“Have I?” He raises both hands, exclaiming gleefully, “They have so many tubs of it here tonight, I could swim in it. Did you get any?”
“Ah, not yet.” I blink, clearing my eyes. I’m not expecting to feel this emotion from something so random, but the love in Pappi’s eyes radiates out.
His gaze shifts behind me, falling on Christian. “Who’s this man with you?”
“Oh, that’s just my boss—”
Pappi speaks over me, “—Your boyfriend?”
My gaze locks on Christian’s before looking at Ashley, who jerks her head to Christian, waving him forward. “Yes, this is him. It’s—”
“Jack,” Ashley coughs out, adding an extra cough for good measure.
“Jack,” I pause, afraid to offer anything more. I wasn’t sure what he already knew of Jack.
“Come here, son.” Pappi steels his gaze on Christian. “Let me get a good look at you.”
Christian steps forward, extending a hand, which Pappi promptly takes and holds on to. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. Alisa talks about you often.”
“I can’t say it’s nice to meet you!” Pappi angles his gaze up at Christian, his brows lowering into a scowl. “You took my granddaughter away from me and never even asked my permission.”
“Woo.” Christian’s head startles back, but I almost bubble out a giggle. This little man is so cute, and if anyone can handle some pushback, it’s Christian. “I, ah, wasscared. Now, I’m sorry.” His voice squeaks at the end, but he pushes through it. “I would love your permission now.”
“I don’t know if I can give it to you.” Pappi shakes his head regretfully. “What do you plan to offer her?”
“Um.” Christian blinks twice but holds his gaze steady, not flinching again as he goes on. “Well, I ah, have my own business, and I hope to grow it into an empire someday.”
“Ah, hogwash.” Pappi’s lips pool in the center, as if he’s getting ready to spit. “Another lady’s man, ladder climber looking for a trophy wife. You want my Alisa because she’s beautiful.”
“No, sir. I’m not a lady’s man. I hardly date at all.” Christian rushes out, “And, yes, Por—,Alisais stunning, but I know she’s also very caring.”
“Of course she’s caring. I raised her. Are you a cheater?”
“No, sir. I’m very loyal. Once I commit to something, or someone, I’m all in.”
My smile fades because at first, I was giggling over the pressure Pappi put on Christian, but the way Christian is being genuine with him is actually so touching, it’s alarming. I cover my heart with my palm and watch.
“This feels rehearsed.” Pappi turns his head away from Christian, swapping his joyful-reunion smile to one that’s stone cold.
“Trust me.” Christian rakes a hand through his hair, his hairline glimmering with perspiration under the fluorescent lighting. “I had no time to rehearse.”
“Well, if you can pass the final question, I’ll give you my blessing.” Pappi rubs his wrinkled hands together, preparing to trick Christian. “Tell me, in your own words, what is love?”
Christian clears his throat. “Love is . . . love is special.”
“Ah, I knew it.” Pappi raises a hand, shooing him away. “You’re full of bologna.”
“I am not!” Christian spits back, his voice getting deeper. “I’m not a phony. Let me speak. I said it’s special, but it’s more thanthat.” His gaze scans the room as if searching for a clue to tell him what to say.
I take a step forward, my heart pounding away in my chest. This is an awkward position for us both to be in. We don’t even know this man. I place a hand on his arm and whisper, “It’s okay, we can sneak out the fire exit.”
“No.” He places his hand over mine. “It’s a good question. One every man should have an answer for. For me, it’s like.” He lets out a loud breath, and when he speaks again his voice is even lower. “W-When I was little, my mom got sick. She had asthma. Every winter, she’d get pneumonia, and her recovery was worse every year. Her doctors did what they could to prevent it, but with her weakened immune system, it was inevitable she’d spend every Christmas in bed, which broke her heart because nobody loved Christmas more than her. She always made sure to take pictures of our faces right when we opened our gifts, and she referenced them all year round.” Christian’s forehead beads with sweat, as if a spotlight is shining directly on it, and he shuffles his feet.
Nobody dares to make a sound, and he continues, “My dad has winters off work, since he works in construction. He had plenty of time on his hands to care for her when she fell ill. One year, she got sick right after Thanksgiving, and she couldn’t get out of bed to shop for our Christmas presents, or decorate the house the way she loved it. That was the thing she enjoyed the most, and looked forward to all year. She’d look online at these décor websites and save pictures.” His gaze drops to his feet, and he clears his throat again. This time, the rumbles came out hoarse.
“Dad got all of us presents, and wrapped them, writing "From Mom” on them. We all knew she didn’t have anything to do with the gifts, because she was gravely ill, but Dad wanted my mom to get all of our smiles and hugs.” Christian pauses again andchews on his lip. I hold my breath, as the seriousness in his tone is making my heart pound hard against my ribs.
“Dad hated decorating because it was extra work and a waste of money. That year, he bought a real Christmas tree. While she was sleeping, he set it up in her bedroom and added white lights around her bed posts. It seemed like every day he’d bring home another little elf to hide in her line of sight while she slept, or a poinsettia to set on her dresser. I even started to look forward to what new Christmas surprise we’d have each day. He used the pictures she’d saved from her websites as guidance and by the end of the season, we had a winter wonderland right in her bedroom.”
