Advent Calendar - Day 21 Fiction by Almathea!

 

More fiction! I'm honestly so happy and grateful for all these generous contributions for our writer-reader friends! It's made this calendar such a special one.

So this morning we have another fiction offering. This giftie comes from Almathea.

Disclaimer and warning : 

Though it is a Christmas story -kind of- it is a darker one that way trigger some people. There are heavy mentions of suicide and a lot of grief. So if this is a trigger for you, please do not read further.
This is also a coda I’ve been wanting to write for a long time, because it directly follows the ending of one of my very favorite books by Josh. But one I was not prepared to write before because of its mix of dark themes and very personal use of Dickens. It is a weird headspace to be stuck in.
Please, keep in mind that English is not my native language so any mistake or heavy sentence is due to lacuna of the language on my part.
Still I hope you will like it as I promise you hope and mystery at the end. ^^

 

THE HAUNTED HEART : A DARKER CHRISTMAS CAROL

When I finally climbed into bed I could hear Kirk playing his guitar downstairs.

I turned out the lamp ans stared at the pattern of moonlight on the ceiling. The bed was warm and more comfortable than I remembered. I thought I would sleep well that night.

After a time, I closed my eyes and listened to Kirk strumming. Not random chords, not a haphazard scattering of notes, juste a slow, tentative introduction to an unfamiliar melody.

Something new that accompanied me while I drifted into sleep.

**********

The dream started.

Not a usual one.

Not an unfamiliar one.

Even in my sleep I knew I had already had it and I didn’t want to have it again. Please not that dream.

 

The dream started exactly the same way as it did before. I was strapped on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more anger than blood. More grief. More pain. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out ! 
I wanted to die.

Someone grabbed my hand. It was weird because I hadn’t heard the door open, nor the sound of the key in the lock. But the weirdest part was that suddenly the ache in my body vanished and I felt so light. Floating like a snowflake in a winter gust. Am I dead ? Am I asleep ? It didn’t really matter. I was feeling almost good. The hand holding mine pulled and my body followed the gentle command, drifting upwards. I opened my eyes and startled. I was facing myself. A distorted version of myself, like a face seen through a frosted window. But it was me.  Maybe a slightly older version of myself as the other me with the sad eyes and the wry smile wore a beard. Before I could react or blink, the bearded clone turned around and led us towards the door of my hospital room. But it was not the same door anymore. Gone was the bland light brown of the ward door and its window. In its place was the warm chocolate of an apartment door with the number 13 on a plaque. I knew this door too well. It was our apartment door. Alan’s and mine. I couldn’t go in there ! I couldn’t face his absence ! I tried to free myself from the hand holding me, this hand so gentle and so cruel, but it dragged me though the door like it was just mist.

What awaited on the other side was like a rusty blade stuck and twisted into my heart. The dim lights. The illuminated tree. The colorful wrappings like a rainbow sea on the floor. And the laughs. Oh these laughs ! So full of joy, so full of hope, so full of LOVE. I couldn’t help bursting into tears. Alan and I lying naked in each other’s arms after making love, the most radiant raft of this multicolor sea. Kissing, snuggling and giggling as we were exchanging the most ridiculous endearments we could think of. « Cuddlebug. » « Snugglebunny. » « Love muffin. »

I was watching one of the highlights of last year’s Christmas Eve like the most heartbreaking movie ever made. All that delight was unbearable. I wanted to scream « Stop laughing ! Life is a bitch and this is your last Christmas together !!! » But I couldn’t breathe, let alone shout. All I could do was watch through a curtain of tears, intruding on my own passed happiness, on that day that would never come back again.

I tried to step forward to get closer to the warmth of Alan’s smile, to carress his cheek or maybe to revel in his smell one more time, but the other me, this witsful ghost, stepped in front of me and sadly shook his head. As painful as it was, I got it. « Yeah… This is gone. It’s only a memory of my… Of our past. But please… » The spirit or whatever didn’t let me finish. With his hands gently put on my shoulders, he suddenly pushed and I stumbled back through the door that was not there and found myself lying strapped on the bed, with all my pain and all my loss. Unwanted.  

 

Unwanted and crying on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more despair than blood. More grief. More pain. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out ! 
I didn’t want to live in a world where Alan was not.

