Tutus and Tinsel

by Rhys Ford

  “Fish sticks are awesome,” Zig scoffed.

  “Yeah, sometimes they are.” Lang was willing to admit to his somewhat addiction to the crunchy fishy bites dipped into the mayo-sweet-relish-and-sriracha mixture that Deacon whipped up to go with them. “Although I like fries more than mac and cheese.”

  “Me too, but Dad likes it, so I just went along.” She tsked. “And don’t tell him that, because he makes good mac and cheese now, that he really likes. So it’s okay. Right?”

  “Promise,” Lang said solemnly as he crossed his finger over his heart. “So you good with all of this? Because tomorrow we’re going to start the tree thing, and that’s our first family tradition. Well, the store too, because it wouldn’t be the holidays without a geeky tree in the front window of Between the Lines. Maybe Monday we can tackle what we want to do. We’ve got a couple of weeks to dig stuff up and try it out.”

  “My friend David is Jewish. He says they eat Chinese food on Christmas because that’s their tradition.” She eyed him. “Because his holidays are different, but that’s what his dad did back in New York with his family.”

  “So, what? You want spicy salt tofu at Christmas dinner?” Lang grinned. “My grandmother used to have hot and sour soup for breakfast while we opened presents, so why not? Now go wash your hands and let’s see what books we’ve got out there. Then let’s go talk to your other dad and tell him what’s up.”

  “Okay. But I’m serious. You tell him about the ‘fries instead of mac and cheese’ thing and I’m never telling you another secret ever again,” she warned. “Because that’s sucky, and he really really likes it.”

  “Promise.” He smiled and reached for his now-lukewarm tea. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the Reids, it’s that they’re a very proud people and once they’ve set their minds to something, there’s very little I can do to turn them back around.”

  “CHRISTMAS TRADITIONS?” His twin brother, West, stopped mincing the brown onion on the chopping board and looked up at Lang. “What’s wrong with the ones we have now?”

  “What Christmas traditions do we have?” Lang dragged a slice of cucumber into the sour cream dip they’d brought over. As leery as he’d been about the french onion soup mix and sour cream combination when Deacon first introduced him to it, he now had a special fondness for its taste. “Before last Christmas, when was the last time you and I celebrated a holiday together?”

  “Look, I’m not denying we’re lax in the family building and togetherness, but I’m doing the best I can.” West gestured with his knife, making a broad circle at the interior of the cliff house. “God knows, Angel and I keep trying to have another kid, but—”

  “Spare me the risqué humor and sarcasm, West.” Lang cut him off before he could go any further. “This is important to Zig. She’s… adrift sometimes, and we’re looking for ways to help anchor her. Deacon talked to her teacher before school this morning, and Mrs. Bryant’s on board with the change in presentation.”

  “Bryant? I think she was Rome’s teacher. Short lady? Lots of teeth? Always smiling?” West scraped the minced onions into a frying pan. “Very Stepford. Gave me the creeps, but Angel adored her. Rome too. But they’re easily swayed by friendliness and dedicated attention. So what do you want me to do? Or is this a whole family thing and you’re dragging my husband and kid brother-in-law into it?”

  “Dragging me into what?” Rome padded into the kitchen, sniffing at the air. “That smells good. I love onions.”

  Over the past few months, Angel’s younger brother seemed to have sprouted nearly a foot. His face was leaner and showed definite signs of becoming as handsome a man as his older sibling, and periodically his voice dropped and rolled into a smooth baritone and then jerked back up an octave. His friendship with Zig was a constant that Lang realized he depended on, especially during stressful times, because if anyone understood where his daughter came from, it was Roman. They’d both survived hardships and were now dealing with fitting into a place neither one of them felt fully comfortable in, and Rome’s unwavering support of Zig’s more outrageous behavior was sometimes as much a blessing as a curse. No one outside their immediate family believed in Zig as much as Rome did, and she returned his loyalty with an unmatched fierceness, ready to do battle against anything in Rome’s way.

