The Santa Mug Page 4

  “What’s that?”

  Darren grinned. “Is Monica going to tell Evie every time we’re together?”

  * * *

  “What did you mean, earlier?” Max said, leaning against Darren as they watched the billionth rerun of A Christmas Story. The children had already crashed, and most of the adults were either passed out or off in their respective rooms, victims of tryptophan overload. The few who remained awake were either talking quietly or watching the perennial rerun on TV.

  “About what?” Darren said, trying to keep his eyes open.

  “You said you were thankful for new things in old packages.”

  “Well, you are older than me.”

  “True,” Max said, not taking the bait. “What new thing?”

  “You, of course.” Darren sat up and turned to face Max squarely. “I don’t know what happened, Max. We’ve known each other for almost five years, right? And in all that time, you were just good ol’ comfortable Max.”

  Max’s eyes widened, and Darren laughed. He took Max’s hand in his, rubbing his thumb across the knuckles.

  “Don’t take that the wrong way, Max. I just mean that you were always there. Always what I needed, when I needed it, even if I didn’t want it.”

  “Yeah, so?” Max didn’t seem entirely convinced.

  “So, that’s all I ever saw in you. All I ever wanted to see, I guess.” Darren studied their clasped hands for a long moment. On the TV, Ralphie was screaming as he was pushed down the slide.

  “When you kissed me out on the porch, I suddenly realized how selfish I was being. I’ve been pushing everyone away for so long, it’s become a mindless habit, and yet you kept coming back.” Darren looked up into Max’s face. “In fact, you never left. Never let me push you too far away, did you?”

  Max shook his head. “I couldn’t.”

  “I understand that now, I think.” Darren clasped both of Max’s hands in his, gripping them with almost desperate intensity. “I think, if you hadn’t been there all these years, I might have lost it; curled up into a ball and let the world wash me away.”

  “I would never have let that happen,” Max said. “I’ll never walk away.”

  “I know that now, and I guess I’m still selfish, because I don’t want you to.”

  The two men stared at each other in silence, each lost in the implications of the other’s words.

  “Boys, if that isn’t an invitation to a kiss, I don’t know what is.” Carl spoke up from the far end of the couch where he sat with Emily, watching them both. Emily nodded, her wrinkled, careworn face beaming.

  Max and Darren both flushed identical shades of red and pulled away from each other, though Darren still held Max’s hands.

  “Well, go on, son. Kiss him.” Carl said. “We don’t mind.”

  Darren cleared his throat and leaned in. Max met him halfway and they kissed, chastely enough for parental scrutiny. It wasn’t until much later, when both men were tucked up together in Darren’s bed that he wondered which of them Carl had called “son.”

  * * *

  Darren and Max emerged from the bathroom, still toweling their hair dry when Monica turned the corner. Both men stared, waiting.

  “What?” she said. “I forgot my MP3 player.”

  Max grinned. “Aren’t you going to call Evie and tell her all about us, again?”

  Monica gave him a withering look. “Uncle Max. That was so yesterday!” She flounced away as though her intelligence had been called into question. “Honestly,” she said as she went down the stairs.

  “Well,” Max said. That’s reason enough to go home, isn’t it? We’re old news.”

  “You could stay longer, if you want. I still have another day, and I can always rent a car or something.”

  “No need,” Max said. “I got what I came for.” He wrapped his arms around Darren’s bare waist and buried his face in the nape of Darren’s neck.

  “Get a room, after you come downstairs and say goodbye, you little shit!” Elliot’s voice boomed from the top of the stairs. Echoing down the hallway as it did, his voice sounded as though he were on the business end of a bullhorn.

  “Okay, okay. Give us a minute, will you?” Max looked at Elliot and deliberately bit the top of Darren’s right shoulder. “Maybe two minutes,” he added.

  Elliot rolled his eyes and laughed. “Newlyweds,” he said and turned on his heels. “Two minutes,” he called back as he, too, descended the steps.

  Darren pulled Max into their room and shut the door. “Is there a lock on this thing?”