A thin and delicate hand grabbed mine under the thin cover. No, no, not again. Like the previous visitation, the new hand grabbed mine and yanked me up floating. But this was not a gentle touch. It was a hard and cold one forcing me to face a gorgeous woman whose face seemed to be hiding under a veil of backwater. Black hair twisting and hateful gaze, the only features I could comprehend. So much rage. Even more than I felt. All my pains were gone again, except for the hand the stranger woman held, crushed and numb with cold. Without a word, she turned around and dragged me like a disobedient puppy towards the door. A door that had changed again. Not a bland light brown nor a warm chocolate. Now the door was a stylish white with trimmings and a bronze lock and handle. A door I had known every day of my childhood. I didn’t want to got there ! Even less than the previous place I was taken to. I didn’t want to witness more bygone memories. But when she towed me through the door, my parents living room was not like any remembrance I had of it.

A fir tree was up but out of place, bare as it was of any kind of ornament. A skeleton of Christmas exumed from a closet. Facing the naked tree, my parents were on the leather couch, where the entity brought me. My dad, always the stoic man, suddenly appeared… small. Shoulders hunched, blank stare, tan turned to ash, he seemed as lost as a bankrupt mogul. Isolated in his own bubble of grief while his wife was curled up on the other side of the couch, wailing like a banshee. Gone was the collected and sophisticated woman I called mom. Her ever perfect hair were now in a mess, her eyes red and puffy while snot was running out of her nose to end its course with the tears on her once pristine shirt. The cold mantel clock on top of the unlit fireplace was tick-tocking as ever, a language of time claiming it would always be the winner. The only answer, a denial from the heart, was in my mom’s broken mumbles. « My baby. My poor little baby. »

After an eternity of a minute, my dad’s hoarse voice finally echoed back. « We will visit him as soon as the doctor allows it. You know he wants to run a preliminary diagnosis on Flynn’s mental state before. To think he cut his wri… if we hadn’t found him in the nick of time… » Dad stopped there with a gulp and resumed his staring into the green nothingness of the bare branches.

This was no memory. This was now. My parents devastated by my own choice waiting here to see their son strapped to a hospital bed. The son they had almost lost but hadn’t. Yet. The son who still wanted to take his leave and who would. Who would force them to live this hell again. My decision almost wavered while I was floating there, facing the consequences of my actions on the people I loved, sick with guilt. « But everything is in the almost, isn’t it ? » I whispered. Maybe to myself. Maybe to the unknown scary woman. She seemed to take it for her as she grabbed my shoulders, pure fury in her eyes -the kind of fury where lightning was born- and shoved me back trough the door. Alone.

 

Alone and crying on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more culpability than blood. More grief. More pain. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out ! 
I didn’t want to wreck my parents’ life.

Another hand grabbed mine. Please stop ! Not again ! I beg you, I can’t take it anymore. This hand was big, warm and firm. A calloused and nice male hand. Again I was taken out of my body and facing another entity. A tall and muscular man wearing a grey camo uniform and a tan beret that eerily succeeded to put all his face in shadows, despite its lack of brim. Still this creature was more comforting than the other entities. I knew he would lead me to another door. But to my surprise, this time there were two doors. No. A double set of heavy doors in opposite condition, one dilapidate and lank, the other renovated and glossy. Impressively carved, richly ornate wood beautifully screaming Victorian era doors. The ghost guided me through the dilapidate one…

