by Dan Wingreen
Spencer was Tim’s rock. The one thing Tim could always depend on to be there no matter what else was going on. Which, considering how they met, was something Tim still occasionally had trouble wrapping his mind around. But that was okay. Things didn’t need to make sense or be logical for them to be true.
Spencer was the truest thing in Tim’s life. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.
And speaking of Spencer…
Tim could hear his boyfriend’s laugh echoing down the hall as he made his way to his parent’s apartment. For a person as shy as Spencer could be at times, his voice easily carried through the heavy apartment door, over the obnoxiously loud Christmas music the neighbors would be complaining about in an hour or two, and even the chattering of Tim’s own teeth. He picked up his pace and entered the apartment.
Even though he felt like something that had been half defrosted in the microwave, the scene he walked in on did more to warm him than even his parents’ overworked space heater.
Everything was almost exactly the way Spencer had described on that long-ago night when they first confessed their love to each other. Tim’s mom raced back and forth from the kitchen to the living room, somehow managing to refill drinks, hold up a conversation with Spencer’s mom, and pluck the bag of eggnog out of Tim’s hand without seeming to slow down at all. Both Tim and Spencer’s dads sat talking in front of the TV, an old black-and-white movie no one was watching playing quietly in the background. Two families who didn’t know of each other’s existence before this time last year had come together as easily as raindrops joined with the water in a lake. Walls, whether of brick or cellophane, no longer had any place in their lives. Of course, not everything went the way Spencer thought it would—their dads actually had disturbingly similar opinions on politics, and everyone loved the casserole Spencer’s mom brought. And while Tim’s mom did nag them about moving to New York, Tim was pretty sure it was just to keep up appearances. His parents visited Chicago enough these days that moving wasn’t necessary. Tim wasn’t sure if he was insulted or charmed that they mainly came out to see Connor. Although, when he thought about it, he was mostly happy that Conner seemed to love them just as much as they loved him.
Even if his mom had taken to leaving brochures for NYU behind every time they left, despite Connor only being in tenth grade.
An insistent tugging at his jacket brought him back to the present.
“Jesus Christ,” Spencer said as he yanked off Tim’s winter coat and unwound his scarf. “You’re soaked. Was the only grocery store open at the bottom of the harbor?”
“It started snowing on the way back.”
“I can see that.” Spencer ran his fingers through Tim’s hair, then grimaced when they came back wet. “Get those shoes off so we can sit you in front of the space heater before you get hypothermia.” He paused. “Oh my God, I think I’m actually turning into your mom. What the fuck?”
Tim grinned, and suddenly it struck him that this was a perfect moment. His family was together, bigger than he’d ever thought it could be and all the happier and closer for it. The holiday he used to dread every year had become the one he anticipated the most. His parents were in their element, talking and cooking and spreading the feeling of family, one sheet of gingerbread cookies and impassioned rant about Congress at a time. Connor, his son in every way that mattered, was curled up next to the space heater, a contented smile on his face and a slight flush to his cheeks suggesting the nonalcoholic eggnog wasn’t the only kind he’d gotten into. Tim’s heart swelled as he thought about the stocking hanging not even six feet from Connor’s head, and the piece of paper inside, carefully folded in an innocuously festive box, that allowed Tim to claim his son in the legal way as well.
And then there was Spencer, the man he loved more than anything in the world, standing in front of him in an aggressively purple Christmas sweater covered in reindeer skeletons and skulls with Santa hats, staring up at him with dawning suspicion in his eyes.
“Oh no,” Spencer said. “Don’t you dare give me that look. If you put your cold hands anywhere on my body, I swear to God I’ll smother you in your sleep tonight.”
Yeah. Tim’s heart began to pound in his chest. This is the perfect moment I’ve been waiting for.
Spencer started to back away, but Tim grabbed his wrist.
“No! Don’t—”
Tim dropped to one knee.
Spencer’s eyes went saucer-wide, his words bit off by a wet, coughing wheeze.
On the edge of his awareness, Tim realized he was now the center of attention. His mom and Spencer’s were clutching each other in the kitchen doorway, tears already streaming down their cheeks. Their dads were watching over the backs of their armchairs with quiet approval on their faces and a telling, watery shine to their eyes. Connor was mostly in the same position, warm and slightly drunk and the only person who wasn’t really surprised, since Tim had asked for his permission weeks ago. As if in echo of his previous approval, he grinned at Tim and shot him a big double thumbs-up.
But most of Tim’s attention was on Spencer, his boyfriend, his motivation, his role model in fatherhood, and absolute love of his life, whose face was so red Tim was sure he’d forgotten how to breathe.
Absolutely perfect.
Tim took the small box he’d been carrying around for days out of his pocket and flicked it open.
Inside was a slender silver ring.
“Spencer—”
“Yes!”
Spencer blushed as everyone laughed.
Tim smiled so wide it hurt. “Not even gonna let me ask?”
“No. Yes. Yes!” Spencer broke off, shaking his head as everyone laughed again. When he looked back at Tim, his smile was wild and his eyes were glistening. He pulled his arm back just enough to be able to grab the hand that had been holding his wrist.
“Go ahead,” Spencer said, squeezing tightly as happy tears began to slide down his cheeks. “Ask.”
“Spencer Kent,” Tim said. The entire room held its breath, waiting for the first words of what they no doubt expected to be a flowery, romantic proposal. Much later, when his mother smacked him on the shoulder and complained about what he said, he’d make sure to tell her how much Spencer hated overwrought romanticism. “Wanna get married?”
Spencer grinned. “Fuck yes.”
About the Author
Dan lives in Ohio (as people do) with his husband and the most adorable little rescue dog ever. His three favorite things are The Empire Strikes Back, winter, and RPGs. His least favorite thing is pizza. Since the age of twelve, it’s been his dream to write something good enough to get published and, after over a decade of unforgivable procrastination, he actually managed to get it done. Thankfully, what he finally ended up writing turned out much better than the Spider-Man and Eminem fan fiction he wrote in sixth grade. His new dream, which will hopefully take less time to achieve, is to own two Netherland Dwarf bunnies named Bunnedict Thumperbatch and Attila the Bun.
Email: [email protected]
Twitter: @DanWingreen
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