FQWL: Tis the season
Apr. 7th, 2013 05:24 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
moonshadowsFriday is lazy, grazing on leftovers and making more solid plans for Christmas. Amanda will be here the entire time, of course, relaxing from her first "real" semester in college since apparently according to her, the community college courses don't count. Val hems and haws a little about if she can make it, but seeing Robert avert his gaze from her makes her stop and stare. When she's got her thoughts together again, she promises she'll drive over on Saturday the 23rd and then go back to Brooklyn on Thursday the 28th. Robert looks tentatively hopeful at that, and Val hugs him.
"You get Christmas," she tells him sternly, "but I'm spending New Year's with my girlfriend."
Saturday, she and Amanda engage in a round of good-bye hugs and I-love-you ritual before bundling into Val's sleek sports car and driving off.
"Amanda's likely to have a New Year's party to go to," I tell Robert as we go back inside. "Does the cul-de-sac do anything, or do we need to make plans?"
Robert snorts. "Just wait. The Victorians were all about New Year's. It's basically the neighborhood Christmas after the fact."
"I look forward to that, then," I tell him, smiling.
He looks away. "I've got...something planned the morning of the thirty-first. It's kind of a surprise."
I hug him. "Then I won't ask."
===
Sunday night, Mary weaves her way over to my house with a bottle she's already been working on.
"I'm ready," she tells us with a frazzled air about her. "I need to get out, I'm going to go crazy. Find me a job, even if it's just doing Craig's busywork or answering phones for Brian."
We spend the evening calming her down, which means one part commiserating, one part making plans, and two parts listening to her rant and sometimes cry in frustration over Joseph 'honoring and cherishing' her as a wife and the mother of his children while also disregarding her wants and needs as a person. I text Craig, Robert confers with Brian, and we finally send Mary home with the agreement that she'll come over tomorrow for lunch and I'll start teaching her the things I do for Craig's business.
Robert seems pensive as we settle in on the couch.
"I'm glad she's finally realized she needs to get out of there," he says quietly. "I'm just worried what Joseph will say to her when he figures out she's making plans."
It's a valid worry. I know all too well what damage words can do.
Monday, the cul-de-sac wakes up to discover that not only did it snow overnight, but it's still snowing. Robert, Craig, and I break out our shovels and forego our morning jog to clear driveways and sidewalks instead. The egg nog French toast I make for breakfast after that is doubly appreciated. The snow's piled up a bit more when Mary comes over, so Robert goes back out to give my sidewalk a piece of his mind while I start training my replacement.
Once the door closes behind him, though, she turns to me and says urgently, "I need your help."
"With what?" I answer, more than a little alarmed.
"Rob's birthday. He doesn't like a huge fuss, and I don't think anyone else even knows when it is, but I had a little tradition where I'd take him to Jim and Kim's and buy his drinks."
And, of course, he's gone sober.
"But that's not all," she continues before I can suggest something else. "Your girl's coming home for the holidays, I take it?"
I nod.
"And Rob's going to spend them with you, I bet." When I nod again, she nods grimly back. "His birthday's the twenty-seventh. Of December," she clarifies, since today is the 27th of November.
"Val's going to be here," I blurt. "I wondered why she was waiting until the twenty-eighth to drive back, but..."
Mary looks pleasantly astonished. "He's not going to be alone. Oh, thank god. But I still don't know what to do for his birthday now that he doesn't drink anymore."
"I'll get in touch with Val and confer with her," I promise. That gets me a relieved hug. "Now, let's get started on getting you settled in with Craig's busywork."
===
It takes a bit of texting back and forth with Val before she hits on the idea of making "his favorite cookie", one his Italian grandmother used to make and that he hasn't had since she was a little girl because neither Robert nor his father are much for cooking. Val inherited her Nonna's recipes and although she's never attempted this one, she's sure that between the two of us, we can make them without screwing up. She texts me a picture of the handwritten recipe, and I'm halfway through writing it out (because faded spidery handwriting isn't the easiest thing to read) when I realize that rum balls have actual rum in them.
CALL NOW, I text Val. Moments later, my phone rings.
"What's wrong?" she asks sharply.
"These have rum in them, Val."
"They're rum balls, that's kind of the signature ingredient."
"Your father doesn't drink anymore."
There's a pause. "But it's only half a cup..."
"And where's the rest of the bottle?" I ask, trying to keep the question from becoming a demand. "Robert said, when we were talking about Thanksgiving, that you were right to be suspicious of foods with alcohol in them because he'd he drinking the rest."
"We'll pour it out," she says. "They're going to be a surprise anyway; he'll never know."
"That still leaves us offering him food with alcohol in it. That's a shitty thing to do to someone wrestling with sobriety, Val, even if it's a relatively small amount. I won't be a part of that unless he's okay with it."
The silence after that stretches for a minute and a half.
"He's really serious about not drinking," she says in a small voice. "I didn't think...I thought he was just being on his best behavior, or going dry until he learned what moderation meant."
"That time in September was the only time he's had so much as a drop between when he decided to quit in July and now," I tell her somberly.
"Holy shit. Now I feel like an ass. He's really serious. Jack, we have to do something special for him."
Phone in hand, I wander over to my cooking cabinet and take down a small, dark bottle. "Give me a week. Let me experiment with using imitation rum flavoring, and I'll get back to you."
"Good luck, Jack. Text if you need anything, and I'll text if I think of anything."
"Thanks, Val. Take care. Love you."
I can hear her breathing hitch. "Love you too, Jack."
Bottle in hand, I go back to the table and finish copying out Nonna's rum ball recipe. It's time to google.
===
December flies by way too fast for my liking. It takes me two batches - and two weeks - to get the rumless rum balls right. I have to make them secretly, and I dispose of them at the youth group meetings. Thankfully, the third attempt gets thumbs up all around, including from Joseph. Robert and I spend more than one afternoon shopping together, although we split up to shop for each other. We don't care if the girls are adults, they're getting stockings and that means stocking stuffers. It winds up being an assortment of festive socks, gloves, candy, and little gadgets and gizmos like keyring flashlights and phone stands and whatnot. Robert re-arranges his living room to account for the live tree he brings in, and we spend an unexpectedly snowy day wrapping all the stocking stuffers and decorating the tree with ornaments from both of our families.
Amanda and Val both get texted pictures of the tree and their stockings. Val isn't as unabashedly enthused as Amanda is, but we can tell that she's touched.
Finding gifts for the other dads is a challenge, even if they're only going to be small-ish gifts because...well...when you add the residents of the cul-de-sac up, it turns out to be kind of a lot of people to shop for. I find a nice cookbook for Brian, pre-pay for Mat's next three album purchases from Vinyl Fantasy, make Craig a coupon for an afternoon watching River, that sort of thing. Shopping for Robert is tougher, but I do find a big red sweater that's so soft, it's like petting a kitten. I also succumb to whimsy and make him a couple of coupons for things like a batch of chocolate cookies just for him, a 2am Dover Ghost hunting session, an afternoon at the beach, breakfast in bed, and a Hawaiian pizza.
Joseph, Mary, and at least three of their four children spend most of the month involved in the annual church play, which is kind of a relief. Joseph hasn't given up making hopeful courting gestures in my direction, and it's obvious enough that the youths and I had a second talk about sexuality because I got straight-up asked if I was into men. I can only imagine it was out of secondhand embarrassment from watching a married man hit on a widower. But it's a good chance to touch more directly on bi- and pansexuality, demi- and asexuality, and the difference between sexual and romantic interest. I don't go into too much detail about my personal history, but I do tell them that despite my marriage, I've only felt sexual attraction for one person and yes, he is male. There's a lot of meaningful not-quite-looks at Joseph when I say that, and I add that since he's not here, I won't say anything more because it wouldn't be right to talk about him behind his back.
A lot of not-looking-at-Joseph goes on the rest of that evening. When I tell Mary and Robert about it, they laugh and hoot for a good handful of minutes.
Mary takes to Craig's busywork like she was born for it, and he starts giving her more to do. Whatever she's doing, it's apparently really good for the company. She tells us smugly that she's downplayed it to Joseph as just helping Craig with a few things, and that it's a piece of cake for her to hide her earnings because she's the one who does the family finances anyway. She still wants out of her marriage, but she wants to build up a bit of savings first and having a functional, productive outlet for her stress is helping not just with her sanity, but with her drinking. She still drinks, just not like a fish.
Amanda drives up Monday the 18th, her SUV packed full of all her things. She did her shopping before she left, but didn't get a chance to wrap. I hand over the remnants of my wrapping paper rolls and she holes up in her room until dinner. Or rather, until Robert comes over with a bag of Chinese food and a bottle of Sprite.
With my daughter home to help, I can get the holiday baking out of the way. Gingerbread and sugar cookies are baked, decorated, and sealed in plastic bags. Peanut butter kiss cookies - or the ones that survive being eaten warm, anyway - are likewise tucked away. Chocolate chip cookies with little red, green, and white chips are baked in a triple batch and divvied up into stacks that get wrapped in plastic wrap and tied at the top with red, green, or white ribbons. They'll be our contribution to the New Year's party. Amanda curls the ribbons expertly with a pair of scissors, then eats a cookie or three in celebration. It turns out that she does not have a party to go to because Emma R. is staying in California for the holidays (with her parents flying out to visit her) and Emma P. is going to be at her grandparents' house. I try to by sympathetic, but she's sure the neighborhood party will be better anyway.
Thursday's pizza night is wonderful, me and Robert and Manda, my little family together again. Saturday, Val drives in and everyone's excitement level jumps to palpable levels. It's sinking in that this is really happening, we're really spending Christmas together as a family. Christmas Eve dinner could almost double as Italian night, manicotti and sausage and all the fixings with cheesecake (slathered in four kinds of fruit toppings, one for each quarter) for dessert. Amanda tells us about her semester and her plans for the spring semester. She's submitted a few pieces various places, and shyly she confesses that she wants to go back to her birth name for her professional work, prompting Robert and Val to ask what it is and why she's not using it. I suggest that she not only do that, but also take her mother's maiden name so she can keep her privacy. Fareeha Amari to the public, Amanda Morrison in private. Robert backs me up, as does Val, and my Panda looks a lot happier about her decision.