On the other side was a clutter of an apartment, full of sturdy mismatched furnitures and a mess of books, magazines and knick knacks, and a garage calendar on a wall showing this was taking place one year later . The place was colder than a grave. No fir tree of any kind in sight. Only the back of a broad man sitting on the floor and playing with something, his long-ish black hair a shrew’s nest. I wanted to get closer, but my guide kept me where we were floating, staring at the man on the ground. So I stared too. The shabby man was hunched, shivering and his frame was racked by silent sobs. He was also on a mumbling rampage. « I’m sorry Flynn. I tried. I swear I really tried. I wanted to save you. I needed to save you ! But in the end I failed. I couldn’t convince you to give up your fucking Agreement ! But who was I kidding ? I’m such a failure ! I couldn’t save save Gordy back there. I couldn’t save Maria, Chess or anyone else from my squadron. Not even this Afghan kid ! I’m no use, I can’t save anyone. Oh Flynn… Flynn, I’m so sorry I couldn’t be better. I couldn’t be more. I couldn’t be enough to ground you here. But I wouldn’t want myself either. Such a fucked up useless poor excuse of a man ! And still I tried to save you. I swear Flynn ! » And it went on. My heart ached for this bereft  stranger who was hurting so deeply. Mostly because of me. Again. Suddenly the man straightened up as he shouted « But I won’t let anyone else down ! Nobody else will die on my watch ! » and he raised up his left arm. The thing he was playing with was no toy. It was a gun ! It’s steely grey as devoided of hope as a November sky. I sreamed « Don’t do that ! » I tried to reach him, to stop him. But my guide still kept me at his side and the sound of my voice didn’t reach the grieving stranger. The gun went to his temple and I closed my eyes at the exact moment it spat its deadly charge. I didn’t want to watch anymore, but I could still hear the heavy thump of a massive body hitting the flooring. I wanted to throw up. I wanted to curl up there on the ground. Another life destroyed because of me. But my guide firmly guided me back to my hospital room and immediatly through the other door, the renovated one.

We found ourselves in the exact same place. But everything was different. It felt warm. The rooms have been renovated too. Every wall, door, window frame, trimming was in perfect condition. Gone was the clutter and most of the sturdy furnitures. In their place was still a mix a furnitures, some I’ve seen in the scene before, some from my place and a few antique ones that seem to have been chosen with love and taste. The trinkets and books were all well arranged on shelves in the company of other books, baubles and framed pictures. Pictures of a well groomed older man, tall and muscular, handsome with his black neatly trimmed beard and fashionable haircut framing dark smiling eyes looking at me. Because I was with him in these pictures, always with his arm around my shoulders or mine snaking around his waist. There were only two different pictures : one of a younger version of the man that he shared with a stranger, a lovely red haired guy, both wearing grey camos. And another one of Alan and me taken the day we moved in together. They were all couple pictures !

Between a set of window panes stood a large Christmas tree towering over the living room, all bursts of lights, colorful ornaments, garlands and bows. A kind guardian for the cheerfully wrapped gifts and the couple seated at its foot on a thick rug, the true focal point of this happy scene. Me and the man from the pictures. Me, smiling serenely in the arms of that handsome man, nursing a mug of mulled wine while the stranger with a deep voice was reading me some kind of… Play ? Sometimes I was laughing, sometimes suggesting some change in the text, sometimes he laughed, sometimes he kissed my head or my temple or asked for a sip of my wine. My laughs were not the same  ones I had shared with Alan. The youthfulness, the levity, the innocence were lost. But it was still such a joyous sound. Deeper. More trusting. More placid. A laugh coming from a place of grief and acceptance. An adult laugh... I wanted to see more of me snuggled with so much content against this man’s torso, my head lying in the curve of his neck. I wanted to learn more of this obvious love. But my guide started to take me back towards the misty door.

I resisted as much as I could until my guide turned towards me, head tilted on the side like a question mark. « It is you. The man who killed himself and this man reading to me. They have the same voice. They’re both you » I said. My guide didn’t speak, but the shadows vanished from his face and he was exactly like the man in the picture with the red haired, smiling like a proud teacher. But I was not done. « Why are you doing this ? Why put the weight of your fate on my shoulders ??? I can’t be responsible of you. I don’t want you to be sad and take your own life but I don’t want to live and love without Alan. » Still mute and smiling, the stranger put his left hand on my heart. It was clear enough. Alan would always remain there. His right hand let go of mine to carress my cheek. A snowflake kiss laid there. And his hand still on my torso pushed me back through the fog. Pondering.

Pondering on the hospital bed on that Christmas Eve, my wrists hurting so much under the thick bandages, my heart pumping more questions than blood. More grief. More hope. No place left for the blood sent in my system from a plastic pouch. Too much emotions churning in my dry body. My only thought Let me out ! 
I didn’t know what to do anymore.

The sound of keys in the lock. The bland light brown door opening. And a man as lean as his thin fake smile entered the room, getting close but never touching my hand. A man in a white doctor coat I would soon learn to know and loathe as Dr. Kirsch. The dream I just had was forgotten the moment he said « Welcome back Flynn. Well, what are we going to do with you ? »

**********

I woke up in uncle Winston’s bed. The sun was shining through the window, melting the last puddles of snow. I felt rested for the first time since… In months. My mind was clear. And I remembered every second of the dream.

