Lock and Key(76)
Author: Sarah Dessen

“I don’t mean it like that.” He turned his palm, letting the key fall loose, and it slowly floated back down to rest against me again. “It’s just that I associate them with you, and this one. You know? It was the first thing I noticed about you that night we met.”

“Even before I was jumping the fence?”

“Okay.” He smiled. “Maybe the second.”

All around us, the neighborhood was quiet, the sky spread out wide and sprinkled with stars overhead. I could feel him right there in front of me, and I thought of what Jamie had said earlier: It won’t be like this forever. That was true, and also the reason I should have climbed out right then, as well as why I knew I would stay.

He was still watching me, both of us bobbing, and I could feel the water around me, pressing in, pulling back. Then, slowly, Nate was moving closer, leaning in, and despite all I’d told myself, and all I wanted to believe I was and wasn’t capable of, I stayed where I was as he kissed me. His lips were warm, his skin wet, and when he drew back, I felt myself shiver, unaccustomed to anyone being so close, and yet still not ready for him to pull away.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

I was about to shake my head, say it wasn’t that at all, but before I could, I felt his hand close over mine. “Don’t worry,” he said, “it’s warmer the deeper you go.” Then, to prove it, he went under, and I took a deep breath, the biggest I could, and let him pull me down with him.

I already knew Jamie liked holidays. There were the matching blue shirts, for one thing, not to mention the thankful lists. But even armed with this knowledge, I still was not fully prepared for how he approached Christmas.

“Just stand still, okay?” Cora said, making a face as she stuffed the pillow farther up under his jacket. “Stop wriggling around.”

“I can’t,” Jamie replied. “This long underwear is a lot itchier than I thought it would be.”

“I told you to just wear your boxer shorts.”

“Santa doesn’t wear boxers!” he said, his voice rising slightly as she yanked the wide black belt of his costume tight over the pillow, holding it in place. “If I’m going to do this, I want to be authentic about it.”

“I seriously doubt,” Cora said, pushing herself to her feet, “that the Santa police do an underwear check. Now where’s your beard?”

“On the bed,” he told her. Then he saw me. “Hey, Ruby! So what do you think? Pretty great, right?”

This wasn’t exactly the first word that had come to mind at seeing him in a full-on Santa outfit: red suit, black boots, and big white wig, which to me looked itchier than any underwear could ever be. But in the interest of family, I decided to play along.

“Yeah,” I agreed as Cora reached over his head, fastening his beard. “Are you going to a party or something?”

“No,” he said. Cora stepped back, hands on her hips, examining her work. “It’s Christmas Eve.”

“Right,” I said slowly. “So this is for . . .”

“Walking around the neighborhood!” he finished for me. I just looked at Cora, who simply shook her head. “My dad always dressed up like Santa on Christmas Eve,” he explained. “It was a family tradition.”

“Which we did not have a lot of,” Cora added. “And Jamie knows that, which is why he’s made it a personal mission to make up for it now.”

Jamie looked from her to me, then back at her again. Even in the full costume, wig and all, he still looked so boyish, like Santa: The Early Days. “I know, it’s a little over the top,” he said. “It’s just . . . we always made a big deal of Christmas at my house. I guess it’s kind of rubbed off on me.”

Even without the Santa outfit, this was an understatement. All month long, Jamie had thrown himself into getting ready for Christmas: stringing up an elaborate light show out front, putting Advent calendars in practically every room, dragging home the biggest tree he could find, which we then decorated with a mix of brand-new ornaments and homemade ones from Hunter holidays past. Between all this and working at the mall, I’d frankly been over the holidays weeks ago. But as with most things involving Jamie, I’d gone along anyway, allowing myself to be dragged to the neighborhood tree-lighting ceremony, watching the Charlie Brown Christmas special over and over again, even holding Roscoe down while Jamie outfitted him in an elaborate harness of jingle bells.

“Here,” he said now, reaching behind him to the bed to pick up a red elf’s hat. “For you.”

“Me? ”

“Yeah. So we’ll match, when we go out.”

I looked at Cora again, but this time she avoided my eyes, busily putting away her blusher, which she’d used to give Jamie his festive red cheeks. “Where,” I said slowly, “are we going?”

“To hand out gifts in the neighborhood,” he said, like this was obvious. “They’re all in the foyer, ready to go. Come on!”

He brushed past me, his own hat in hand, and bounded down the stairs, his boots thumping on the carpet. I narrowed my eyes at Cora until she finally turned to face me. “I’m sorry,” she said, looking like she meant it. “But I did it last year.”

And that was how I ended up out in Wildflower Ridge, at eight o’clock on Christmas Eve, with Jamie in his Santa suit, and Roscoe in his jingle bells, spreading good cheer. Or, looking at it another way, walking in the cold—which had returned with a vengeance—and interrupting people from their own family celebrations while scaring the occasional motorist.

After the first couple of houses, we worked out a system: I rang the bell, then let Jamie stay front and center, hanging back with Roscoe until the door was opened, and pitching in when needed to help hand out the gifts, which were mostly stuffed animals and boxes of mini candy canes. Aside from a few weird looks—and some people who were clearly home but chose to ignore us—people seemed happy to see us, especially the kids, and after about an hour and three blocks, our stuff was mostly gone.

“We’ve got enough for maybe two more stops,” Jamie said as we stood on the corner by Nate’s house, having paused for Roscoe, bells jingling, to relieve himself against a mailbox. “So which ones do you think? You want to take something to Nate?”

I looked over at the Cross house, dark except for a couple of lights in the back. “I don’t know,” I said. “He might not be your target audience. Maybe we should go a little younger.”