  * * *

  Emily stood on the front porch, drying her hands on a dishtowel. Carl stood beside her, one arm holding her close. Darren had an idea it wasn’t for his support.

  “You two aren’t so far away you couldn’t come for Christmas, you know.” Emily’s voice was steady, but her eyes were bright.

  “Em, we talked about this already, remember?” Carl squeezed his wife’s shoulder.

  “I know, I know, but still….” She let the sentence drop.

  Max pitched his voice low. “We want to kind of take things easy, Ma. Even if the whole horde isn’t here at Christmas, it’s too much commotion.” Max turned to look at Darren, who was loading the last of the luggage into the back seat of the car. “I’d be a total fool to think a new boyfriend, however comfortable he is, will erase everything Darren stored up all these years.” He smiled and waved when Darren looked up. “Man, he’s beautiful, isn’t he?”

  Emily’s eyes watered. “Take special care of him, Maxie. You’ll have a time of it at first, I think.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Just that problems like his don’t get solved overnight,” Carl said. He looked down at his wife, who nodded.

  “There will be setbacks,” Emily said. “But I think he’s worth the trouble. Just try not to get hurt too much, okay?”

  “I’ll try, Ma, but I already love him, you know?”

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  Darren bounded up the steps. “Anything else that needs to go?”

  Max shook his head. “Just us.”

  Darren turned to Emily. “I want to thank you for a wonderful time, Emily. I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed Thanksgiving more than I did here with you.”

  “You’re welcome, Darren. I expect to see you here again soon.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Darren said, and he turned to Carl. “Thank you, Carl. You made me feel like home.”

  Carl shook his hand vigorously. “Like I said, you’re family, son. We’re glad to have you, for you own sake, and Max’s.” He put his arm back across Emily’s shoulders to steady himself. “You take care of my boy, you hear?”

  “I promise,” Darren said. “He’s looked after me for a long time. It’s the least I could do.” He grinned at the flush rising on Max’s face. “Come on, Max. We got miles to bust, and I have plans for you when we get home.”

  “Why, Maxie, you’re blushing! What does he mean when he says he has ‘plans for you’?” Emily gave Darren the barest hint of a wink and turned to Max.

  “Nothing, Ma. It’s nothing. He probably wants to hash out who buys dinner on our first date.”

  Carl laughed, a hearty sound that threatened to dislodge several low hanging icicles. “It depends on who does the asking. Don’t you gay boys know anything?”

  8

  Darren watched the last few lazy snowflakes drift down outside his window as he sat drinking a cup of coffee and nervously waited for Max. A steady wind inexorably drove away the last of the snow clouds, and patches of blue broke through the afternoon sky.

  Max had called a few hours earlier saying he was cutting work early on account of the unexpected snow and that he wanted to spend his hooky with Darren.

  While their budding relationship had been anything but a whirlwind since they returned from Max’s parents after Thanksgiving, Darren had a lot of lost time to make up for, and each time Max shyly asked to visit, Darren nearly j
umped out of his own skin in his eagerness to say yes.

  Max. Comfortable, dependable Max. Only now, Darren had several other descriptions to add to the list. Adorable Max. Exciting, sensual, horny Max. God, what that boy could do in bed.

  Max had opened him up like a walnut, careful to crack only the seams to extract the meat whole, and Darren had let him. Reluctantly at first, his deep-seated reservations more often than not making things awkward or downright impossible, but eventually Max’s relentless determination, coupled with Darren’s growing desire to please him, led to a mutual understanding: “Push when I need it, but don’t pull if I can’t go yet.” So far, it seemed to be working, but as the calendar raced closer to Christmas, neither could ignore the consequences of four years ago.

  “I’m sorry, Darren,” Marlon had said as he angrily folded a pair of slacks into his suitcase. “I don’t have any choice. This is why I get paid the big bucks, to be on call in case of an emergency, and this qualifies.”

  “But you don’t even like that job. Why not let it go and find something else?”

  Marlon stared. “Darren, jobs like this don’t drop out of the sky on a whim, you know. It’s not like I could quit today and be working again in a few days.”