Not the usual dream.

Not the unfamiliar dream.

The exact same dream, down to the tiniest detail, I had only once when I was recovering from my suicide attempt and had forgotten. Until now.
The impossible dream. Impossible, because I couldn’t have known anything from it at that time. I couldn’t have known about my mysterious clone from a bygone era I had seen on a picture for the very first time just before bed the night before and that I had mistaken in the dream for an older version on myself. I couldn’t have known about the still to come Agreement. I couldn’t have known about the second entity though now I knew the ghost of Ines too well. And I couldn’t have known about the house on Pitch Pine Lane nor about Kirk Murdoch and his rooms. It was all impossible. Despite the strong Dickens vibes, I was no Scrooge and things like that did not happen in reality.
 
First I became a magnet for an angry ghost, then an unknown copy of a man from a different era and now I had glimpses of the future in my dreams ? And Kirk’s fate in my hands ? Yes I was starting to have doubts about the Agreement. Even more now. But this was a new source of concern. Too many impossible things were happening to me. Last night’s question came back to me with urgency.

Who was I ?

 

                                                                                                                                                      The end (for now…)

Almathea

 

 

 

 

Advent Calendar - Day 11 Fiction by Byron Beach

 

I--we--are so lucky to have so many willing victims contributors to this year's Advent Calendar. The generosity of reader-friends with their time and talent is truly one of the nicest things about the calendar. 

This morning we have another coda from Byron Beach. This time we're taking a sneak peek at what Adrien English and Jake Riordan just might be up to... 

Young Mr. Gracen Explains it All.

 

The staccato rhythm of Jake's fingertips tapping nervously against the steering wheel filled the car, pricked at Adrien like a persistent mosquito. Adrien knew his husband better than anyone, he understood that Jake’s thin veneer of tranquility was in danger of cracking.  This meeting had kept getting delayed and pushed off. First for Jake’s work, or his travel then for any number of vague excuses but after more than two months, time was running out. Christmas was next week and nothing in the legal world ever happens in the week before New Year’s, so if they were going to get their documents in place Adrien had to force it to happen. A key to their relationship was their ability to navigate each other's boundaries. Knowing when to push, when to gently nudge the other outside their comfort zone, and when silence was the best medicine.  Adrien had pushed, but now, this was a time for silence with Jake.

They exited the 210 East and Jake guided the Subaru past the holiday decorations on Lake Street. Turning at a 30-foot gold modernist Christmas tree with stainless steel and gold balls, and he dived down into the concrete darkness of the Union Bank building's underground parking lot. The dimness momentarily stole Adrien's sight, a niggling reminder that maybe it was time for glasses. They say the forties were the starting point of failing eyesight. Well, better eyesight than the heart, he mused. Adrien felt fitter than he had since he was a kid. He swam regularly, and his personal trainer, Scout, ensured his cardio sessions were punctual. Plus, Jake had evolved into an ardent health freak, championing the cause of green smoothies and disturbingly frequent vegan meals.

As they exited the car, Jake muttered in a curt tone, “You'd think they'd have better parking facilities. It's so cramped; our doors will get dented.”

Adrien cast him a glance, a hint of grin on his face. They were just here to discuss some paperwork, not make definitive decisions, it should be easy, but Adrien knew that Jake didn’t grow up with this and probably didn’t understand in a meaningful way what he was walking into. As they moved around the car, Adrien slipped his hand into Jake's, squeezing it reassuringly. "Thanks for driving, my mind is preoccupied," he said, peppering a quick kiss on Jake's neck.

"Anything for you, baby," murmured Jake, "Let's go check the fallout." Adrien, shook his head in amusement. 

“Adrien, thanks for coming in. And I presume this is your husband, Jake?” Stanton Gracen, Old Mr. Gracen’s movie star handsome grandson and the new managing partner at Hitchcock & Gracen, greeted them. He gave Adrien a warm smile that echoed their first meeting and reenforced Adrien’s feeling that the family law firm was now in more progressive and friendly hands for couples like them.  Shaking Jake's hand, he remarked.  “Jake, I’ve heard plenty about you from Lisa. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

 “Nice to meet you, Mr. Gracen. Considering what Lisa might have shared, I assure you it wasn't all my fault,” Jake replied, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

 Gracen laughed, “Call me Stan. And you're underestimating Lisa's admiration for you.”

