Charlie

Charlie

"We're not doing Christmas presents this year. Gram decided that we have everything we need," Dad announced. Clearly, that is not the case, seeing as though Meg Cabot's newest book is most definitely not in my hands. But it wasn't like I could say that outloud.

"Ok, that's fine," I shrugged.

"Good. Do you want anything from the store?" Um, how about a Christmas present?

"I think we're out of soy milk." My dad wrinkled his nose.

"Are you sure that stuff is good for you?" I sighed. Not again.

"Yes, I'm sure." He reluctantly nodded and left me in the kitchen, trying to reach the cinnamon that was on the top shelf of the spice cabinet.

It's not that I'm short, I swear. The cabinet is just... tall.

And who put the cinnamon on the top shelf? Jonas... my little brother had just figured out that even though he was younger than I, his increasing height gave him the opportunity to place his least favorite spice out of my reach and out of my chocolate chip cookies. I grabbed a spatula and tried to knock down the can, but only managed to push my favorite spice father away. Just then, the doorbell rang. I debated whether or not to allow this disturbance to delay me from realizing my goal.

Yeah, I'll allow it.

I hopped down from the chair I was standing on and peeked down the hallway. A tall boy was fiddling with the sagging greenery on our front door. I made a note to fix that while the cookies were in the oven.  

"It's open!" I yelled. He tried the door, and sure enough, he was allowed entrance.  

"Your decorations are falling down," he pointed out.  

"Thanks, Paul," I replied. "Now please come here and be helpful."  

"What do you need?" he asked, pulling off his coat. "Oh, and you dad said to make sure you don't try to put any more tinsel on the tree. I saw him when he was pulling out." I rolled my eyes.  

"He's paranoid that the tree is going to collapse like it did last year. But really, I made sure to cut down on the tinsel a whole bunch," I defended. "Can you get that bottle of cinnamon?" Paul looked at where I was pointing.  

"Did Jonas try to hide it again?"  

"Of course." Paul climbed on the chair and, stretching, plucked the brown loveliness from its captivity.  

"Are you making the famous Jenny Jackson chocolate chip cookies?"  

"Yes, I believe it's that time of the year," I replied giddily.  

"I expect you to make me some."  

"Hello, I'm not your housewife."  

"I beg to differ," Paul replied, pointing at my apron, and then around the room. I sneered and gave him a little shove.  

"Fine, maybe you're onto something." I looked around the room felt proud of all the decorating I'd done. With Dad and Mom always at work, and Jonas always being himself, I was the only one with the time and motivation to get the place looking good for Christmas. I'd simmered some cloves and other spices over the stove to get the room smelling nice and I'd hung some greenery and tinsel over the fireplace mantle. Red and white candles had been strategically placed in order to give a soft glow that would contribute to, but not distract from, the beautiful Nativity scene that I'd bought two summers ago at a garage sale.  

"How are you doing without Charlie?" I paused and the glee of the season was momentarily depleted.  

"I miss the little guy," I said sadly, remembering my dog. My parents had gotten the Great Dane for me when I was just three. And four weeks ago, at fourteen years old, Charlie had died from leukemia. I remember sitting and crying with Paul for three long hours when he died. Paul and Charlie met in the first grade when Paul, being a first grade boy with cooties, stole my book at the bus stop because I wouldn't pay attention to him. Charlie knocked Paul over and retrieved the book, returning it to its rightful owner. Somehow, that event led to the beginning of my friendship with Paul that had continued through my senior year of high school. As I pondered all these memories, Paul rubbed my shoulder. I leaned into his chest, trying to forget Charlie's death, and he tightly hugged me. I breathed in his cologne, allowing its calming scent to invade my mind. Why did it smell so familiar?  

"Is that why the house looks so nice?" Paul asked cautiously, pulling away slightly. Why would your cologne- oh, Charlie.  

"It didn't help," I admitted. Nothing cures grief like a busy schedule.  

"Sorry for bringing it up, I just thought you might be thinking of him," he said. I shrugged.  

"I guess he'd crossed my mind a bit, this being the first Christmas without him. But I'm surviving." Paul nodded his approval.  

"I'm glad you're not letting it get you down."  

"Two Christmases ago," I blurted out. Paul raised his eyebrows.  

"What are talking about?"  

"That cologne," I said, blushing slightly for being caught sniffing. "I got it for you. Two Christmases ago." Paul crookedly grinned.  

"That's right."

***

"Hey Jenny!" I smiled to myself and quickly fixed my hair before turning around from my locker.  

"Hi, Brock!" I called back. A tall, blonde boy grinned and headed my way, the crowd parting as his large, muscular chest cut through like a hot knife on butter...