Combining the family traditions, the girls open their stockings after dinner rather than getting to unwrap one present and having the stockings and the presents to open in the morning. There's some good-natured groaning over the fact that I wrapped small candy bars and individual pairs of socks, but they love that I went that extra step. Excitement over the trinkets in her stocking doesn't prevent Amanda from taking pictures of everything and everyone, including a cute shot of me and Robert sitting together on the couch.
There's some clearly-manufactured and insincere arguments about who should be allowed to sleep at Robert's house, the possibility of catching Santa in the act, and so on. All the food's in his house, either prepared or in pieces, and everyone's put their presents under the tree already, so it's not that bad of an idea. The arguments get unexpectedly settled when Amanda notices that it's started to snow. There's a scramble for pajamas, clothes, and toiletries and then we're all back in Robert's house trying to decide who sleeps where. Amanda slyly suggests I share his bed while they sleep on the couches, but Robert forcefully nixes that. In the end, the girls sleep on his bed while we sleep on the couches.
Of course, this means we couldn't sleep in on Christmas morning if we wanted to, but we're both used to getting up early to go jogging so we're actually up before either of our daughters. Robert puts on coffee while I get breakfast going - which, in this case, means I toss some toaster strudels in the toaster and open the box of danishes. Then we turn on the tree's lights and just bask in the warm, comforting glow, drinking coffee and nibbling on sweet things. The girls get up a little later, and while they're taking their turn with coffee and breakfast pastries, Robert and I gleefully pile their unopened presents around them. I fetch a garbage bag for the wrapping paper, and discover that Robert's piled our presents up on opposite sides of the other couch. I take empty mugs and plates back to the kitchen, and once I've sat down, Robert and Val nod at each other.
"Ready?" he asks challengingly.
"Set," she replies.
He grins at me and Amanda. "Go!"
The living room turns into gleeful chaos, paper flying everywhere and people shouting thanks and making sounds of excited joy as we all tear into our gifts. Val and Robert both got me a cookbook featuring nothing but strawberry recipes, but the amazing thing is that they're two different cookbooks. Amanda is thrilled at the panda hoodie she got, complete with a panda-head hood, and Val practically tears up at a little painted statue of a cat that Robert gave her. There's a story there, but I'm not about to ask. When he opens the large, flat box from me and sees the fluffy red sweater, the first thing he does is press his face into it for a long minute. Then he puts it on before he does anything else. I'm all set to tease him when I open my box and discover that Amanda found the same sweaters and bought me the blue one I'd been coveting. I follow Robert's lead and waste no time in putting it on, and then we nuzzle each other's sweaters while our daughters take potentially incriminating pictures.
The rest of the morning, and the afternoon, is for board games and movies. We graze on cookies and nibbles - deviled eggs, pickles, olives, cheese and pepperoni and crackers - and never really have lunch. The ham goes in the oven before we put on a movie, and when the movie's over I take it out to glaze while Amanda springs into action putting the prepared gratin potatoes on to cook in one pot while Robert gets the broccoli going in another. Val sets the table while the glaze is crisping, and then the rolls go in while Robert carves the ham and gets it on a platter. The sides go in their serving bowls, the rolls go in their napkin-lined basket, and everything goes onto the table where Amanda takes pictures before giving me the go-ahead to announce that everyone can dig in.
The entire day has been so warm and intimate that it's no surprise when Robert goes for his boots and shovel so the girls and I can go back to my house for the night. I don't mind; I've nearly kissed him a dozen times today and I know it's been just as hard for him. Besides, I'll need to make my rumless rum balls and hide them so they have a chance to sit before the 27th.
Of course, that in no way stops us from talking on the phone after we've gone to bed. He initiates a facetime call and I turn on the bedside table's lamp to answer it. We lie down with the phones propped against spare pillows, giving the illusion that we're almost in the same bed. Almost, he promises me. Soon, he'll get the green flag from his therapist. I reassure him that I'll wait as long as it takes. He promises to come by for breakfast in the morning, and I almost sign off with 'good night, sleep well, I love you' but catch myself at the last second. I'm pretty sure he knows what I almost said, though, because his expression is saying I love you, too before we hang up.
===
After breakfast on the 26th, Val and Robert head out to his house for some serious talking, and I recruit Amanda to help me make the rum balls. Of course, that requires telling her why...
"Knife Dad's birthday is tomorrow?" She gives me an affronted look. "That's a horrible birthday."
"I didn't pick it, Manda Panda," I tease.
"You could have at least given me enough warning to make a card!"
"He doesn't want a fuss made, remember? Mary told me she had to ask his wife when his birthday was, he wouldn't even tell her. So we're not making a fuss, we're just doing something nice for him."
She thinks about that for a minute. "I'm making him breakfast tomorrow," she announces, throwing the words down like a challenge. "Get him to sleep over tonight. He can have breakfast in bed on the couch."
I give her a one-armed hug. "I like the way you think."
=
Although it seems premature, we spend the afternoon taking all the decorations down because it's still a family activity, and it gives us all a chance to share stories tied to this ornament or that. Afterwards, we hold a rather loud but heated snowball fight in his backyard. The teams are fluid - sometimes me and Robert against our girls, sometimes me and Amanda against Robert and Val, sometimes I team up with Val to pummel her father and at the end, it's just a free-for-all that has us all shivering and laughing as we troop into my kitchen to hang up sopping mittens, soaked coats, and assorted hats and scarves while water heats. Then it's hot cocoa for all, Val in the recliner with a blanket and a mug while Amanda and I sandwich Robert under the afghan.
"You're sleeping here tonight," I tell him firmly. "I'm not letting you put those wet things back on."
"Okay, Mr. Mom," he teases. The head on my shoulder suggests he's glad for the excuse.
I want to kiss his hair. I don't, but I do press my cheek against it and squeeze his hand under the blanket.
=
When I wander out in the morning, Val hands me a mug of coffee with a candy cane in it and presses one finger to her lips with a significant look in the direction of the couch.
Robert's still asleep. Oh my god, he's so cute I can't stand it. Absently, I drift across the living room to sit on the floor across the coffee table from him so I can watch him sleep like the hopelessly lovestruck sap I am. Whatever Amanda's cooking smells delicious, but I don't even care because my scruffy Italian prince is asleep and he looks so happy and peaceful that the only way this could possibly get any better is if he were sleeping with his head in my lap.
Eventually, Amanda comes out with a plate and Val follows her with a mug. Robert's coffee has been garnished with a shot of egg nog and a candy cane, I see when both plate and mug get set on the coffee table. Amanda's made chocolate-chip pancakes with eggs and bacon, and watching Robert stir as the scents tickle his nose makes me feel like I'm going to burst with happiness. His eyes focus on me first, and he smiles so warmly and gently that I'm going to melt into the carpet.
"What's the occasion?" he asks warily as he levers himself up and reaches for the coffee.
Amanda gives him an innocent look. "I need an occasion to show off my cooking skills?"
"Then why is everyone looking at me?" he counters affectionately.
"Because you're the best one to tell me how my cooking is compared to Dad's," she lies easily.
He gives her a skeptical look. When she doesn't crack in three seconds, he shakes his head, grinning. "I'll allow it." He cuts a bite of pancake and does an exaggerated taste-test routine on it. "You have learned well," he says once he's swallowed. "Good job, Panda. Now can I eat without everyone staring at me?"
Amanda and Val disappear back into the kitchen. Val comes out long enough to hand me a plate of my own, and then with a wink she goes back to eat with Amanda. Robert shoots me a few glances as I set my plate and mug on the coffee table, and then he comes around to sit next to me. I don't say anything, but I lay my head on his shoulder for a few seconds.
"I could learn to like this time of year," he says quietly as we drink our coffee.
"Just imagine how amazing it will be next year," I tell him, smiling.
His cheeks turn pink. I'm pretty sure I know what he's imagining.
=
After breakfast, we grab boots, coats, hats, and mittens. While Amanda and Val shower and get dressed, Robert and I clean up our walks and driveways, then double-team anything unshoveled on the cul-de-sac. He goes to his house to shower and change, I go home to do the same, and then our daughters challenge us to a board game which occupies everyone until lunch. The leftovers are at Robert's, but I volunteer to get out cold cuts and make sandwiches.
"Oh no," I announce unconvincingly as I pull the tupperware container of rum balls (rolled in chocolate sprinkles) out of the fridge. We must have forgotten these!" I set the container on the table in front of Robert. "Guess we better eat them now."
Robert arches one eyebrow at me before opening the container, and then he freezes as the aroma hits his nose. "Jack..." he utters in a strangled voice.
"It's okay, Rob," I tell him soothingly. "You can have them."
"But..."
"Imitation rum extract. No alcohol."
With trembling fingers he plucks a rum ball out and takes a bite. His eyes close in bliss as he chews and swallows, but they don't open again. Before I can ask, I see the tears on his cheeks and then Val and I are hugging him while he buries his face in my shoulder and cries quietly.
"Mary told me," I murmur into his ear. "She knew you wouldn't be alone but she wanted to make sure someone acknowledged your birthday."
"I told him about Nonna's rum balls," Val says from his other side. "I inherited her recipe book and found the recipe. He wouldn't make them unless he could make them without actual rum."
Amanda drapes awkwardly over at least two of us. "I helped make them. Happy birthday, Knife Dad."
"I don't deserve this," Robert whispers through his tears. "I don't deserve any of you."
"Tough shit, old man," Val says darkly. "You should have thought about that before you stopped being a drunken asshole."
Robert's startled laugh sounds more like he's choking, but it gets us all laughing and he's able to lift his head and smile at all of us. "You're the best bunch of sneaky little delinquents a drunken asshole could ask for. Thank you, all of you."
