I chuckle, tightening my arms around her, my dick stirring in my pants thinking about all the ways we can fuck with the Amish.
“Only if you promise to scream as loud as you can and let me open the windows every time we have sex.”
She nods her head against me. “Deal.”
As I start to walk her backward toward my couch, thoughts of Noel naked and screaming my name on top of the leather filling my thoughts, my front door suddenly opens.
“I brought pot mistletoe for you guys to kiss and make up under!”
Turning my head, I see Noel’s mom standing in my doorway holding the sprig of pot tied up in a red bow that used to hang from their living room archway.
“Too late, Mom, we already made up,” Noel tells her.
“But you didn’t kiss yet, I was watching through the window to make sure your eggnog didn’t get spilled,” her dad says, pushing past Bev and waltzing into my house, wielding his Christmas light trophy in his hands and aiming it at me.
Nicholas and Casey come in next, each carrying boxes in their arms, followed by Aunt Bobbie, dragging a huge Christmas tree behind her.
“Someone take this damn thing, I just chipped a nail,” she complains, dropping the tree in the entryway. “Sam, where’s your powder room? I need to freshen up. Bev got Cheetos powder all over my slacks.”
Bev huffs, moving out of the way as Nicholas drops the box he was holding and finishes pulling the tree into my living room. “It was an accident, Bobbie, for feta’s sake. Reggie took that last turn too fast and I spilled my bag. Quit being a whiny ninny.”
“Will you two spawns of Satan quit arguing and help me put this bag of eggnog in the fridge,” Reggie grumbles, lifting the plastic bag dangling from his hand up in the air.
He points the bag at me and glares. “I’m stocking your fridge with eggnog. You can have one sip tonight and maybe one tomorrow, but no more than that, got it?”
I salute him one and nod, still keeping an arm around Noel, refusing to let go.
“That’s right, Noel told us you’re a Marine. You don’t eat raw eggs before a workout, do you, Son?” he asks.
“Uh, no.”
He nods. “Good, good. Let’s keep it that way. We’ll introduce this stuff one thing at a time.”
“Dad, eggs aren’t dairy,” Noel corrects him with a laugh.
“YOU DEFILED SANTA’S WORKSHOP! YOUR OPINION IS INVALID!” he shouts before heading off in the direction of my kitchen.
Noel and I watch in silence as Aunt Bobbie, Bev, Casey, and Nicholas get to work decorating my house for Christmas. The boxes they brought with them containing stockings, lights and ornaments for the tree, a wreath for the front door, knick knacks for the mantle and lasts, but not least, the stocking holders, set all along my mantle to spell out Leon.
“Are you sure about loving me because of my family? Because I will totally understand if you changed your mind,” Noel whispers when Nicholas asks Casey if they can name their son Jesus if he’s born before midnight.
Bev starts yelling at him, Aunt Bobbie pulls a flask out of her pocket and takes a swig, and Reggie comes back in the room and starts loudly moaning about how I don’t have enough electrical outlets for the lights he brought with him and if I have an extension cord for the front porch so he can set up the lighted, plastic nativity he threw in the back of the van.
“Seriously, I’ll give you a free pass,” Noel says with a sigh as we watch her crazy family scream at each other in the middle of my living room.
“Nope, no way. This is perfect. Absolutely perfect,” I smile as she turns in my arms, lifts up on her toes and kisses me.
“I love you. Merry Christmas, Sam,” she whispers.
I smile down at her and speak the words I’ve never said out loud my entire life.
“Merry Christmas, Noel.”
The End
Tara Sivec, The Stocking Was Hung
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