 He led them into the modern conference room, with its avant-garde lighting fixtures and a panoramic view of the San Gabriel Mountains. "Would you like any coffee or water?" Stan offered gesturing to an oddly lavash spread of coffee, tea, muffins, fruit and sugar cookies in H, G and & shapes covered in red and green sprinkles.

“How many lawyers are we expecting?” murmured Jake looking over the table.

Adrien, shook his head then thanked Stan, requesting only water, knowing that Jake would need something to fidget with during the ensuing conversation. While his administrative assistant brought in bottles of Hint water, Stan produced a hefty pile of folders as Adrien and Jake took their seats at the sleek glass table.

 “Today should be straightforward, although there will be quite a few signatures required. Based on our discussions, Adrien, I've prepared all the necessary documents. But before we delve into them, I suggest we discuss an overall view of everything. Does that sound okay?”

 “That sounds fine," responded Adrien, casting a reassuring smile at Jake, who seemed be sizing up his chances of escape by making a desperate run from the room. Adrien squeezed Jake's hand under the table, feeling him relax slightly, while Stan looked on with a knowing smile.

 Stan resumed his professional persona. “As you know, Adrien, your grandmother left her estate to you with the final half to be disbursed after your 40th birthday. Just to clarify, this only pertains to the trust fund set up by your grandmother and has no relation to the irrevocable trust your father established for your mother, for which you are the residual beneficiary." 

Adrien nodded his understanding as Stan continued his overview. But Jake, visibly tensed, stiffened further in his chair.

 "Since your first disbursement, twenty years ago, the funds have been wisely, and I might say, quite successfully, invested in a diversified portfolio," Stan continued in his soothing tone. "The portfolio includes blue chip and technology equities, bonds, industrial real estate, and some legacy investments, such as the ranch in Basking. The only liability is the note you signed when Lisa transferred ownership of the Porter Ranch house. Today, we will resolve that note and transfer the ownership to both of you."

 Jake cut in abruptly. “No, that's Adrien's house; it should be in his name.”

 Adrien interjected, "Jake, we've discussed this. It's ours — well, ours and Scout's and Tompkins'. No point in distinguishing when our lives are intertwined." He added, "In fact, that's the main point of today. We make decisions together. This is an equal partnership, with no reservations."

 Jake started to shake his head, but Stan chimed in with a softer tone, "Jake, in this, I agree with Adrien. Adrien has always been adamant that he wanted to share this inheritance as community property. Having dealt with numerous estates and sadly complicated family dynamics, I can assure you the most successful and happy couples work as teams, with neither partner holding the financial upper hand."

 "So buckle up, Riordan. I'm doing this for both of us. We're in this for the long haul," Adrien said, laughing, as Jake closed his eyes in disbelief as if that would make it all go away.

 Stan, reverting to his formal tone, proceeded with the estate details as Jake listened in tense silence. “We’ll start with the industrial distribution warehouses in La Verne, which are part of a limited partnership” Stan’s tone turning almost gleeful “And this is the neat part, as a passive partner your income from these can be quite happily is offset by depreciation and losses from other investments decreasing the tax-load on the current year’s net profit.” Stan smiled like a kid opening presents as Adrien nodded in agreement and Jake froze closer to absolute zero. He continued “The current value of your partnership share is around sixteen million, but more to the point the after tax distributed cashflow is ___”

 Later, deep into their second round of double frozen margaritas at Mijare’s, Jake's petrified expression began to thaw. "You should've told me,” He repeated shaking his head. "You really should’ve told me. My parents scrimped and saved to buy their house for $59,000, even taking a second mortgage for Danny's college. Who am I to have all this?" 

"You're the same gallant man I fell for when you strutted into my bookstore, convinced I was a killer," Adrien said gently. "Money doesn't change anything, apart from being able to finish the remodel of the ranch and building you a true and proper workshop at Porter Ranch." He paused for a moment, and with a soft kiss and a raised eyebrow, adding, "We could also consider a New Year’s vacation? Just you, me and a feather, in an overwater bungalow in Tahiti, with no swimsuits or commitments?"