I'm grinning fit to break my face. "This is revenge for my birthday," I tell him. "Now shut up and stuff my delicious balls in your mouth."
...wait...I missed a word. Rum balls. Fuck. I can feel my entire face turning red.
Luckily, Robert's blushing too hard to notice. Amanda's covering her face, and Val's holding shrieking laughter in with both hands while her eyes dance.
"I'm...gonna make sandwiches," I mutter, and retreat to stick my face in the fridge for a bit.
=
By the time lunch is over, everyone's recovered from my Freudian slip and feeling restless, but not masochistic enough to want to have another snowball fight. Amanda suggests making a snowman. Robert suggests making a giant snow penis. I veto that on the grounds that Joseph's kids shouldn't have to suffer the uncomfortable talk Joseph's likely to have with them when they ask about it. Through his laughter, he agrees with me. Then Val proves that she's her father's daughter and points out that the kids won't be able to see over the fence in the backyard, but Joseph will.
After that, it's sort of inevitable that we spend the afternoon building a giant snowcock in the backyard. A surprisingly lively debate springs up as to whether it will be uncircumcised (verdict is no), whether it will have testicles (verdict is yes), and what the ideal length-to-girth ratio is. I'm fairly certain that some parties are arguing experience rather than aesthetics on that last point, but I try my best to not think about it. Due to the fact that none of us have ever done this before and our technique is not exactly professional, it's not the prettiest penis ever sculpted. Amanda takes it upon herself to improve that with sculpted snow veins.
When we're finally done, Robert stands back and admires it, mittened hands on his hips. "Now that's a snowcock," he declares in satisfaction. "It looks good. I'd fuck that." A beat later, he says, "No, I wouldn't. That would be cold as hell. Let's go inside."
Laughing, we traipse inside and warm up while discussing where we want to go for dinner. Now that everyone knows that everyone knows it's Robert's birthday, we want to go somewhere but in the end, he gets the final vote and we go out for fresh brick-oven pizza. "Because Val won't be here for pizza night," he says as we all pile into my car. Dinner is delightfully casual, and we all take turns hugging Robert when I park in his driveway. Quietly, he asks me to call when I'm settled in bed, and I agree.
The girls turn in early because Val's leaving in the morning, and Robert and I talk for close to an hour. We swap stories of our birthdays and the little rituals we created for ourselves and talk about what we'd like to happen on our birthdays in the future.
Seeing Val off in the morning is more cheerful that I think any of us expected it to be, but she and Robert have really reconnected over the last few days and the newness of that negates any disappointment at seeing her go. We all do the I-love-you ritual, and she hugs Robert extra long before climbing into her car and driving off.
===
The few days until New Year's Eve are a surreal reflection of the summer, with Amanda and the neighborhood kids bonding while Robert and I spend time with their dads. Christmases are compared, gifts are described to appreciative oohs and aahs, and everyone's looking forward to Sunday. Even the kids, to my surprise. The younger ones will nap during the afternoon so they can stay up to midnight, with the exceptions of Crish and River, but Damien is setting the auxiliary sitting room up as a quiet nap room. The fun starts at six sharp, with dinner served at seven and presents at nine.
Robert seems preoccupied and withdrawn, maybe a little anxious, the morning of the 31st. He picks at his breakfast and doesn't look at me or Amanda, but afterwards hugs me tightly and buries his face in my shoulder for a long minute.
"What's wrong?" I ask quietly, rubbing his back with one hand, the other tight around his waist.
"Nothing," he mutters. "Just taking a big step with this thing I'm doing."
At the last second I do not kiss any part of him when I turn my head.
"I support you completely, Rob. You know that. Is there anything I can do?"
His arms tighten like he wants to say yes. "I want it to be a complete surprise for everyone."
"And you don't know that everyone will like it?"
Robert snorts. "If they don't like it, they can go fuck themselves. As long as you like it, I'll be happy."
With another heroic application of willpower, I again do not kiss my scruffy Italian prince.
"Then I look forward to seeing it," I tell him warmly. "When...?"
I can feel him smile against my neck, stubble scratching gently, and I think my knees are going to give out. "Just after midnight," he promises softly. "Damien likes omens for the new year. I'm pretty sure he's going to have kittens over the one I've got planned."
"Well, at least Lucien isn't allergic to cats, too."
Robert lets go so he can laugh. "Oh, Jack, you're perfect. I needed that. Thank you."
"Any time, Rob!" I'm probably blushing, but I don't care. God, I love his laugh.
He looks like he's about to kiss the goofy grin off my face, but then he turns away. "I should...get going. Do the thing. I'll be in touch."
"Okay. Take care. Drive safe." When he turns around, I'm making a heart with my hands.
"Thank you. Stay safe." His hands are making a heart, too.
The instant the door's closed behind him, Amanda bursts out of the kitchen to hug me.
"Oh my GOD Dad you two are too cute! When's the wedding? Is he going to pop the question tonight?"
I laugh and hug her back. "We're still not even dating, Panda. He's still getting his head sorted out."
"Please, Dad," she says with an eye-roll. "You two have been dating, you just haven't been kissing. Or, y'know, saying I love you out loud."
She has a point. Still...
"Trust me, sweetie, when Robert's ready...you'll know."
===
Since our gifts and foods (three different kinds of cookies, so many cookies) are wrapped and ready to go, I text Damien to see if he needs or wants help setting up. I WOULD BE MOST GRATEFUL FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE is the text I get back, so Amanda and I venture across the cul-de-sac with our bags of goodies, leaving a note on the whiteboard for Robert. Damien answers the door looking harried. His hair has been pulled roughly back, his face is flushed, and he's wearing broken-in jeans with a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His feet are bare and the fabric of his binder is moderately visible through the thin cloth of his shirt. It's the least-composed I've ever seen him.
As Amanda's gawking - this is her first time inside Damien's house - I hand her the bags I'm holding and pull Damien into my best Dad hug. He trembles for a moment before clinging to me, taking deep breaths.
"Thank you," he murmurs finally, and I let him go. "I am afraid that my culinary efforts are...not going according to plan this morning."
"Let me at them," I declare, bringing my fists up fisticuffs-style. "We'll show them not to mess with Queensbury."
Damien blinks. "Queensbury?"
I drop my fists, chuckling. "Sorry. It's a thing Robert does." That gets Damien chuckling as well, and I grin at him. "Seriously though, show me to the kitchen and tell me what's going on. If we can't find a way to fix it, I'm sure we can improvise."
"Uh..." Amanda rattles the plastic bags she's holding. "What about...?"
"Oh! Of course. Please wait here a moment and I'll have Lucien show you around. I will be right back," he assures us before hurrying up the stairs.
Moments later, he comes back down with Lucien trailing him.
"Hey, Mr. Mom," Lucien greets me. "You here to fix the disaster in the kitchen?"
Damien winces.
"I'm certainly going to do my best," I say firmly. "We brought gifts and cookies-"
"Oh, a good omen," Damien sighs in relief.
"-and Amanda's never been here. Could you show her where to put them and give her a tour, please?"
Lucien gives me a little smile. "I would be delighted," he says in what has to be his phone voice, bowing to Amanda. "Please, allow me to show you around our humble abode."
I flash him a thumbs-up and a grin, and he leads Amanda out of the room.
"His attitude has improved considerably since he started attending your youth group," Damien confesses. "He says that in a world of anger and cynicism, the most rebellious thing to be is kind."
Well, that's not me getting choked up at all. I blink rapidly to banish any tears.
"And that's exactly why I keep supervising youth group activities," I say quietly. Then I grin at him "Now. Let me at your kitchen."
=
It takes conferring with the internet and some culinary creativity, but we're able to argue the food into behaving...even if it's going to wind up in unanticipated configurations. I don't even realize how much time has passed until Lucien and Amanda shove foil-wrapped burritos at us, and then I realize Robert's leaning against the doorframe with a burrito of his own. His left hand - the one with the tattoo - is heavily bandaged, but when I meet his eyes with a worried look he just smiles at me, like whatever he's done to himself is a gift and he can't wait to present it to me. Oh god, I'm so in love. Amanda was right, we have been dating this whole time.
After our surprise lunch, Robert lends a hand while we get the feast ready for cooking. Without his left hand, he can't help as actively as he would have liked, but he opens doors, hands us things, and reads directions for us to follow. As the afternoon wears on - and once the ham and goose are in the oven - we take turns scampering off to shower and change into fancier clothes. Damien has loose, smocklike aprons to protect our clothes when we put various dishes on to cook or heat or just for transferring them to the very fancy china and silver dishes they'll be served in.
At six on the dot there's a knock on the door and Damien - now looking bright-eyed and very composed, flings his smock off to practically fly over to the foyer. Robert and I follow in our matching kitten-soft sweaters, and the long sleeves of his sweater completely hide the bandages on his hand. Damien throws the front door open and everyone's there. There's a cheery, confused roar of 'Merry Christmas' as everyone shouts their greetings and then files inside, brightly-colored packages stacked in hands or piled into bags. The tree has been set up in the parlor, and when everyone's added their gifts to the pile it looks impressively festive. There's dishes of various nuts and nutcrackers, assorted old-fashioned sweets, and of course the cookies Amanda and I baked. A sidebar holds a wide variety of soft drinks and juices as well as a bucket of ice complete with ice tongs. A separate sideboard holds alcohols, but Robert goes for the juice and mixes himself something that's half Sprite and half splashes of multiple fruit juices. Then he rakes the room with a challenging look, daring anyone to comment, but no one does.
He retreats to the corner of the room anyway, shooting dark looks in Joseph's direction. I pour myself a Coke, add some juice for flavor, and go over to him.
"You okay?" I ask quietly.
He grunts. "I'm not gonna screw this up. But it's hard, Jack. It's right there and I'm the only one..."
"You're not alone, Rob," I say when he trails off. "You and me. I'm with you. If you need support, come to me. Or let Amanda know. Or Lucien."
