Mary and Halley (sequel to When Mary Met Halley)

thirty two

The following Saturday was ten days before Christmas, but holiday preparations weren't the only thing on our minds that afternoon. Gwen had taken the little kids next door so we--the teens, Halley, and I--could get busy working on our bags for those experiencing homelessness.

Nate offered the term as an alternative to "homeless people" as we were putting the items together. "I dunno, it's a way to separate the person from their current living arrangements," he mused, adding half a dozen bottles of shampoo and conditioner to each pile. Full size ones were often deemed too much extra weight when you traveled with all your belongings. 

The living room was strewn with the makings of fifty piles, to start. We had enough to make 250 but no room to do so all at once. Halley sat near enough to me to touch easily, which worked for me, because her hair was down and I couldn't keep my hands off it. Me and my apparent hair fetish . . . but only when it came to one person.

I took a handful of it now, tugging gently, our love language. She reached back and took my hand, kissing the back of it with that sweet smile before letting go. It still made my heart do loops. Especially when I looked around at all that had been accomplished for our important project.

We had convinced one of the big chain outdoors shops to donate a small tent for every winter-proof sleeping bag we purchased, on the condition we mentioned them if any news channels became interested. They had also had "Courtesy of Martinez's Sporting Goods" professionally emblazoned on each one to further advertise their generosity. The tents were waterproof and popped up quickly, easily collapsing with one pull of the rope.

We'd cleaned out the inventory of a small, local business for the warm clothing we needed in various sizes, and the owners had been ecstatic. Especially as it was right before Christmas. They had shared with excitement the extravagant gifts they had planned for their loved ones that year.

One of the local laundromats had started offering gift cards, so we'd purchased a ton of those in ten-dollar increments; each person received three. Cash was too precious to be spent on washing clothing and this provided an alternative. Sure, some of them would be traded or sold, but that was up to the person who received them. It's not like we were giving the stuff away with conditions or something.

The medium-sized, many-pocketed suitcases we were using to store everything were on wheels and had extendable handles, which the tent and sleeping bag could be attached to with the included bungee cords. Between Halley and Nate, they'd thought of everything.

Charlotte doled out new packages of socks, ten pairs in each. "That reminds me, you need some of these," she told Joey with a poke to his side. Rain hit the windows as the wind shifted and howled through the eaves. The Christmas tree sat cozily in the corner, the colorful lights glowing among the carefully hung ornaments. 

"My socks are fine," he said, poking her in return.

"Boy please," Nate chimed in, pointing at my brother's socked foot, complete with a little hole above his pinky toe. "Don't even." He folded a navy blue Hanes sweatshirt and set it on top of one pile, patting it primly.

"Thank you," Charlotte said, and he tipped his blue beret at her with a wink.

"Sure, gang up on me," Joey muttered, fixing the sock so the hole didn't show. He realized his mistake and looked up again. "Not literally-" he started to add, but it was too late. The two of them were dogpiling him in what quickly turned into a tickle war.

Halley scooted backward to sit next to me, grinning at their antics. Her arm went around my shoulders and she drew me closer for a kiss, her chapstick giving it a vanilla hint. "Hi," she said, kissing my neck under my earlobe, which immediately put into mind thoughts of bed.