As reluctant smile spread across. Jake’s face he leaned in for a kiss whispering "Merry Christmas, Baby.  Anything you want--just ask your millionaire hubby."

*Apologies to Byron! I accidentally cut off his last line. OUCH. 

Advent Calendar - Day 3 Fiction by Byron Beach

 

Our friends have been extraordinarily generous with their time and talent this year. We have a delightful abundance of codas to share. We're going to kick off with Byron Beach and a lovely coda about Rob and Adam from Winter Kill.

Finding the perfect tree

 

The snow fell lightly, covering the mountain forest in a serene, white blanket as Adam Darling sat at the kitchen table. A cup of steaming black coffee warmed his hands, which were half-frozen since he’d forgotten his gloves on the long walk down the drive for the Saturday mail. Among the letters and advertisements was a cream-colored envelope thick and elegant, with a Washington state return address. He opened it, revealing the announcement of Tucker Lance's upcoming wedding to Elliott Mills. Adam felt a twinge of nostalgia; he had cared about Tucker, thought he might be ‘The One’ but deep down, he always knew they weren’t right for each other. Their similarities were too similar and misalignments, were not the kind that offset each other. It was different with Rob. From the moment they met, he felt that he knew Rob.  His heart knew Rob was his Rob. His brain took a few months to get over the belief that it would never work out for him.  But if a crazy, hard-ass, driven guy like Tucker could find his forever, well the world was full of surprises.

As Adam read the invitation, Rob Haskell entered the kitchen, wearing a red flannel shirt, gray fleece sweats and his usual jovial smile. "What's that?" Rob asked with a slight hint of nervousness, nodding toward the envelope.

"Wedding invitation," Adam replied, passing it to him. "Tucker and Elliott are getting married."

Rob studied the invitation, his eyebrows flattened, and his voice sounded controlled, "In Seattle? I bet it'll be a big, fancy city wedding. You said Tucker's always been about his career and doing things up right."

Adam caught the note of what, not worry, but uncertainty? in Rob's voice. He set his coffee down and reached for Rob's hand. "Rob, you know Tucker and I weren’t a good fit. I love you, I love our life here, the peace, the dogs... everything."

Rob smiled, "Of course you do, with all of this...” he smiled as he gestured to their dogs and the forest, “how could the excitement of the city compete” but despite casual laughing tone, Adam could hear something underneath.   

Adam shook his head. "Yep, the big city, I miss the traffic and the smog, and the jerks who cut you off and the $23 cocktails, if only I could go back." He murmured as he drew Rob down for a kiss

“I mean, if you want to go we could make a trip of it to Seattle and you could get your city fix and be all networky with all those Feebs” Rob suggested.

Adam rolled his eyes. “If you are so into it you go, I’ll stay here with the dogs and catch up on my sleep and explore the sights of Southern Oregon I have yet to experience. You go be ‘networky’ – is that even a word? And sit though the agony or a big wedding”

The tension eased from Rob's shoulders. "What, don’t you like big weddings?” before Adam could start an answer Rob continued “Speaking of what we have here in majestic Southern Oregon, today is Christmas tree day.  I declare it an official Darling/Haskell holiday. The snow's perfect, and Guinness and Ms. Lopez could use a good run."

Adam grinned. "Now that, sounds perfect. Let me grab my coat"

“Oh good, get out that fancy North Face sub-zero artic special one of yours.  It’s about time it got a little roughed up and some sap on it” called back Rob. “I’ll get my trusty, workman’s Columbia Puffer.”

“I had no idea that I was entering this cult of Colombia sportswear when I moved up here, and there is nothing wrong with my North Face jacket”

Rob peaking his head around the corner chirped in, “Nothing wrong at all assuming you like to pay three times more for Big City fashion”

Adam threw a glove which would have hit perfectly if Rob hadn’t quickly shut the door to the garage and started singing, I Love LA.

Out the back door, they called the dogs. Guinness bounded ahead, his tail wagging furiously, while Ms. Lopez trotted behind, her ears perked with curiosity as snowflakes drifted lazily down from the sky. The four of them set off into the woods, the crisp air biting at their cheeks, filled with the fresh scent of fir and the quiet crunch of snow beneath their boots.