Robert relaxes slightly. "Heh. Does he know...?"
"I haven't told him and I don't know if Damien did, but it's not hard to put two and two together."
"You mean I was a whiskey-soaked asshole rolling in my own filth."
I give him a stern look, and he looks guiltily away.
"I was, Jack," he says softly. "I'm not anymore, but that's what I was. If I let myself forget that, I risk going back to it."
"Remembering doesn't mean punishing yourself," I tell him gently. "Joseph making you nervous?"
Jerkily, Robert nods.
"You're not alone, remember. Hugo and Brian and Mat all know you're not drinking anymore. Mary knows. Damien knows. Start a conversation with someone if you think Joseph's going to try to talk to you. They're your friends, Rob. They'll help you."
Robert's relaxing again. "I needed that reminder," he says quietly. "I'm too used to shutting people out. Something to work on for the new year, huh?"
Shyly, he smiles at me and oh my god I want to kiss him so badly. Shit. There isn't any mistletoe, is there? I look around.
Nope. No mistletoe. Good.
"Jack?"
"Checking to make sure there's no mistletoe."
Robert chuckles. "There's not. Let's just say there was an unfortunate mistletoe incident two or three years back and Damien decided that for everyone's sake, this was one Victorian tradition he would forgo."
That sounds like one hell of a story, but this is not the time or place to ask about it.
"Shall we see if our honored host requires assistance in the kitchen?" I ask instead.
That sweet, gentle smile is my reward. "Yes, let's."
Arm in fuzzy-sweater-covered arm, we stride out of the parlor.
=
Although Damien has an impressive dining room with an equally-impressive table, it only (only!) seats 12 and the entire population of the cul-de-sac - babies included - is almost twice that. Some sit at the table, some take food to the parlor, and some retreat to the sitting room to eat. Aside from the ham and the duck, there's a cold sweet potato pudding, a kind of Victorian potato salad, little balls of mashed potatoes rolled in breadcrumbs and fried, a root vegetable gratin, steamed peas, little loaves of bread that have been shaped into ducks before baking, and a cheese-and-crackers . There's a fruit tray (although it's a little heavy on citrus), a cold pudding that has a bunch of chopped fruits and nuts in it, and an actual plum cake that's more like a sort of edible fruitcake bread shaped into a long loaf.
With two hours before we do presents, we load our plates and drift around - singly or in small groups - socializing. Robert is still clearly on edge, so I make sure to be in the same room both in case he needs support and to keep an eye on him because even though he turns firmly away, he has been eyeing the alcoholic drinks. Looking up and seeing me seems to relax him, not to mention the warm smiles we exchange from across the room, and I feel like everyone knows just how emotionally intimate we are despite being Disney-safe. Joseph, thankfully, is too busy keeping his kids herded to pay much attention to us.
At the stroke of nine, Damien comes through and herds us all into the parlor where he recruits Briar and Hazel to help pass out presents since Christian and Christie are napping. It's a chaotic, domestic mess with the twins bickering and then suddenly competing, Daisy and Ernest jumping in to try to organize who gets a present next or pinch-hit for one of the twins when the present they grab happens to be for them. There's wrapping paper everywhere, scattered comments of envy or appreciation, and bows that get pressed to other people's heads. Robert, tucked protectively into a corner between me and the door, gets somehow quieter and more vulnerable with each present delivered proudly into his hands. The veritable sea of smiling faces waiting happily for his reaction encourages him.
It surprises me at first, seeing everyone surprised and delighted at Robert. But then I remember the early days, the surly, prickly, drunk Robert, and I realize that they're not surprised, they're relieved. It's not that the neighbors are having trouble believing that Robert has come out of his shell, or that they haven't seen soft, squishy Robert before. It's that they haven't seen soft, squishy Robert in so long and they're happy that he's come back. Makes me think of something Damien said back in the spring - that I'm like the sunlight, gently encouraging branches that seem dead into putting forth new leaves and flowering.
There's a tense moment when Robert opens the box from Joseph and Mary and it's Crown Royal box, but Mary urges him to open it and the bottle has been emptied, dried, and refilled with tiny, amber-colored jelly beans she assures him are cream soda flavored. The room breaks into laughter and applause at that, although Joseph seems surprised. Daisy thrusts a present at me next, and it's also from Mary and Joseph. This time, there's no subtlety - just bags of tiny jelly beans in half a dozen different flavors including the rest of the cream soda, pina colada, and three different strawberry-centric flavors. I hug the box to my chest in an exaggerated territorial display, eliciting more laughter that crests as Robert gives me devastatingly effective puppy eyes, holy shit, scruffy Italian prince looking dejected, that's not fair, since when has he been able to do that? I want to kiss him, I need to kiss the look off his face and turn that frown upside down but I can't, and my face is on fire aaaaand Robert is holding my box of jelly beans.
I pout at him. He looks like he needs to kiss the look off of my face, and then he smiles and hands the box back. Hugging the box again, I hide my face in his shoulder because my ears are on fire but I can still hear at least one quiet awwwww coming from somewhere and I'm not looking.
Once the last present has been opened, there's a flurry of cleaning up the assorted wrapping and packaging material and then a quiet hum as people explore their gifts in more detail. Robert and I consolidate the cream soda jelly beans and sample all the flavors, carefully resisting the urge to feel them to each other because oh, that would be temptation I'm not sure either of us could resist.
Midnight's less than half an hour away when Robert quietly slips out for a clove or two. I join him on Damien's front porch, breathing in the scents of clove smoke and snow, admiring the clear night and reveling in our comfortable silence. A few minutes before midnight, Damien pokes his head out to remind us what time it is. I go back inside with him, promising Robert that I'll have a cup of cocoa waiting for him since he's opted to stay out for another minute or two.
Everyone gathers in the foyer, where the antique clock slowly ticks away the seconds to the new year. I hang towards the back, so I can hand Robert his cocoa, but as the final seconds of the final minute count down, I find myself focused on the time along with everyone else. I don't know for sure who started it, possibly Daisy or Chris, but we're all counting out loud.
"...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three! Two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
As the clock strikes midnight, before the echoes of our shouting have even faded, the front door opens and Robert steps smugly inside.
"A dark-haired man was the first to cross the threshold!" Damien cries joyfully. "A good omen for the new year!"
Robert picks at the medical tape holding the bandages to his hand. "I've got a better one," he announces.
With a flourish, he pulls the bandages off and holds his left hand up. The weird circle-with-wiggly-lines tattoo he seemed so uncomfortable with has been transformed into a beautiful blue flower that looks almost like a stylized sun, only...blue. An appreciative collection of gasps and inhalations rises like a flock of startled birds that settle back to earth as ooohs and aaaahs. Damien threads his way through the crowd to bend over Robert's hand, carefully not touching the fresh tattoo, and examine it.
"Cornflower?" he asks, so quietly that only Robert and I can hear it. When Robert nods, Damien covers his mouth with both hands and seems to be blinking back tears. "It's gorgeous," he says, the words muffled and unsteady. "My friend, this is the best omen of all."
"New year," Robert says, eyes sliding towards me, not trying to hide his words but not raising his voice either. "Time for new beginnings. Out with the old, in with the new."
My eyes are locked on his, every iota of my being focused on not handing the mug to Damien and kissing my scruffy Italian prince. I have no idea what expressions everyone else might be wearing, but I can hear Amanda making a high-pitched eeeee sound and I think that's Brian's deep awwww. Wordlessly, I offer Robert the hot cocoa and he takes it, breaking eye contact to sip and hum in contentment at the warmth of the mug and the liquid. That breaks the spell of silence, and all of a sudden everyone's chattering and bustling around collecting children and gifts.
"I guess the party's over," I half-ask Robert, drifting with him into the corner.
"Pretty much," he answers.
"The tattoo is gorgeous. I love it," I add, remembering Robert telling me that so long as I liked it, he didn't care what anyone else thought.
Tension bleeds out of his posture and he smiles shyly at me, oh no, I'm going to melt.
"It used to be a reminder of...a mistake," he says quietly, eyes dropping to his left hand. "Now it's a reminder that even the ugliest thing can turn into something beautiful. When I look at my hand, I don't see the mistakes of my past anymore. I see the beautiful future I'm working towards." He looks up at me and I am absolutely going to die, help. "I see hope."
Fortunately, because every cell in my body is making heart eyes at Robert and there's no way I can respond coherently, Mat bounces over to check out Robert's tattoo and compare experiences. I slip off to find the bags we brought things in, and load them up with the things we're bringing home. Amanda's holding court in the sitting room, telling Lucien and Carmensita and Daisy all about college. She flashes me a thumbs-up when I heft my bag of presents and point at my wrist. I pack Robert's gifts into a bag for him and head back to the foyer, where Mary's admiring his new ink while Joseph stands by the door, holding a squirming Crish and looking irritated. Finally, she gives Robert a careful hug and her impatient husband herds her and his other three children out and into the night.
"You okay?" I ask quietly as Robert comes over to claim his bag.
He looks at the flower on his left hand, then looks up at me. "Yeah. If anyone had told me, last New Year's, that I'd be sober and happy at the next New Year's party...I'm pretty sure I would have punched them."
"Even if it had been me?" Damien asks, walking up with a cup of punch in one hand and a gingerbread cookie in the other.
Robert gives him a teasing grin. "Even you. Hey, I don't make the rules. Talk to Queensbury."
Damien looks momentarily taken aback, but then he smiles. "If I had known, last year, what would come to pass...I would have borne that blow gladly. Thank you, as always, for indulging my New Year threshold superstition."
"Glad to help," Robert says, looking pleased.
Amanda comes up with Lucien. "Hey Dad, we're gonna shoot off fireworks in the street for a while. Take my stuff back for me?"
"Alright." I take the bag she thrusts at me, and then hug her awkwardly. "Be safe. I love you."
"I will," she tells me. "Love you too."
