Eggnog & Evergreen

47 • The Stocking

"Did you ever stop to think maybe no sign is a sign?" Stella asks as we walk back over to the front door, the cookie platter abandoned on the bench.

"No. Or –Maybe. I don't know." I shake my head. "Maybe no sign is a sign. Maybe I should just give one of them a chance –the next one I see."

"And what if you don't see either?" Stella cocks her eyebrow.

"Then the next one who makes contact!" I exclaim. I'm reading Preston's text in the back of my mind. Nik hasn't even said anything to me!

"Makes contact?" Stella laughs at me. "Is this a spy novel? What's that even mean?"

"I don't know," I sigh.

"Girl, I think you know," Stella says, coy.

"Do you? Do I? Tell me what I know."

"Nope. I gotta hit it. Dani is blowing up my phone. Logan is tearing into all his gifts. It's a mess." Stella hugs me by the door.

"Good luck with that," I laugh.

"And good luck to you," Stella nods. "I want to know everything. And if you're still in town for New Years –I want to know that too!"

"I'll let you know!" I shout out after her as she's already gingerly crossing the snowy front lawn.

...

I curl up on the couch beside the fire, snuggling under my gran's crocheted Fair Isle blanket.

I think about video chatting Jayden and Jules again, or maybe calling Deja, but I don't want to interject myself into their Christmas mornings. I'm lucky enough that Stella stayed for 20 minutes. It was just enough time that I was almost starting to forget things.

Forget about Preston's pseudo-proposal.

Forget Nik's sad smile as I said goodbye last night.

Forget that the real world awaits now that the holiday bubble is almost about to burst.

I tear into a Christmas cookie, green sprinkles snowing into my lap, and take another sip from my third cup of coffee.

I think about what Stella said, mulling it over. Maybe she's right –I do already know what I want.

My aunt and uncle leave shortly after Stella. My mom walks them out onto the porch.

"Noelle!" My mom calls from the foyer.

"Hmm?" I don't take my eyes from the crackling fire.

"Noelle?" She asks again, talking into the room.

"Whats?"

"Someone left a gift for you," she says, tentative.

"A gift? Outside?" I ask. "What are you talking about?" I just walked Stella out less than fifteen minutes ago and there was nothing in sight.

"Yes, it was on the porch swing. Maybe it was Preston? There's no card. It just says Noelle." My mom shrugs, carrying the box over to me and dropping it on the couch arm.

I eye the wrapping paper suspiciously. It's brown, recycled looking paper, with hand-drawn black trees all over it. I untie the twine that's holding the Noelle name card in place and tear open the gift. Inside the box is a single thing: A stocking.

My stomach lurches, but in the best way possible.

I pull it out of the box and hold it up, running my fingers over the forest green velvet. It has a fur trim and gold rope and is easily the most beautiful Christmas stocking I've ever seen. It's easily the most lumberjacky Christmas stocking I've ever seen.

"Huh," my mom says, watching me. "Who sent that over?"

"Not sure," I answer, but it's untrue. Part of me knows who sent it over.

"Is it empty?" She asks. The stocking is flat and seemingly unfilled.

"Not sure," I say again, but still, part of already knows what I will find inside.

I reach my hand all the way down into the bottom and feel something up where the toes would be. I pull it out and unfold a tiny scrap of paper to find only one word scrawled across it.

You.

In the three years I shared my life with Preston, I never found it fit to tell him about my holiday stocking tradition. It just never came up –I suppose another indicator that our relationship was surface-level at best. Preston's family traditions were traveling to a new island or making up a new Christmas rap –not quite the sentimental kind of traditions that my family harbored.

I look at Nik's secret stocking wish and my heart swells with emotion. I admire his handwriting, which somehow is reminiscent of the pine trees sketched all over the wrapping paper. I cannot believe it! I can't believe he remembered my tradition, went and found this stocking, and then wrote down his own wish for me.

My eyes blur but I blink back the imminent tears. It's like I've known all along –like walking headfirst into Trotter actually knocked it into me. Nik's cabin floats into my mind; I can see the cozy couch and crackling fireplace. I can picture perfectly the sad, empty mantle. I look down at the green velvet in my hands and I know exactly where to put this stocking.

Exactly where it belongs.