  Deacon worried about their closeness. He was concerned about broken hearts and wayward relationships, but Lang cautioned him to simply let the two define their own lives first. Thick as thieves, the kids ambled about together companionably, comfortable with each others’ quirks and willing to compromise when they disagreed. Still, it was a little bit of a shock to realize the kids were getting older quickly, although there was still a hell of a lot left to navigate and survive before Rome and Zig reached adulthood.

  “We’re talking about dragging you into Christmas things.” West lightly smacked his hand when Rome reached for a bit of raw onion. “Eat cucumbers and carrots. They won’t make your breath smell like a rhino’s butt.”

  “What concerns me is that you go around sniffing rhino butts,” Rome sniped back with a chortle, but he picked up a carrot from the dish Lang was picking at. “Is this about Zig’s meltdown over the holiday assignment? What? Don’t glare at me. She told me. Said you guys were going to make, like, a bucket list of Christmas things and figure out what you want to do. I told her to start off with a low-key gingerbread house, ’cause that’s what Angel and I did the first year he got me.”

  “What the heck is a low-key gingerbread house?” Lang rested his elbows on the counter.

  “It’s like graham crackers and icing. And then you cover it with candy. Well, you decorate it. We still do it. Justin and some of the others from the motel get together, and we make them. West won for prettiest house last year, but that’s because he used candy corn for shingles.” Rome took a plate down from the cabinet and arranged a handful of veggies on it. He poured some of the sour cream dip into a mound on the side and grimaced at the handful of napkins West passed to him. “You guys were doing something that day, but that’s something you should do with us. Just ask Angel when. I’m going to take this up. Zig’s kicking our butts on Mario Kart. Maybe if she stops to eat something, I can get somewhere.”

  “You didn’t tell me you made gingerbread houses.” Lang waited for Rome to leave the room and then eyed his brother suspiciously. “How did this slip past me? Past Zig? She’d have loved to do that.”

  “They’re not really houses. More like four walls and a roof. And we only did it that one time. It’s a thing they do.” West stirred minced celery into the skillet. “I guess you could call that a tradition. You guys went up to San Francisco when Angel pulled it together last year. They hadn’t done it in a while, so he thought he’d drag it back up. By the time you got back, I think most of them were either eaten or had ants. They don’t last long. It’s not high art, Lang.”

  “No, but it’s a tradition, and one that’s already in the family. We’ve done salt ornaments, but this… is awesome.” Lang grinned at his brother. “And that’s a damned good start. I’m going to go find Angel. We’ve got gingerbread houses to plan.”

  Three

  THERE WAS no way Deacon would admit he was seeing things. An hour and a half into the afternoon and he’d lost his freaking mind. But despite the buzzing in his head and the twirling swirls in front of his eyes, he was not going to ask if anyone else saw the miniature panda waddle up to the back door of the Pizza Shack Bakery and flop on the doorsill. Blinking didn’t change what he saw. The panda was still there—a plump, mochi, ball-shaped, black-and-white furball snoring in fluttering crescendos a few yards away from where everyone had dumped their candy contributions to the great Gingerbread House Hallucinations.

  He couldn’t see through the sugar mist clouding the baking room. Hell, Deacon wasn’t sure if he was even in the Pizza Shack Bakery. For all he knew, he’d broadsided a semi carrying a full load of cotton candy and was lying in a sticky coma covered in str
ands of blue and pink floss.

  “Dear God, I think we’ve stumbled into Willy Wonka’s morgue,” West muttered from his spot at Deacon’s right elbow. “It’s where they take all those children who get sucked into the pipes or grab the forbidden gum. Of course, all of that was just crap ripped off from biblical texts and Dante’s Inferno, but I’d like to point out that the Oompa Loompas are a remarkable parallel to the beings who drag sinners into hell. And tell me that boat wasn’t an allegory for Charon and the River Styx.”

  Deacon took a good hard look at his brother-in-law and recognized the wild, frantic gleam in his half-crazed eyes. He’d seen that expression on his own face not more than thirty seconds earlier, when he passed the shining steel oven and was startled by the insane man staring back at him.

  “Maybe you should get a cup of tea or something and go sit in the front of the shop?” Deacon suggested as he gestured toward the connecting door. “Away from the kids and the… panda.”