We make our goodbyes to Damien, thanking him for the amazing party, and follow Amanda and Lucien outside. I walk Robert home, and the looks we give each other at his doorstep quite clearly add an unspoken I love you when I say, "Sleep well" and an I love you, too when Robert says, "You too."
"You get Christmas," she tells him sternly, "but I'm spending New Year's with my girlfriend."
Saturday, she and Amanda engage in a round of good-bye hugs and I-love-you ritual before bundling into Val's sleek sports car and driving off.
"Amanda's likely to have a New Year's party to go to," I tell Robert as we go back inside. "Does the cul-de-sac do anything, or do we need to make plans?"
Robert snorts. "Just wait. The Victorians were all about New Year's. It's basically the neighborhood Christmas after the fact."
"I look forward to that, then," I tell him, smiling.
He looks away. "I've got...something planned the morning of the thirty-first. It's kind of a surprise."
I hug him. "Then I won't ask."
===
Sunday night, Mary weaves her way over to my house with a bottle she's already been working on.
"I'm ready," she tells us with a frazzled air about her. "I need to get out, I'm going to go crazy. Find me a job, even if it's just doing Craig's busywork or answering phones for Brian."
We spend the evening calming her down, which means one part commiserating, one part making plans, and two parts listening to her rant and sometimes cry in frustration over Joseph 'honoring and cherishing' her as a wife and the mother of his children while also disregarding her wants and needs as a person. I text Craig, Robert confers with Brian, and we finally send Mary home with the agreement that she'll come over tomorrow for lunch and I'll start teaching her the things I do for Craig's business.
Robert seems pensive as we settle in on the couch.
"I'm glad she's finally realized she needs to get out of there," he says quietly. "I'm just worried what Joseph will say to her when he figures out she's making plans."
It's a valid worry. I know all too well what damage words can do.
Monday, the cul-de-sac wakes up to discover that not only did it snow overnight, but it's still snowing. Robert, Craig, and I break out our shovels and forego our morning jog to clear driveways and sidewalks instead. The egg nog French toast I make for breakfast after that is doubly appreciated. The snow's piled up a bit more when Mary comes over, so Robert goes back out to give my sidewalk a piece of his mind while I start training my replacement.
Once the door closes behind him, though, she turns to me and says urgently, "I need your help."
"With what?" I answer, more than a little alarmed.
"Rob's birthday. He doesn't like a huge fuss, and I don't think anyone else even knows when it is, but I had a little tradition where I'd take him to Jim and Kim's and buy his drinks."
And, of course, he's gone sober.
"But that's not all," she continues before I can suggest something else. "Your girl's coming home for the holidays, I take it?"
I nod.
"And Rob's going to spend them with you, I bet." When I nod again, she nods grimly back. "His birthday's the twenty-seventh. Of December," she clarifies, since today is the 27th of November.
"Val's going to be here," I blurt. "I wondered why she was waiting until the twenty-eighth to drive back, but..."
Mary looks pleasantly astonished. "He's not going to be alone. Oh, thank god. But I still don't know what to do for his birthday now that he doesn't drink anymore."
"I'll get in touch with Val and confer with her," I promise. That gets me a relieved hug. "Now, let's get started on getting you settled in with Craig's busywork."
===
It takes a bit of texting back and forth with Val before she hits on the idea of making "his favorite cookie", one his Italian grandmother used to make and that he hasn't had since she was a little girl because neither Robert nor his father are much for cooking. Val inherited her Nonna's recipes and although she's never attempted this one, she's sure that between the two of us, we can make them without screwing up. She texts me a picture of the handwritten recipe, and I'm halfway through writing it out (because faded spidery handwriting isn't the easiest thing to read) when I realize that rum balls have actual rum in them.
CALL NOW, I text Val. Moments later, my phone rings.
"What's wrong?" she asks sharply.
"These have rum in them, Val."
"They're rum balls, that's kind of the signature ingredient."
"Your father doesn't drink anymore."
There's a pause. "But it's only half a cup..."
"And where's the rest of the bottle?" I ask, trying to keep the question from becoming a demand. "Robert said, when we were talking about Thanksgiving, that you were right to be suspicious of foods with alcohol in them because he'd he drinking the rest."
"We'll pour it out," she says. "They're going to be a surprise anyway; he'll never know."
"That still leaves us offering him food with alcohol in it. That's a shitty thing to do to someone wrestling with sobriety, Val, even if it's a relatively small amount. I won't be a part of that unless he's okay with it."
The silence after that stretches for a minute and a half.
"He's really serious about not drinking," she says in a small voice. "I didn't think...I thought he was just being on his best behavior, or going dry until he learned what moderation meant."
"That time in September was the only time he's had so much as a drop between when he decided to quit in July and now," I tell her somberly.
"Holy shit. Now I feel like an ass. He's really serious. Jack, we have to do something special for him."
Phone in hand, I wander over to my cooking cabinet and take down a small, dark bottle. "Give me a week. Let me experiment with using imitation rum flavoring, and I'll get back to you."
"Good luck, Jack. Text if you need anything, and I'll text if I think of anything."
"Thanks, Val. Take care. Love you."
I can hear her breathing hitch. "Love you too, Jack."
Bottle in hand, I go back to the table and finish copying out Nonna's rum ball recipe. It's time to google.
===
December flies by way too fast for my liking. It takes me two batches - and two weeks - to get the rumless rum balls right. I have to make them secretly, and I dispose of them at the youth group meetings. Thankfully, the third attempt gets thumbs up all around, including from Joseph. Robert and I spend more than one afternoon shopping together, although we split up to shop for each other. We don't care if the girls are adults, they're getting stockings and that means stocking stuffers. It winds up being an assortment of festive socks, gloves, candy, and little gadgets and gizmos like keyring flashlights and phone stands and whatnot. Robert re-arranges his living room to account for the live tree he brings in, and we spend an unexpectedly snowy day wrapping all the stocking stuffers and decorating the tree with ornaments from both of our families.
Amanda and Val both get texted pictures of the tree and their stockings. Val isn't as unabashedly enthused as Amanda is, but we can tell that she's touched.
Finding gifts for the other dads is a challenge, even if they're only going to be small-ish gifts because...well...when you add the residents of the cul-de-sac up, it turns out to be kind of a lot of people to shop for. I find a nice cookbook for Brian, pre-pay for Mat's next three album purchases from Vinyl Fantasy, make Craig a coupon for an afternoon watching River, that sort of thing. Shopping for Robert is tougher, but I do find a big red sweater that's so soft, it's like petting a kitten. I also succumb to whimsy and make him a couple of coupons for things like a batch of chocolate cookies just for him, a 2am Dover Ghost hunting session, an afternoon at the beach, breakfast in bed, and a Hawaiian pizza.
Joseph, Mary, and at least three of their four children spend most of the month involved in the annual church play, which is kind of a relief. Joseph hasn't given up making hopeful courting gestures in my direction, and it's obvious enough that the youths and I had a second talk about sexuality because I got straight-up asked if I was into men. I can only imagine it was out of secondhand embarrassment from watching a married man hit on a widower. But it's a good chance to touch more directly on bi- and pansexuality, demi- and asexuality, and the difference between sexual and romantic interest. I don't go into too much detail about my personal history, but I do tell them that despite my marriage, I've only felt sexual attraction for one person and yes, he is male. There's a lot of meaningful not-quite-looks at Joseph when I say that, and I add that since he's not here, I won't say anything more because it wouldn't be right to talk about him behind his back.
A lot of not-looking-at-Joseph goes on the rest of that evening. When I tell Mary and Robert about it, they laugh and hoot for a good handful of minutes.
Mary takes to Craig's busywork like she was born for it, and he starts giving her more to do. Whatever she's doing, it's apparently really good for the company. She tells us smugly that she's downplayed it to Joseph as just helping Craig with a few things, and that it's a piece of cake for her to hide her earnings because she's the one who does the family finances anyway. She still wants out of her marriage, but she wants to build up a bit of savings first and having a functional, productive outlet for her stress is helping not just with her sanity, but with her drinking. She still drinks, just not like a fish.
Amanda drives up Monday the 18th, her SUV packed full of all her things. She did her shopping before she left, but didn't get a chance to wrap. I hand over the remnants of my wrapping paper rolls and she holes up in her room until dinner. Or rather, until Robert comes over with a bag of Chinese food and a bottle of Sprite.
With my daughter home to help, I can get the holiday baking out of the way. Gingerbread and sugar cookies are baked, decorated, and sealed in plastic bags. Peanut butter kiss cookies - or the ones that survive being eaten warm, anyway - are likewise tucked away. Chocolate chip cookies with little red, green, and white chips are baked in a triple batch and divvied up into stacks that get wrapped in plastic wrap and tied at the top with red, green, or white ribbons. They'll be our contribution to the New Year's party. Amanda curls the ribbons expertly with a pair of scissors, then eats a cookie or three in celebration. It turns out that she does not have a party to go to because Emma R. is staying in California for the holidays (with her parents flying out to visit her) and Emma P. is going to be at her grandparents' house. I try to by sympathetic, but she's sure the neighborhood party will be better anyway.
Thursday's pizza night is wonderful, me and Robert and Manda, my little family together again. Saturday, Val drives in and everyone's excitement level jumps to palpable levels. It's sinking in that this is really happening, we're really spending Christmas together as a family. Christmas Eve dinner could almost double as Italian night, manicotti and sausage and all the fixings with cheesecake (slathered in four kinds of fruit toppings, one for each quarter) for dessert. Amanda tells us about her semester and her plans for the spring semester. She's submitted a few pieces various places, and shyly she confesses that she wants to go back to her birth name for her professional work, prompting Robert and Val to ask what it is and why she's not using it. I suggest that she not only do that, but also take her mother's maiden name so she can keep her privacy. Fareeha Amari to the public, Amanda Morrison in private. Robert backs me up, as does Val, and my Panda looks a lot happier about her decision.