Ladies and gentlemen, God has entered the building.

"Hi, Brock!" Hayley greeted cheerfully, nudging, or rather, kicking, me in the back of the leg to signify her annoyance in Brock failing, once again, to give a proper greeting.  

"Oh, hey... uh, guys." Brock nodded to my two best friends who stood behind me. So Brock wasn't very good with names... but look at those dimples! They help, right?  

"Hello, Brock," Paul replied sourly, borderlining on completely giving away his dislike of my sort of unofficial boyfriend. This fall, Brock the Basketball Jock had unexpectedly turned his eyes towards Jenny the... Pretty. Not beautiful, not hott, just pretty. Who was also slightly anonymous to all but Paul and Hayley before Brock's attention span spread her (or my) way.  

"So are you doing anything this Christmas?" Brock asked, turning his attention back towards me. I could hear Hayley huff slightly in the background.  

"Just visiting with family and friends. I'm not leaving town," I said. Please, ask me out. On Christmas. Let's have a Christmas date. PLEASE!  

"Awesome, I might call you," he replied, fishing in his gym bag for something. I stepped back a bit, afraid of what might pop out, besides his basketball shoes.  

"Are you staying in town too?" I tried very carefully to keep the wariness out of my voice.  

"Yeah, I think so. I'm not really sure. But..." he began to smile. "I got you something!" With a flourish, he pulled a large stocking that had been stuffed with a plush golden retriever puppy. Sick, I can't believe you kept my present in your gym bag. 

"I remembered you saying something about always wanting to find a dog beneath the tree on Christmas morning, and I know it's a few days early, but Merry Christmas!" He enveloped me in a huge hug and kissed my cheek. I grinned happily and wrapped my arms around him. While I was slightly disgusted with the whereabouts of my new dog, the intentions were perfect.

"Thank you so much, it's wonderful," I said honestly. "So are you, JayJay," he whispered. I winced slightly.

***

"He called you JayJay?" Hayley exclaimed, horrified.  

"Ok, so it sort of ruined the moment, but it was a good thought!" I defended.

"Ugh, revolting much!" Hayley replied in disgust. Paul snatched the toy and tossed it from hand to hand. He then brought it to his face and sniffed it.  

"Where'd he get this from, his gym bag?" he said, gagging.  

"I have the right to remain silent. At least it shows he was listening when I talked!"

***

Someone was throwing rocks at my window. I threw back my curtains, ready to yell at someone for waking me up at such an unholy hour on Christmas morning. Honestly, it was... two thirty. I mean, I love Christmas, but two thirty? But of course, it was Paul, motioning for me to unlock the door. I sighed and ran downstairs, fumbling as I tried to put on my slippers.  

"What are you doing here?" I mumbled as I opened the front door, trying to let minimum snow in.  

"Merry Christmas," Paul whispered with excitement. I laughed a bit at the look on his face.  

"You look like a little kid," I giggled, observing his reddened nose and cheeks.  

"Come on, let's go sit by the tree," Paul insisted.  

"Why? No presents, remember?"  

"Not from your family." Paul dragged me into the den behind him and instructed me to sit on the carpet. I leaned my back against the couch as he sat next to me.  

"What's going on?" I asked, entertained by the late-night frivolity.  

"I," he began, "have gotten you a present." He pulled out a red stocking with a small, gray kitten inside. My jaw dropped slightly.

I hate cats.

"Thanks, Pa-"  

"Now, I know what you're thinking," he interrupted. "You hate cats. But you'll like this one."  

"Explain yourself," I said, raising one eyebrow.  

"First of all, he likes soy milk. I already checked."  

"I suppose that's a good sign."  

"And I know you don't believe in human reincarnation and stuff, but he was born four weeks ago." Tears built up in my eyes.  

"Paul," I began, wiping my eyes.  

"I just think you should give him a chance."  

"This is so wonderful," I whispered, laughing at myself.  

"And, you know, he doesn't smell like a gym bag." I laughed harder and gave Paul a sly glance.  

"You are amazing," I smiled. "But I don't have a good present for you, just the cookies I gave you last week." Paul sent a glance up at the ceiling, where I'd placed a ball of mistletoe during the decorating frenzy.  

"I promise I'll never call you 'JayJay,'" he offered. I followed his glance to the mistletoe and a funny feeling grew in the pit of my stomach. I returned my gaze to his face and smiled slightly, remembering how much I'd liked the smell of his cologne. I leaned towards him slightly.  

"Merry Christmas, Paul," I whispered, kissing him on the lips.  

"Merry Christmas, indeed," he murmured, pulling me closer as I wrapped my arms around his neck.