Rob had gotten Guinness for Adam the previous Christmas, though it was clear from the start that Guinness was always going to be Rob’s dog. When they went to pick him up, a small sister of his wiggled her way between Adam's legs and turned on the charm, leaving them both helpless to resist. On the drive home, they decided to name her Harp—a perfect half and half match for Guinness. But over the year, while Guinness remained steadfastly himself, Harp’s name evolved as her mischievous personality emerged.

She had a habit of singing before eating, her head thrown back as if performing for an invisible audience, which led them to start calling her Lyre. Soon after, Lyre became Liar, thanks to her penchant for stealing socks and hiding them all over the house like a furry bandit. From there, Liar morphed into Liar/Flyer, then simply Flyer. But it didn’t stop there. One day, after another sock went missing, Rob laughed and declared, "You’re the greatest fly girl ever. You must be Jennifer Lopez!" JLo felt too informal and was, after all, already taken, so Ms. Lopez it was—and the name stuck, much to her 

 satisfaction.

As they hiked deeper into the woods, Rob became increasingly particular about finding the right tree. "It has to be tall but with character," he explained, his voice carrying an edge of determination. "Pretty but not too perfect. We want it to be tall but not too wide."

Adam chuckled. "Are you sure you're talking about a tree and not your ideal partner?"

Rob laughed, but it was softer than usual, almost forced. His gaze swept over the trees, his eyes narrowing as he examined each one with a thoughtful, almost anxious expression. He was quiet in contrast to his typically easygoing demeanor.

Ms. Lopez darted from one tree to another, her excitement palpable, but each time Rob considered a tree, he would shake his head. Even the ever-calm Guinness seemed to pick up on Rob’s mood, sticking closer to his side than usual.

Adam frowned slightly, studying Rob. He considered and discarded a few witty comments, realizing that this was important to Rob, though he couldn’t quite understand why he was being so intent about a tree. "Haskell, I didn’t realize Christmas Tree Day was a holiday to celebrate indecision," he teased lightly, though concern leaked out in his tone

Rob glanced over, "Christmas Tree Day is a sacred quest, Adam. There’s no rushing perfection, just ask King Arthur.

"Didn’t Arthur’s best friend sleep with his wife, and they all die in the end?" Adam countered, trying to draw out more of Rob’s usual humor, but also probing, hoping to understand what was really going on.

Rob's response was quick, but firm, almost defensive. "You read too much, Adam. In this quest, Arthur and Lancelot only cross swords in harmony—and they do that a lot."

Adam studied Rob for a moment longer, feeling the unease. Something was definitely off. This was supposed to be Rob’s favorite day, but he was far from his usual relaxed self. Was it the mention of Tucker? Or maybe the subject of a wedding? Adam was certain that he and Rob would make it official one day, but a big ceremony had never seemed important to either of them. So why was Rob so on edge today?

Stepping closer, Adam wrapped his arms around Rob from behind, pressing a kiss to the back of his neck. "Let’s expand Christmas Tree Day into tomorrow. We can go home now and do some extended research into sword crossing…"

Rob’s body stiffened for a brief moment before he relaxed slightly. "Sacred quests, my knight," he murmured, his voice softer, tinged with something Adam couldn’t quite place. "Sacred quests." Then, with renewed determination, Rob pulled away gently and continued forging ahead. 

Adam considered and discarded a few witty comments, he realized that this was important to Rob, but he couldn’t understand why he was being so intent about a tree.

After a while, they came upon a stand of trees, and Rob came to a sudden stop. Adam noticed the way Rob’s shoulders squared, a hint of relief softening his face, and a slight grin easing the tension that had been lingering there all day. Following his gaze, Adam saw Rob pointing to a Douglas Fir that stood a little apart from the others. It was around eleven feet tall, just the right width, with branches that were sturdy and symmetrical yet had just enough quirks to give it character.

As Ms. Lopez circled the tree with increasing excitement, Rob nodded approvingly. "This is the one."

Adam moved closer to examine the tree, noticing a small red box with a ribbon hanging from one of the branches. His heart skipped a beat as he turned to Rob, who stood watching him, his eyes full of hope.

Realizing what was happening, Adam took the box, his fingers trembling slightly. He opened it to find two rings nestled together inside. Overwhelmed with emotion, he looked at Rob,

Rob’s eyes filled with tears, "Forever," he whispered.

The dogs barked excitedly, circling around them as if they understood that Christmas Tree day was now and for all time the greatest holiday of the year.