Combining the family traditions, the girls open their stockings after dinner rather than getting to unwrap one present and having the stockings and the presents to open in the morning. There's some good-natured groaning over the fact that I wrapped small candy bars and individual pairs of socks, but they love that I went that extra step. Excitement over the trinkets in her stocking doesn't prevent Amanda from taking pictures of everything and everyone, including a cute shot of me and Robert sitting together on the couch.
There's some clearly-manufactured and insincere arguments about who should be allowed to sleep at Robert's house, the possibility of catching Santa in the act, and so on. All the food's in his house, either prepared or in pieces, and everyone's put their presents under the tree already, so it's not that bad of an idea. The arguments get unexpectedly settled when Amanda notices that it's started to snow. There's a scramble for pajamas, clothes, and toiletries and then we're all back in Robert's house trying to decide who sleeps where. Amanda slyly suggests I share his bed while they sleep on the couches, but Robert forcefully nixes that. In the end, the girls sleep on his bed while we sleep on the couches.
Of course, this means we couldn't sleep in on Christmas morning if we wanted to, but we're both used to getting up early to go jogging so we're actually up before either of our daughters. Robert puts on coffee while I get breakfast going - which, in this case, means I toss some toaster strudels in the toaster and open the box of danishes. Then we turn on the tree's lights and just bask in the warm, comforting glow, drinking coffee and nibbling on sweet things. The girls get up a little later, and while they're taking their turn with coffee and breakfast pastries, Robert and I gleefully pile their unopened presents around them. I fetch a garbage bag for the wrapping paper, and discover that Robert's piled our presents up on opposite sides of the other couch. I take empty mugs and plates back to the kitchen, and once I've sat down, Robert and Val nod at each other.
"Ready?" he asks challengingly.
"Set," she replies.
He grins at me and Amanda. "Go!"
The living room turns into gleeful chaos, paper flying everywhere and people shouting thanks and making sounds of excited joy as we all tear into our gifts. Val and Robert both got me a cookbook featuring nothing but strawberry recipes, but the amazing thing is that they're two different cookbooks. Amanda is thrilled at the panda hoodie she got, complete with a panda-head hood, and Val practically tears up at a little painted statue of a cat that Robert gave her. There's a story there, but I'm not about to ask. When he opens the large, flat box from me and sees the fluffy red sweater, the first thing he does is press his face into it for a long minute. Then he puts it on before he does anything else. I'm all set to tease him when I open my box and discover that Amanda found the same sweaters and bought me the blue one I'd been coveting. I follow Robert's lead and waste no time in putting it on, and then we nuzzle each other's sweaters while our daughters take potentially incriminating pictures.
The rest of the morning, and the afternoon, is for board games and movies. We graze on cookies and nibbles - deviled eggs, pickles, olives, cheese and pepperoni and crackers - and never really have lunch. The ham goes in the oven before we put on a movie, and when the movie's over I take it out to glaze while Amanda springs into action putting the prepared gratin potatoes on to cook in one pot while Robert gets the broccoli going in another. Val sets the table while the glaze is crisping, and then the rolls go in while Robert carves the ham and gets it on a platter. The sides go in their serving bowls, the rolls go in their napkin-lined basket, and everything goes onto the table where Amanda takes pictures before giving me the go-ahead to announce that everyone can dig in.
The entire day has been so warm and intimate that it's no surprise when Robert goes for his boots and shovel so the girls and I can go back to my house for the night. I don't mind; I've nearly kissed him a dozen times today and I know it's been just as hard for him. Besides, I'll need to make my rumless rum balls and hide them so they have a chance to sit before the 27th.
Of course, that in no way stops us from talking on the phone after we've gone to bed. He initiates a facetime call and I turn on the bedside table's lamp to answer it. We lie down with the phones propped against spare pillows, giving the illusion that we're almost in the same bed. Almost, he promises me. Soon, he'll get the green flag from his therapist. I reassure him that I'll wait as long as it takes. He promises to come by for breakfast in the morning, and I almost sign off with 'good night, sleep well, I love you' but catch myself at the last second. I'm pretty sure he knows what I almost said, though, because his expression is saying I love you, too before we hang up.
===
After breakfast on the 26th, Val and Robert head out to his house for some serious talking, and I recruit Amanda to help me make the rum balls. Of course, that requires telling her why...
"Knife Dad's birthday is tomorrow?" She gives me an affronted look. "That's a horrible birthday."
"I didn't pick it, Manda Panda," I tease.
"You could have at least given me enough warning to make a card!"
"He doesn't want a fuss made, remember? Mary told me she had to ask his wife when his birthday was, he wouldn't even tell her. So we're not making a fuss, we're just doing something nice for him."
She thinks about that for a minute. "I'm making him breakfast tomorrow," she announces, throwing the words down like a challenge. "Get him to sleep over tonight. He can have breakfast in bed on the couch."
I give her a one-armed hug. "I like the way you think."
=
Although it seems premature, we spend the afternoon taking all the decorations down because it's still a family activity, and it gives us all a chance to share stories tied to this ornament or that. Afterwards, we hold a rather loud but heated snowball fight in his backyard. The teams are fluid - sometimes me and Robert against our girls, sometimes me and Amanda against Robert and Val, sometimes I team up with Val to pummel her father and at the end, it's just a free-for-all that has us all shivering and laughing as we troop into my kitchen to hang up sopping mittens, soaked coats, and assorted hats and scarves while water heats. Then it's hot cocoa for all, Val in the recliner with a blanket and a mug while Amanda and I sandwich Robert under the afghan.
"You're sleeping here tonight," I tell him firmly. "I'm not letting you put those wet things back on."
"Okay, Mr. Mom," he teases. The head on my shoulder suggests he's glad for the excuse.
I want to kiss his hair. I don't, but I do press my cheek against it and squeeze his hand under the blanket.
=
When I wander out in the morning, Val hands me a mug of coffee with a candy cane in it and presses one finger to her lips with a significant look in the direction of the couch.
Robert's still asleep. Oh my god, he's so cute I can't stand it. Absently, I drift across the living room to sit on the floor across the coffee table from him so I can watch him sleep like the hopelessly lovestruck sap I am. Whatever Amanda's cooking smells delicious, but I don't even care because my scruffy Italian prince is asleep and he looks so happy and peaceful that the only way this could possibly get any better is if he were sleeping with his head in my lap.
Eventually, Amanda comes out with a plate and Val follows her with a mug. Robert's coffee has been garnished with a shot of egg nog and a candy cane, I see when both plate and mug get set on the coffee table. Amanda's made chocolate-chip pancakes with eggs and bacon, and watching Robert stir as the scents tickle his nose makes me feel like I'm going to burst with happiness. His eyes focus on me first, and he smiles so warmly and gently that I'm going to melt into the carpet.
"What's the occasion?" he asks warily as he levers himself up and reaches for the coffee.
Amanda gives him an innocent look. "I need an occasion to show off my cooking skills?"
"Then why is everyone looking at me?" he counters affectionately.
"Because you're the best one to tell me how my cooking is compared to Dad's," she lies easily.
He gives her a skeptical look. When she doesn't crack in three seconds, he shakes his head, grinning. "I'll allow it." He cuts a bite of pancake and does an exaggerated taste-test routine on it. "You have learned well," he says once he's swallowed. "Good job, Panda. Now can I eat without everyone staring at me?"
Amanda and Val disappear back into the kitchen. Val comes out long enough to hand me a plate of my own, and then with a wink she goes back to eat with Amanda. Robert shoots me a few glances as I set my plate and mug on the coffee table, and then he comes around to sit next to me. I don't say anything, but I lay my head on his shoulder for a few seconds.
"I could learn to like this time of year," he says quietly as we drink our coffee.
"Just imagine how amazing it will be next year," I tell him, smiling.
His cheeks turn pink. I'm pretty sure I know what he's imagining.
=
After breakfast, we grab boots, coats, hats, and mittens. While Amanda and Val shower and get dressed, Robert and I clean up our walks and driveways, then double-team anything unshoveled on the cul-de-sac. He goes to his house to shower and change, I go home to do the same, and then our daughters challenge us to a board game which occupies everyone until lunch. The leftovers are at Robert's, but I volunteer to get out cold cuts and make sandwiches.
"Oh no," I announce unconvincingly as I pull the tupperware container of rum balls (rolled in chocolate sprinkles) out of the fridge. We must have forgotten these!" I set the container on the table in front of Robert. "Guess we better eat them now."
Robert arches one eyebrow at me before opening the container, and then he freezes as the aroma hits his nose. "Jack..." he utters in a strangled voice.
"It's okay, Rob," I tell him soothingly. "You can have them."
"But..."
"Imitation rum extract. No alcohol."
With trembling fingers he plucks a rum ball out and takes a bite. His eyes close in bliss as he chews and swallows, but they don't open again. Before I can ask, I see the tears on his cheeks and then Val and I are hugging him while he buries his face in my shoulder and cries quietly.
"Mary told me," I murmur into his ear. "She knew you wouldn't be alone but she wanted to make sure someone acknowledged your birthday."
"I told him about Nonna's rum balls," Val says from his other side. "I inherited her recipe book and found the recipe. He wouldn't make them unless he could make them without actual rum."
Amanda drapes awkwardly over at least two of us. "I helped make them. Happy birthday, Knife Dad."
"I don't deserve this," Robert whispers through his tears. "I don't deserve any of you."
"Tough shit, old man," Val says darkly. "You should have thought about that before you stopped being a drunken asshole."
Robert's startled laugh sounds more like he's choking, but it gets us all laughing and he's able to lift his head and smile at all of us. "You're the best bunch of sneaky little delinquents a drunken asshole could ask for. Thank you, all of you."
I'm grinning fit to break my face. "This is revenge for my birthday," I tell him. "Now shut up and stuff my delicious balls in your mouth."
...wait...I missed a word. Rum balls. Fuck. I can feel my entire face turning red.