  “Yeah, but it’s Christmas Eve, and we’ve been planning for a long time. It just won’t be the same if we have to wait three more days.”

  “Why not? Three days is a drop in the bucket, Darren. You can wait for me that long, can’t you?” Marlon’s voice suggested there was no other choice.

  “Of course I can. It’s just… I had something special in mind for you; that’s all.”

  “And I’m sure it’ll be wonderful. Something for me to look forward to when I get back.”

  “Damn it, Marlon. Just quit the job. They’ve been abusing you all year long. It’s just not worth it.” Darren frowned and crossed his arms. “Unless your job is worth more to you than me.”

  Marlon froze, his face pained as though he had been sucker punched. He slowly closed the suitcase and set the latches before turning to Darren. His expression was colder than the snows he would be driving through in less than five hours.

  “Right now, I’d have to say my job is more likely to make reasonable demands on me than you are.” Marlon lifted his suitcase and started for the door. “I hoped that we could have spent the rest of the day together before I had to leave, but I think, under the circumstances, it would be best if I left early.” He scooped his wallet off the bureau and tucked it into his pocket.

  “Marlon, wait. I’m sorry.” Darren made as if to reach for the man, but the expression on Marlon’s face stopped him.

  “I am, too, baby. I really am. I’ll be back in a few days, and we can talk about this then, if we are still talking at all.” Marlon picked up his keys and headed for the front door. “I love you, Darren. I always will,” he said, and he left.

  The sudden, monstrous ache in Darren’s gut nearly brought him to his knees. He gasped, stunned by what just happened, and bolted for the door. A blast of arctic wind carrying swirling snow hit him in the face, momentarily blinding him. By the time he could see again, Marlon was gone.

  Darren sat for hours, hugging his knees and rocking as night fell and the room grew dark. He replayed the argument over and over in his mind, appalled by how things could go so wrong, so fast. When the phone rang, he simply couldn’t muster enough interest to answer it. The phone fell silent for a time and then rang again. Darren reached for it to turn it off and spotted the caller ID.

  “Marlon? Is that you? Marlon?” The connection was sketchy at best. Heavy snow always played hell with cellular service.

  “… my job, baby. …important thing in the world to me… like shit. Darren?” Marlon’s voice was faint and scratchy, broken at odd moments by scratchy silence.

  “Marlon? I can’t hear you. Where are you?”

  “I’m turning around, baby… talk to you…” There was a long pause, and Marlon spoke again. This time, his voice was crystal clear. “Will you be there when I get back?”

  “Oh, hell, yes. Marlon, I’m so sorry. I was a—”

  Marlon cut him off. “You’re breaking up, Darren. If you can hear me… be home in about two hours. …hope…waiting for me when I get there.” The phone fell silent, and Darren hugged it to his ear, elation soaring through him until the beep warning of a disconnected call sounded.

  Darren scrambled to his feet, turning on every light in the place. He lit the Christmas tree taking pride of place in the front window. The tree he and Marlon took so long to decorate because they had stopped halfway through to make love beneath the sparking lights and the shimmering colored ornaments. He wanted it to be the first thing Marlon saw when he came home.

  Three hours later, Darren checked his phone for the tenth time to make sure it had power, and that it had at least three bars. He was plugging it into the charger when it rang in his hand, startling him badly.

  “Hello?” Darren spoke breathlessly; then he remembered to check the caller ID. “Marlon. Where are you?”

  “Are you Darren?” A stranger’s voice, rough and unsure.

  “Yes. Who is this? Where’s Marlon?”

  “Darren, my name is Kyle Sanders. I’m a sheriff in East County. I’m calling the ICE number listed in this phone. Do you know a Marlon Jamieson?”

  “You’re a sheriff? What happened? Where’s Marlon? Is he all right?”

  “Darren, listen carefully. There’s been an accident….”

  By the time Darren made it to the hospital, Marlon was dead.

  Christmas Eve was tomorrow, but Max calling like that and the unexpected snows were too devastatingly similar to four years ago, and Darren was worried enough that when the phone rang, he was afraid to answer it.