  “So you see it too? Good. I fucking thought it was just me. Yeah. Tea. And maybe the ‘William Tell Overture’ turned up to eleven so my ears and eyes bleed.” West glanced at the back door. “Yeah, there definitely is a panda over there. Okay. I’m in retreat.”

  Before Deacon could blink, West was expertly weaving his way through the mob of children gathered around the long, wide bakery worktable and through the swinging door that led to the front sitting room.

  To be fair, the table did resemble a morgue slab—a long stretch of stainless steel with bits and bobs of sugary treats piled up in the middle while a handful of children picked through the remains. Graham-cracker houses were in various states of being built, keeping Angel and Lang on their toes and roaming around the table to lend assistance to leaning walls and cracked royal icing.

  “Wonder if I can get a scuba tank,” Deacon mumbled. He regretted the deep breath he took as he stepped back into the fray, especially when the sugar in the air hit his lungs and he nearly choked on the toxic mist. Cautiously resting his hand on the sticky table, he examined Zig’s house. “Okay, baby girl, what am I looking at here?”

  “The roof won’t stay on.” Zig held up two graham crackers nearly covered with dried frosting. “I can’t decorate it if there’s no roof.”

  “How about if we start with a new pair of crackers?” Deacon reached for an open package. “Because I think those are shot.”

  “Pining for the fjords?” She grinned up at him.

  “Pushing up daisies.” He winked at her. “Now, let’s see if we can’t blow the rest of these kids out of the water.”

  IF HE hadn’t already fallen in love with Deacon and Zig, Lang knew he’d have lost his heart at their heads bent close together, whispering intently about a graham-cracker structure and the proper mortar technique for the cinnamon Red Hots they were using to build a brick chimney. At first glance someone might not assume they were related, not with Deacon’s brawny ruggedness and Zig’s strong but delicate beauty, but there was so much of Deacon in their daughter. Even the quirk of her smile brought a sweet ache to Lang’s chest.

  She’d come to the gingerbread-building party dressed for battle, wearing a pair of faded black Converse paired with a long, droopy rainbow-hued tutu and an old Marshall’s Amp coffee shop T-shirt that Lang had outgrown years ago—a buried treasure Zig found in one of the many steamer trunks in the attic. She’d discovered a lot of Lang’s old clothes from back when he lived in San Francisco, and she picked out the things she liked and brought them downstairs to fold into her wardrobe choices. Deacon found her hanging up a black suede jacket that Lang had bought and never wore. He made her ask permission to take the clothes, but Lang was secretly thrilled that she’d scavenged up pieces of his life and made them hers. It gave him a connection he didn’t know he needed, and he couldn’t help but smile every time he saw her wearing something he’d worn before. Sure, a lot of it was too big for her, but she would grow into the pieces, and he enjoyed telling her about the city he adored.

  “We have to make sure people can see the red candy, or they’re not going to know it’s a chimney.” Zig sniffed imperiously when her father grunted at her. “If we don’t, it’s just going to look like a mound of snow.”

  “These things are too small,” Deacon protested. “The only way we can hold them together is with a lot of frosting.”

  “How about if you two use these cherry chews?” Lang suggested as he slid over a box of long rectangular candies. “There’s more surface area.”

  The smile Zig gave him could’ve lit up a football stadium. “Thanks, Dad.”

  It seemed as though the horde no longer needed his assistance or had at least been subdued to a dull roar, so Lang ambled over to check the hot water carafe and hoped there was enough to refill his teacup. His brother-in-law, Angel, apparently had the same idea, because Lang found him plugging the kettle in, a teabag strung over the rim of his mug.

  As hard as it was to believe the blond baker with the stubborn streak a mile wide was West’s husband, Lang was grateful for Angel’s presence in all their lives. West never was much for relaxing, but Angel forced a work-life balance, and Lang’s twin brother had acquiesced. For the first time in forever, Lang felt his brother was at peace, able to stop and enjoy his marriage and family without rushing to climb the next imaginary mountain. He was a lot closer to West now, bonded by similar problems with headstrong children and spouses with vastly different life experiences. As hardnosed as West was, he loved his niece and brother-in-law to death, and was willing to give Zig and Rome the moon, despite Lang and the other two telling him not to. It was a lesson Lang had to learn, because Deacon was determined to make Zig understand that she was going to have to work for what she wanted.