Luckily, Robert's blushing too hard to notice. Amanda's covering her face, and Val's holding shrieking laughter in with both hands while her eyes dance.
"I'm...gonna make sandwiches," I mutter, and retreat to stick my face in the fridge for a bit.
=
By the time lunch is over, everyone's recovered from my Freudian slip and feeling restless, but not masochistic enough to want to have another snowball fight. Amanda suggests making a snowman. Robert suggests making a giant snow penis. I veto that on the grounds that Joseph's kids shouldn't have to suffer the uncomfortable talk Joseph's likely to have with them when they ask about it. Through his laughter, he agrees with me. Then Val proves that she's her father's daughter and points out that the kids won't be able to see over the fence in the backyard, but Joseph will.
After that, it's sort of inevitable that we spend the afternoon building a giant snowcock in the backyard. A surprisingly lively debate springs up as to whether it will be uncircumcised (verdict is no), whether it will have testicles (verdict is yes), and what the ideal length-to-girth ratio is. I'm fairly certain that some parties are arguing experience rather than aesthetics on that last point, but I try my best to not think about it. Due to the fact that none of us have ever done this before and our technique is not exactly professional, it's not the prettiest penis ever sculpted. Amanda takes it upon herself to improve that with sculpted snow veins.
When we're finally done, Robert stands back and admires it, mittened hands on his hips. "Now that's a snowcock," he declares in satisfaction. "It looks good. I'd fuck that." A beat later, he says, "No, I wouldn't. That would be cold as hell. Let's go inside."
Laughing, we traipse inside and warm up while discussing where we want to go for dinner. Now that everyone knows that everyone knows it's Robert's birthday, we want to go somewhere but in the end, he gets the final vote and we go out for fresh brick-oven pizza. "Because Val won't be here for pizza night," he says as we all pile into my car. Dinner is delightfully casual, and we all take turns hugging Robert when I park in his driveway. Quietly, he asks me to call when I'm settled in bed, and I agree.
The girls turn in early because Val's leaving in the morning, and Robert and I talk for close to an hour. We swap stories of our birthdays and the little rituals we created for ourselves and talk about what we'd like to happen on our birthdays in the future.
Seeing Val off in the morning is more cheerful that I think any of us expected it to be, but she and Robert have really reconnected over the last few days and the newness of that negates any disappointment at seeing her go. We all do the I-love-you ritual, and she hugs Robert extra long before climbing into her car and driving off.
===
The few days until New Year's Eve are a surreal reflection of the summer, with Amanda and the neighborhood kids bonding while Robert and I spend time with their dads. Christmases are compared, gifts are described to appreciative oohs and aahs, and everyone's looking forward to Sunday. Even the kids, to my surprise. The younger ones will nap during the afternoon so they can stay up to midnight, with the exceptions of Crish and River, but Damien is setting the auxiliary sitting room up as a quiet nap room. The fun starts at six sharp, with dinner served at seven and presents at nine.
Robert seems preoccupied and withdrawn, maybe a little anxious, the morning of the 31st. He picks at his breakfast and doesn't look at me or Amanda, but afterwards hugs me tightly and buries his face in my shoulder for a long minute.
"What's wrong?" I ask quietly, rubbing his back with one hand, the other tight around his waist.
"Nothing," he mutters. "Just taking a big step with this thing I'm doing."
At the last second I do not kiss any part of him when I turn my head.
"I support you completely, Rob. You know that. Is there anything I can do?"
His arms tighten like he wants to say yes. "I want it to be a complete surprise for everyone."
"And you don't know that everyone will like it?"
Robert snorts. "If they don't like it, they can go fuck themselves. As long as you like it, I'll be happy."
With another heroic application of willpower, I again do not kiss my scruffy Italian prince.
"Then I look forward to seeing it," I tell him warmly. "When...?"
I can feel him smile against my neck, stubble scratching gently, and I think my knees are going to give out. "Just after midnight," he promises softly. "Damien likes omens for the new year. I'm pretty sure he's going to have kittens over the one I've got planned."
"Well, at least Lucien isn't allergic to cats, too."
Robert lets go so he can laugh. "Oh, Jack, you're perfect. I needed that. Thank you."
"Any time, Rob!" I'm probably blushing, but I don't care. God, I love his laugh.
He looks like he's about to kiss the goofy grin off my face, but then he turns away. "I should...get going. Do the thing. I'll be in touch."
"Okay. Take care. Drive safe." When he turns around, I'm making a heart with my hands.
"Thank you. Stay safe." His hands are making a heart, too.
The instant the door's closed behind him, Amanda bursts out of the kitchen to hug me.
"Oh my GOD Dad you two are too cute! When's the wedding? Is he going to pop the question tonight?"
I laugh and hug her back. "We're still not even dating, Panda. He's still getting his head sorted out."
"Please, Dad," she says with an eye-roll. "You two have been dating, you just haven't been kissing. Or, y'know, saying I love you out loud."
She has a point. Still...
"Trust me, sweetie, when Robert's ready...you'll know."
===
Since our gifts and foods (three different kinds of cookies, so many cookies) are wrapped and ready to go, I text Damien to see if he needs or wants help setting up. I WOULD BE MOST GRATEFUL FOR YOUR ASSISTANCE is the text I get back, so Amanda and I venture across the cul-de-sac with our bags of goodies, leaving a note on the whiteboard for Robert. Damien answers the door looking harried. His hair has been pulled roughly back, his face is flushed, and he's wearing broken-in jeans with a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His feet are bare and the fabric of his binder is moderately visible through the thin cloth of his shirt. It's the least-composed I've ever seen him.
As Amanda's gawking - this is her first time inside Damien's house - I hand her the bags I'm holding and pull Damien into my best Dad hug. He trembles for a moment before clinging to me, taking deep breaths.
"Thank you," he murmurs finally, and I let him go. "I am afraid that my culinary efforts are...not going according to plan this morning."
"Let me at them," I declare, bringing my fists up fisticuffs-style. "We'll show them not to mess with Queensbury."
Damien blinks. "Queensbury?"
I drop my fists, chuckling. "Sorry. It's a thing Robert does." That gets Damien chuckling as well, and I grin at him. "Seriously though, show me to the kitchen and tell me what's going on. If we can't find a way to fix it, I'm sure we can improvise."
"Uh..." Amanda rattles the plastic bags she's holding. "What about...?"
"Oh! Of course. Please wait here a moment and I'll have Lucien show you around. I will be right back," he assures us before hurrying up the stairs.
Moments later, he comes back down with Lucien trailing him.
"Hey, Mr. Mom," Lucien greets me. "You here to fix the disaster in the kitchen?"
Damien winces.
"I'm certainly going to do my best," I say firmly. "We brought gifts and cookies-"
"Oh, a good omen," Damien sighs in relief.
"-and Amanda's never been here. Could you show her where to put them and give her a tour, please?"
Lucien gives me a little smile. "I would be delighted," he says in what has to be his phone voice, bowing to Amanda. "Please, allow me to show you around our humble abode."
I flash him a thumbs-up and a grin, and he leads Amanda out of the room.
"His attitude has improved considerably since he started attending your youth group," Damien confesses. "He says that in a world of anger and cynicism, the most rebellious thing to be is kind."
Well, that's not me getting choked up at all. I blink rapidly to banish any tears.
"And that's exactly why I keep supervising youth group activities," I say quietly. Then I grin at him "Now. Let me at your kitchen."
=
It takes conferring with the internet and some culinary creativity, but we're able to argue the food into behaving...even if it's going to wind up in unanticipated configurations. I don't even realize how much time has passed until Lucien and Amanda shove foil-wrapped burritos at us, and then I realize Robert's leaning against the doorframe with a burrito of his own. His left hand - the one with the tattoo - is heavily bandaged, but when I meet his eyes with a worried look he just smiles at me, like whatever he's done to himself is a gift and he can't wait to present it to me. Oh god, I'm so in love. Amanda was right, we have been dating this whole time.
After our surprise lunch, Robert lends a hand while we get the feast ready for cooking. Without his left hand, he can't help as actively as he would have liked, but he opens doors, hands us things, and reads directions for us to follow. As the afternoon wears on - and once the ham and goose are in the oven - we take turns scampering off to shower and change into fancier clothes. Damien has loose, smocklike aprons to protect our clothes when we put various dishes on to cook or heat or just for transferring them to the very fancy china and silver dishes they'll be served in.
At six on the dot there's a knock on the door and Damien - now looking bright-eyed and very composed, flings his smock off to practically fly over to the foyer. Robert and I follow in our matching kitten-soft sweaters, and the long sleeves of his sweater completely hide the bandages on his hand. Damien throws the front door open and everyone's there. There's a cheery, confused roar of 'Merry Christmas' as everyone shouts their greetings and then files inside, brightly-colored packages stacked in hands or piled into bags. The tree has been set up in the parlor, and when everyone's added their gifts to the pile it looks impressively festive. There's dishes of various nuts and nutcrackers, assorted old-fashioned sweets, and of course the cookies Amanda and I baked. A sidebar holds a wide variety of soft drinks and juices as well as a bucket of ice complete with ice tongs. A separate sideboard holds alcohols, but Robert goes for the juice and mixes himself something that's half Sprite and half splashes of multiple fruit juices. Then he rakes the room with a challenging look, daring anyone to comment, but no one does.
He retreats to the corner of the room anyway, shooting dark looks in Joseph's direction. I pour myself a Coke, add some juice for flavor, and go over to him.
"You okay?" I ask quietly.
He grunts. "I'm not gonna screw this up. But it's hard, Jack. It's right there and I'm the only one..."
"You're not alone, Rob," I say when he trails off. "You and me. I'm with you. If you need support, come to me. Or let Amanda know. Or Lucien."
Robert relaxes slightly. "Heh. Does he know...?"
"I haven't told him and I don't know if Damien did, but it's not hard to put two and two together."
"You mean I was a whiskey-soaked asshole rolling in my own filth."
