this is Roderick. My roommate.”
“Hi, Roderick! So you’re the roommate!”
“Yup,” I say, bobbing my head nervously. “I’m the roommate. In the downstairs room. We have separate bathrooms.” I clamp my lips together, trying to shut up, but Kieran’s discomfort is contagious.
“Come in, come in!” she says, oblivious. “I made hot cocoa.”
“Nice. Thank you, Mrs. Shipley.” I follow Kieran inside. His arms are full of Christmas tree.
“Call me Sally!” she says brightly.
This stings a little, if I’m honest. It’s my daydream to love a man who will introduce me to his mother. Not as his roommate, but as his partner.
I’d better stop falling for guys who won’t do that. You’d think I’d learn.
The Shipley abode is another classic New England farmhouse with white clapboards and those electric candles in the windows. The floors are hardwood, and there’s a fire in the fireplace.
It’s not cozy, though. And not particularly comfortable. It’s the kind of house with old-fashioned furniture and doilies on the tables. The kitchen table is in a claustrophobic little nook. When I look around at the furnishings, I’m struck by how different it is from our house on the Colebury green. Kieran chose a deep, comfortable couch for our living room, modern print pillows, and a plush rug.
Interesting.
Kieran carries the tree through to the living room, where a stern-faced man is sitting in a hardbacked chair. “Hello,” he says in a low voice to me. “Kieran, thanks for cutting the tree.” He winces, as if it pains him to say this. Or maybe he’s just generally in pain.
“No problem,” my man says quickly. “Roderick, if you could line this up at the base, I’ll jam it down on the spikes.”
“Sure.” I drop to my knees and align the tree’s trunk with the stand’s metal ring. “Okay, go for it.”
There’s a very dirty joke I could make right now about jamming his log down through my ring. And I wonder why men don’t introduce me to their moms.
“How’s that, Dad? Straight?” Kieran asks.
His mother jumps in. “Two inches toward the window. Good. Now another two inches toward the door.”
After a few minutes of fussing, I tighten the screws onto the trunk, while Kieran holds the top in the right spot.
“How’s the desk job?” his father asks.
“Fine,” Kieran says. “But the hours are long. Partly because of the holidays.”
“And partly because they’re jerks,” I mutter, turning the last screw.
“I don’t know about that job,” Kieran’s dad opines from his chair. “Long drive for low pay. You got two dead-end jobs. Can’t make a career out of a coffee-shop job.”
“Dad,” Kieran gasps. “Leave it alone.”
Luckily, I’m able to gulp back my bark of laughter in time. Because of course I’m trying to build a career from a coffee-shop job. And that goal is at the tippy-top of my list. Well, that and seeing Phish in concert.
When I stand up, my fingers are sticky with pine pitch. “Come, come!” Sally Shipley guides me to the kitchen. “Here’s the lava soap. It will get that right off.”
I accept this fussing, and also a little cup of weak cocoa and a bland cookie. Kieran wasn’t kidding when he said his mom wasn’t great in the kitchen. Cocoa is supposed to be dark and sinful. Or maybe that’s just me.
Kieran drinks his propped against the counter, unable to hide the fact that he’s counting the minutes until he can leave. His dog rises up onto his hind legs to beg from him. “No cookies for you,” he says, scratching the dog between the ears.
I would totally give that dog a cookie, but he only has eyes for Kieran.
The kitchen door flies open, and Kyle steps through. “Hey! Sorry! I went to the pharmacy for Dad.”
Kieran frowns but doesn’t say anything.
“Can I help you put the tree up?” He takes off his coat.
“We did it already,” I say. “It was no problem.”
Kyle spins and notices me on the kitchen chair. His face creases in confusion. “Okay, thanks. I’ll take care of the lights.”