  Even though Zig and Rome were Lang and West’s only heirs and would one day inherit their wealth, Deacon and Angel definitely didn’t want the kids to know that for a very long time.

  “Did West run away?” Lang teased. “And whose dog is over there by the door?”

  “The dog is Justin’s. His name is Xi Xi, and I think West is in the front room. I love him, but even I know his limitations. I’m surprised he lasted as long as he did, but I know he hung in here for Rome.” Angel nodded his chin toward his young brother. “And Rome hasn’t even noticed anything other than Zig, his tilted house, and that he can shove handfuls of candy into his mouth without me seeing him. He’s going to be a riot to live with tonight.”

  “But he’s getting better about handling all the sugar, right?” Lang murmured a quick thank-you when Angel took the mug out of his hand and stuck an Earl Grey teabag into it. “West said it’s been easier.”

  “A lot easier. And it’s hard to remember sometimes that he’s getting older, so I catch myself scolding him for things like eating too much sugar or even drinking a gallon of coffee, because I’m used to monitoring him.”

  “Okay, the coffee thing would alarm me,” Lang admitted. “The first time Zig poured some into a cup with milk and sugar, I about had a heart attack, because I wasn’t sure if I should tell Deacon or if it was something normal. The most difficult things to adjust to were the rituals she and Deacon had. I imagine West went through the same thing with you and Rome.”

  “Oh no.” Angel’s handsome face crinkled with a broad smile. “The two of them are like peas in a pod. I had to fight tooth and nail for every inch with Rome, but he and West clicked. I was the one who had to get used to secret languages and inside jokes. But it’s great having someone with me to back me up and who understands how Rome’s mind works. West makes it a lot easier between us. I’m even beginning to believe I can survive Rome going through puberty.”

  “Do not say the word around Deacon.” A burst of laughter from the table made Lang glance over, but West’s majordomo slash personal assistant, Marzo, and Angel’s best friend, Justin, appeared to have everything under control. “He’s been reading up on everything from how to talk about menstrual cycles and what a woman needs for them to when to have conversati
ons about sexuality and gender identity.”

  “I was planning on the ‘ignore everything and hope Rome brings it up’ parenting method,” Angel confessed ruefully. “Half of me would be scared to death if Zig and he decided they were in love, and the other half would be relieved because I wouldn’t have to deal with any of it.”

  Lang chuckled. “Pretending you’re an ostrich isn’t going to help. We all agreed to let them decide for themselves who they’re going to be to each other, remember?”

  “I know. I guess I’m just dreading the next few years when Rome starts experiencing the things I did.” Angel leaned against the counter and watched the glass walls of the kettle as the water began to bubble. “I’m doing the best I can, but I worry I’m not doing a good job. Actually, I feel like I’m always guessing at what the right answer is. Maybe Deacon has it right and I should just read everything I can get my hands on.”

  “He’s reading everything he can, because it’s the only way he can control the unknown. Or at least it gives him the illusion of control. We both know Zig will throw challenges at us, and all we can do is guide her through them.” Lang shrugged. “Right now I’m teaching her to know in her gut that no matter what happens, Deacon and I will always stand by her. She’s so used to being strong and independent—taking care of herself—it’s hard for her to trust us to take care of her.”

  “That’s something Rome understands very well. It’s probably why the two of them are as thick as thieves,” he commented. “She knows the two of you love her. She trusts you guys. I think you’re good on that front. It’s the rest of the world she’s not so sure of.”

  “That’s because the world spent a lot of its time abandoning her.” Lang sighed. “Deacon wants to have all of us get together to talk to the kids about what would happen if… a time came when… we want her to know she won’t be left alone if something happens to me or Deacon. I think I agree, because she’s a lot like him. She likes to know plans and doesn’t like surprise bumps in the road. My gut says she would be comforted to know we want you and West to have custody of her if something should happen.”