  Darren finally flipped open the phone just before it would have gone to voicemail. “Hello? Max?”

  Max’s rich, vibrant voice came through loud and clear. “Darren? Hi! I’m stuck behind a snowplow, so it’ll be a while longer before I get there.”

  “Max, thank God. I was getting worried. Where are you?”

  “About five miles out. I had to take a detour because all the surface streets were blocked, but the plow driver said he was clearing all the way up to Main Street, and I could probably get by on my own after that if I took it slow.”

  “Take it slow, Max. Don’t rush. I’m not going anywhere. In fact, if you have to go to ground somewhere, do it. Promise me?” Darren held the phone tightly to his ear, waiting for Max’s reply.

  “I promise,” Max said instantly. “But really, I’ll be fine. All-wheel drive and two sets of chains.”

  “Max—”

  “I know, Darren. I’ll be careful, I promise. You just have the Irish coffee waiting for when I get there, okay?”

  “That I can do,” Darren hesitated for a moment. “Max?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I miss you.”

  “I miss you, too, baby. I’ll be there soon.”

  “Okay. Bye.”

  “Bye.”

  Darren closed the phone and took several deep breaths. He hadn’t realized how keyed up he was until Max had actually called.

  “Might have to start early on that Irish coffee,” he muttered. “Without the coffee.”

  Darren put up a fresh pot to brew and sat down to wait. He looked across the room at the front window where a Christmas tree once held pride of place. The space was empty now, with nothing to block the last rays of the setting sun peering through the clouds. In fact, the entire room seemed empty somehow; devoid of life, stagnant, with no hint of joy or even sorrow to drive away the monotony.

  Darren stared at the empty window, darkening as the sun fled, and saw the holiday lights on nearby houses and buildings come to life. He closed his eyes against those colorful implications and eventually fell asleep as memories of a happier time rushed at him out of the darkness, striking him with all the force of a runaway train.

  “Wait, wait.” Marlon had s
aid as Darren began stringing garland on the still bare Christmas tree. “You have to put the lights on first, and then the garland.”

  “I know, I know. You say that every year, Marlon, but I still don’t see what the big deal is.”

  “The big deal, Mister,” Marlon paused as he concentrated on fastening one end of the light string to the top of the tree. “Is that it’s easier to put the lights on bare branches because there is nothing to get tangled in the wires.” Marlon circuited the tree several times and wrapped the plug end around an inside branch before reaching for another string. “Besides, you don’t do it right, anyway.” He waited, grinning.

  “What? What do you mean I don’t ‘do it right’? How could I possibly do it wrong? It’s garland, for crying out loud.”

  Marlon smiled indulgently. “You’re swoops are always too big.”

  “Dude, you sound like Martha Stewart,” Darren said, grinning. His swoops were too big because what he liked best was watching Marlon fix them.

  Marlon shot him a look. “Never mind. Plug this in and make sure they work, will you?”

  Darren laughed outright. “Yes, Miss M.” He plugged the string into an extension cord, delighted, as always, by the cheerful glow that filled his hands. He looked at Marlon, whose face was lit by that same glow, and smiled mischievously. “Come here, you.” Darren began reeling in the string of lights, drawing Marlon to him. When he was within arm’s reach, he took the end of the string from Marlon and draped the coils of sparkling light over his shoulder. Then he reached and took hold of Marlon’s shirt.

  “Darry, what are you doing? We have a tree to decorate.”

  “I’m decorating my own tree,” Darren said. “Bare branches, remember?” He slipped the shirt over Marlon’s laughing protests and stole a quick kiss as his head emerged.

  “Hey! That’s not fair,” Marlon said. “Come back here.”

  “All’s fair in love and tree decorating,” Darren replied. “Now, hold still.” He unfastened Marlon’s pants and slipped his hands along the length of Marlon’s hips, pushing pants and shorts down to puddle at his feet. He stole a few more kisses as he stood, and Marlon’s body twitched at the feather-light sensations.