It’s Mother-Pucking Christmas!

10. Ryder

10

RYDER

“ I know I didn’t give you all keys,” I said as Rick swung the door open before I could put the key in the lock of my apartment.

“So how did it go?” Pete asked around a mouthful of chicken.

“Did you trauma dump?” Erik demanded.

“No…”

“Liar.”

“We will never have grandchildren.” Rick flopped on the floor.

“It’s okay. You’ll get ’em next time.” Pete patted me on the back.

“She actually said she was fine with it.” I couldn’t stop the grin. “She invited me out tomorrow.”

“A second date!”

“Well, it’s to her family’s holiday party. She wants me to meet her family.” I couldn’t stop smiling. “Dakota says she has an insanely large family.”

Pete’s mouth dropped open. “Dude, that’s a big deal.”

“You didn’t propose to her or declare your love for her or anything weird like that, did you?” Mike asked.

“No.” I shook my head. “She didn’t care about my being in foster care. I told her by accident,” I said defensively when Mike shook his head. “And she wanted me to come meet her family anyway.”

“Look at that smile. You’re so stinkin’ cute!”

“Shut it, Utah.”

Rick put me in a headlock and ruffled my hair. “You’re so happy.”

Then I thought about how Dakota had sat there with a stunned, horrified expression on her face when I spilled my guts. “Maybe she just did it because she felt sorry for me?”

“A win is a win,” Erik said sagely.

“Yeah! Already meeting the parents.” Pete pumped his fist.

“Big step,” Mike agreed.

“I think it’s more of a casual thing.” I suddenly felt sick. “I’ve never ever met a girl’s parents before.”

“Damn, College Boy.”

“Good enough to fuck but not good enough to date?” Mike teased.

“Something like that.” I sighed.

“The curse of being handsome with a big dick.” Pete mimed punching me in the stomach.

The reality was, I’d always been a clinger in high school and college. I all but begged the girls to invite me back home, yearning to be welcomed into a loving family. I had missed my chance to be adopted into a family, but marrying into one was an achievable goal.

But they never did.

“I need to prepare. Figure out what I’m going to wear. I need a hostess gift.” I jumped up, heading abruptly to the bedroom. “A suit. I should wear a suit.”

“God, no. No suits. This is a casual thing. You cannot embarrass me and show up in a suit, College Boy.” Mike raced after me.

“Jeans?” I pulled them out of my closet.

“No. Too casual,” Pete said.

“Black jeans are fine,” Mike argued. “Boots. Flannel. Classic look.”

“No way!” Erik complained. “He’d look like he’s cosplaying as a lumber jack.”

“Can’t go wrong with a polo and khakis,” Rick said.

“All right, Utah.”

I swallowed the anxiety. I was more nervous than even before the playoffs or when a social worker was taking me to a new family.

My hair was slicked down and combed. I’d gone with gray jeans and a polo as a compromise. My shoulders were tight under the jacket as I stepped out of my truck.

Do not screw this up.

I remembered being a foster kid during the one time period I’d lived in a nice middle-class house where the couple had a lawn care service. I’d been amazed at the neighbors, who would always throw big parties with cars lining the street. I’d sit at my window and stare at the well-dressed people walking up the drive, wondering what it would be like to go to one of those parties with all those people. Now here I was.

I headed down the sidewalk past the rows of cars on the quaint street. The beautiful big craftsman-style homes, all decked out for Christmas, marched in a row like they were on the set of a holiday movie. It was the type of neighborhood I’d always dreamed of living in. It would be amazing to grow up here, to raise kids here.

I paused a few houses down from Dakota’s parents’, checking and triple-checking the house numbers.

“Its fine,” I told myself. “Everything’s fine. We’re going to the house across the street from the green one with a For Sale sign. You looked this up with the guys on Google Earth before you left. Don’t be nervous. Be calm.”

But my heart was racing. What if this is it? My one chance at having a real family?

“Just be normal. Smile. Make small talk. Do not mention foster care. Compliment the hostess.”

I had my hostess gifts, right?

Courtesy of the Maplewood Falls Christmas market, I carried a fancy poinsettia, mulled wine, and a box of English toffee tied with a pretty bow. Nice, normal hostess gifts.

“Maybe I should have worn the khakis.” I worried over my outfit then stopped abruptly in front of the little stone path that led up to the porch, in shock. It was then that I realized that it, in fact, did not matter what I wore, or what the hostess gift was. Dakota’s family was going to hate me.

The Arctic Avengers team flag waved proudly from the porch. The rival team’s colors of gold and purple were everywhere—the Christmas lights on the house were purple, there were elves dressed in the team’s hockey jerseys strewn around the yard, and purple ribbons laced the wreath when I stepped up to the front door.

I rang the doorbell.

I was gripping the flowers too hard.

The door was flung open, and I almost dropped the bottle of wine.

A younger guy peered at me, then his lips peeled back. “Oh, hell no! Fuck this shit.” He turned to yell over his shoulder. “Which one of you girls brought this Icebreakers asswad here?”