Page 36 of Playing Santa

“Are you saying I don’t?” I lose whatever self-control I have and wrap her in my arms. She doesn’t resist and I nibble her ear. She giggles and then darting a glance toward the living room where Jimmy sits on the floor with Dasher, she pushes me away.

“If the shoe fits, Mr. Incorrigible.”

“Fancy word.”

“I hope your family won’t mind cake for desert.” An undertone of uncertainty, real and anxious, colors her voice.

“You kidding? They’ll love it. It’s gorgeous. Looks like you put in a lot of work, seriously. How did you make it? I thought you said your old mixer broke?”

“I whisked it by hand. Piece of cake,” she grins, “Pun intended.”

“Look, you know I’m having dinner with my family on Christmas Day. Come over and join us?” I’m pushing when I know I shouldn’t, but the picture of her with me and Jimmy opening gifts under my tree is too tantalizing not to go for the prize.

“I can’t, Sean. I wouldn’t be comfortable with that. Jimmy and I are spending the day at home. We have a tree and we’ll have our own family dinner.”

“I get it.” I hide the bulk of my disappointment because I now I’m being unrealistic. “Then at least spend the night.” I nuzzle her hair and she refuses to stay over, saying she needs to go home. I drive her and Jimmy home that night because I can’t convince her to stay.

Jimmy’s sleeping as we put him to bed, but she whispers anyway, “It’s important for Jimmy to wake up to Santa’s gifts under our tree.”

“No way I can argue with that,” I admit. “I just wish I could see his face and all that joy in the morning.” Smiling, I nod, because I can imagine it and even that brings a lift in me. Everything about this woman and her son makes me feel good.

Chapter 8

Ronnie

Miraculously, I wake up before Jimmy on Christmas morning and it’s a good thing. I need to be alone with my overexcited hormones mixing with my emotions every time I think of Sean and his hands and mouth on me, and his heart and warmth filling me.

After one cup of coffee and running endless loops of blissful moments shared with Sean through my head, Jimmy gets up. His beaming face anticipating Santa’s visit ends the havoc of my hormone-spiked nerves.

“Look, Mommy, look what Santa left.” He runs to the tree, skidding to a stop on his knees to attack the four wrapped gifts waiting for him. I’m so proud I could treat him to all these gifts this Christmas, but a spike of guilt strikes because I know I owe a lot to Sean. Even if he did insist I’d earned the money by dog-sitting, I know he overpaid me. Or at least paid me on the upper end of the scale.

Garino insists that the fees were legitimate and not inflated, but I don’t know if I can trust her anymore when it comes to Sean Patrick.

Watching Jimmy rip off the wrapping paper and jump around excitedly at seeing the giant truck he wanted so badly wipes everything but pure happiness from my mind and heart.

Eventually, it comes time for me to open the one gift left wrapped under the tree. It’s the one from Sean with my name on it. I open the finely wrapped gift and find a new Cuisinart mixer, the latest and greatest model with all the attachments. I sigh and pet it like a kitten. Even Jimmy is impressed with it.

“You can make lots of cakes with this, Mommy.” Then he reaches his hand inside the bowl and pulls out an envelope. “What’s this?” he hands it to me. My name is written on it in Sean’s bold handwriting.

“It’s a note from Sean.” Another note. I’ve missed his notes and I find myself ripping the envelope open with more anticipation than I unwrapped the gift. To my surprise and small disappointment, I find a type-written letter from Louie, the owner of the restaurant Louie’s.

“What’s it say, Mommy?” Jimmy climbs on my lap, leaning in to see the words over my shoulder and his face screws up. “It doesn’t look like Sean’s note.”

“You’re right, honey, it’s not a note from Sean.” I clear my throat as I force myself to read it, trepidation mixing with overwhelming curiosity, scaring me and making my hand tremble as I hold the paper. I read the words.

Skimming the page for the third time, I look for the catch, but I can’t find it. Louie wants buy cakes from me for his restaurant. There’s another paper and I take it out with shaking hands. It’s a confirmation of enrollment in a pastry school.

Tears run down my cheeks now because it’s the most generous and perfect thing anyone has ever given me.

And I can’t accept it. Not because it’s too much for him to give me, because I know he has the money and I now he gets pleasure out of giving gifts. I can’t accept it because I can’t afford to leave work to go to pastry school. I can’t afford to do both because I need to keep Jimmy first in my priorities and give him my attention while I earn a living because he has no father or grandparents or siblings to care for him and I could never afford child care.

The shelter has been perfect for balancing the need to work with the need to be there for Jimmy. There’s no way I can do both. Not until Jimmy is much older. By then I’ll have money saved up—maybe—so that I can afford tuition on my own.

There’s another envelop labeled Jimmy. I open it, holding my emotions together.

“Jimmy, Sean has another gift for you.” I pull the contents from the envelope.

Season tickets for next year. Shit.