I give him a stern look, and he looks guiltily away.
"I was, Jack," he says softly. "I'm not anymore, but that's what I was. If I let myself forget that, I risk going back to it."
"Remembering doesn't mean punishing yourself," I tell him gently. "Joseph making you nervous?"
Jerkily, Robert nods.
"You're not alone, remember. Hugo and Brian and Mat all know you're not drinking anymore. Mary knows. Damien knows. Start a conversation with someone if you think Joseph's going to try to talk to you. They're your friends, Rob. They'll help you."
Robert's relaxing again. "I needed that reminder," he says quietly. "I'm too used to shutting people out. Something to work on for the new year, huh?"
Shyly, he smiles at me and oh my god I want to kiss him so badly. Shit. There isn't any mistletoe, is there? I look around.
Nope. No mistletoe. Good.
"Jack?"
"Checking to make sure there's no mistletoe."
Robert chuckles. "There's not. Let's just say there was an unfortunate mistletoe incident two or three years back and Damien decided that for everyone's sake, this was one Victorian tradition he would forgo."
That sounds like one hell of a story, but this is not the time or place to ask about it.
"Shall we see if our honored host requires assistance in the kitchen?" I ask instead.
That sweet, gentle smile is my reward. "Yes, let's."
Arm in fuzzy-sweater-covered arm, we stride out of the parlor.
=
Although Damien has an impressive dining room with an equally-impressive table, it only (only!) seats 12 and the entire population of the cul-de-sac - babies included - is almost twice that. Some sit at the table, some take food to the parlor, and some retreat to the sitting room to eat. Aside from the ham and the duck, there's a cold sweet potato pudding, a kind of Victorian potato salad, little balls of mashed potatoes rolled in breadcrumbs and fried, a root vegetable gratin, steamed peas, little loaves of bread that have been shaped into ducks before baking, and a cheese-and-crackers . There's a fruit tray (although it's a little heavy on citrus), a cold pudding that has a bunch of chopped fruits and nuts in it, and an actual plum cake that's more like a sort of edible fruitcake bread shaped into a long loaf.
With two hours before we do presents, we load our plates and drift around - singly or in small groups - socializing. Robert is still clearly on edge, so I make sure to be in the same room both in case he needs support and to keep an eye on him because even though he turns firmly away, he has been eyeing the alcoholic drinks. Looking up and seeing me seems to relax him, not to mention the warm smiles we exchange from across the room, and I feel like everyone knows just how emotionally intimate we are despite being Disney-safe. Joseph, thankfully, is too busy keeping his kids herded to pay much attention to us.
At the stroke of nine, Damien comes through and herds us all into the parlor where he recruits Briar and Hazel to help pass out presents since Christian and Christie are napping. It's a chaotic, domestic mess with the twins bickering and then suddenly competing, Daisy and Ernest jumping in to try to organize who gets a present next or pinch-hit for one of the twins when the present they grab happens to be for them. There's wrapping paper everywhere, scattered comments of envy or appreciation, and bows that get pressed to other people's heads. Robert, tucked protectively into a corner between me and the door, gets somehow quieter and more vulnerable with each present delivered proudly into his hands. The veritable sea of smiling faces waiting happily for his reaction encourages him.
It surprises me at first, seeing everyone surprised and delighted at Robert. But then I remember the early days, the surly, prickly, drunk Robert, and I realize that they're not surprised, they're relieved. It's not that the neighbors are having trouble believing that Robert has come out of his shell, or that they haven't seen soft, squishy Robert before. It's that they haven't seen soft, squishy Robert in so long and they're happy that he's come back. Makes me think of something Damien said back in the spring - that I'm like the sunlight, gently encouraging branches that seem dead into putting forth new leaves and flowering.
There's a tense moment when Robert opens the box from Joseph and Mary and it's Crown Royal box, but Mary urges him to open it and the bottle has been emptied, dried, and refilled with tiny, amber-colored jelly beans she assures him are cream soda flavored. The room breaks into laughter and applause at that, although Joseph seems surprised. Daisy thrusts a present at me next, and it's also from Mary and Joseph. This time, there's no subtlety - just bags of tiny jelly beans in half a dozen different flavors including the rest of the cream soda, pina colada, and three different strawberry-centric flavors. I hug the box to my chest in an exaggerated territorial display, eliciting more laughter that crests as Robert gives me devastatingly effective puppy eyes, holy shit, scruffy Italian prince looking dejected, that's not fair, since when has he been able to do that? I want to kiss him, I need to kiss the look off his face and turn that frown upside down but I can't, and my face is on fire aaaaand Robert is holding my box of jelly beans.
I pout at him. He looks like he needs to kiss the look off of my face, and then he smiles and hands the box back. Hugging the box again, I hide my face in his shoulder because my ears are on fire but I can still hear at least one quiet awwwww coming from somewhere and I'm not looking.
Once the last present has been opened, there's a flurry of cleaning up the assorted wrapping and packaging material and then a quiet hum as people explore their gifts in more detail. Robert and I consolidate the cream soda jelly beans and sample all the flavors, carefully resisting the urge to feel them to each other because oh, that would be temptation I'm not sure either of us could resist.
Midnight's less than half an hour away when Robert quietly slips out for a clove or two. I join him on Damien's front porch, breathing in the scents of clove smoke and snow, admiring the clear night and reveling in our comfortable silence. A few minutes before midnight, Damien pokes his head out to remind us what time it is. I go back inside with him, promising Robert that I'll have a cup of cocoa waiting for him since he's opted to stay out for another minute or two.
Everyone gathers in the foyer, where the antique clock slowly ticks away the seconds to the new year. I hang towards the back, so I can hand Robert his cocoa, but as the final seconds of the final minute count down, I find myself focused on the time along with everyone else. I don't know for sure who started it, possibly Daisy or Chris, but we're all counting out loud.
"...nine...eight...seven...six...five...four...three! Two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"
As the clock strikes midnight, before the echoes of our shouting have even faded, the front door opens and Robert steps smugly inside.
"A dark-haired man was the first to cross the threshold!" Damien cries joyfully. "A good omen for the new year!"
Robert picks at the medical tape holding the bandages to his hand. "I've got a better one," he announces.
With a flourish, he pulls the bandages off and holds his left hand up. The weird circle-with-wiggly-lines tattoo he seemed so uncomfortable with has been transformed into a beautiful blue flower that looks almost like a stylized sun, only...blue. An appreciative collection of gasps and inhalations rises like a flock of startled birds that settle back to earth as ooohs and aaaahs. Damien threads his way through the crowd to bend over Robert's hand, carefully not touching the fresh tattoo, and examine it.
"Cornflower?" he asks, so quietly that only Robert and I can hear it. When Robert nods, Damien covers his mouth with both hands and seems to be blinking back tears. "It's gorgeous," he says, the words muffled and unsteady. "My friend, this is the best omen of all."
"New year," Robert says, eyes sliding towards me, not trying to hide his words but not raising his voice either. "Time for new beginnings. Out with the old, in with the new."
My eyes are locked on his, every iota of my being focused on not handing the mug to Damien and kissing my scruffy Italian prince. I have no idea what expressions everyone else might be wearing, but I can hear Amanda making a high-pitched eeeee sound and I think that's Brian's deep awwww. Wordlessly, I offer Robert the hot cocoa and he takes it, breaking eye contact to sip and hum in contentment at the warmth of the mug and the liquid. That breaks the spell of silence, and all of a sudden everyone's chattering and bustling around collecting children and gifts.
"I guess the party's over," I half-ask Robert, drifting with him into the corner.
"Pretty much," he answers.
"The tattoo is gorgeous. I love it," I add, remembering Robert telling me that so long as I liked it, he didn't care what anyone else thought.
Tension bleeds out of his posture and he smiles shyly at me, oh no, I'm going to melt.
"It used to be a reminder of...a mistake," he says quietly, eyes dropping to his left hand. "Now it's a reminder that even the ugliest thing can turn into something beautiful. When I look at my hand, I don't see the mistakes of my past anymore. I see the beautiful future I'm working towards." He looks up at me and I am absolutely going to die, help. "I see hope."
Fortunately, because every cell in my body is making heart eyes at Robert and there's no way I can respond coherently, Mat bounces over to check out Robert's tattoo and compare experiences. I slip off to find the bags we brought things in, and load them up with the things we're bringing home. Amanda's holding court in the sitting room, telling Lucien and Carmensita and Daisy all about college. She flashes me a thumbs-up when I heft my bag of presents and point at my wrist. I pack Robert's gifts into a bag for him and head back to the foyer, where Mary's admiring his new ink while Joseph stands by the door, holding a squirming Crish and looking irritated. Finally, she gives Robert a careful hug and her impatient husband herds her and his other three children out and into the night.
"You okay?" I ask quietly as Robert comes over to claim his bag.
He looks at the flower on his left hand, then looks up at me. "Yeah. If anyone had told me, last New Year's, that I'd be sober and happy at the next New Year's party...I'm pretty sure I would have punched them."
"Even if it had been me?" Damien asks, walking up with a cup of punch in one hand and a gingerbread cookie in the other.
Robert gives him a teasing grin. "Even you. Hey, I don't make the rules. Talk to Queensbury."
Damien looks momentarily taken aback, but then he smiles. "If I had known, last year, what would come to pass...I would have borne that blow gladly. Thank you, as always, for indulging my New Year threshold superstition."
"Glad to help," Robert says, looking pleased.
Amanda comes up with Lucien. "Hey Dad, we're gonna shoot off fireworks in the street for a while. Take my stuff back for me?"
"Alright." I take the bag she thrusts at me, and then hug her awkwardly. "Be safe. I love you."
"I will," she tells me. "Love you too."
We make our goodbyes to Damien, thanking him for the amazing party, and follow Amanda and Lucien outside. I walk Robert home, and the looks we give each other at his doorstep quite clearly add an unspoken I love you when I say, "Sleep well" and an I love you, too when Robert says, "You too."