Gathered Up

by Annabeth Albert

  My occasional clerk had asked for more hours the week of Christmas, trying to pay off some presents, so Christmas Eve I found myself at loose ends, craving a gingerbread latte and not sure I could stomach one without Sawyer there to tease me while I drank it. At People’s Cup there was a line anyway, so I kept walking. I found myself in front of Iplik, the yarn store, hypnotized by a new scarf in the window. This one was an ethereal white, probably some sort of mohair blend, and looked like a cloud adorning the bust in the window. The subtle openness to the texture only called to me more. It was long and billowy and seemed like the perfect antidote to the permanent chill I seemed to walk around in lately.

  And I was having trouble wearing my favorite scarves without remembering Sawyer unwinding them, without remembering his lips on my neck, and the way he’d traced the fading marks with his fingers. I’d never be able to look at a scarf without feeling an erotic charge again.

  In a rarity, Ev was working the counter. “Oh, Hollis, I am just about to close up for the afternoon, but please, how can I help you?”

  “I want the scarf in the window,” I said.

  “I’m sorry. I just sold that this morning. The buyer hasn’t stopped by for it yet.” I must have looked utterly crushed because Ev came out from behind the counter and took my arm. “Please, let me show you a few other samples that came in. There’s an alpaca you’d love.”

  “That’s okay.” I was crushed, no two ways about it. I’d wanted something, some little piece of this week to go my way. The other scarves he showed me were nice, but they didn’t call to me the same way.

  “Do you have holiday plans?” Ev asked as we walked around the store with him pointing out various sample garments he thought I might be interested in.

  “Oh, just the usual.” I’d learned several years ago to never say no to that question. “You and Brady have big plans for the kids?”

  Ev and Brady were raising Brady’s siblings, and I imagined their living room would be even louder than Char’s come tomorrow morning. “Of course.” Ev laughed. “We overspent as usual, but they grow so fast, it almost doesn’t seem like enough.”

  “I know what you mean,” I said, thinking of my gift for Aria.

  “It is bittersweet,” Ev mused. “Not knowing how many more Christmases you have left.”

  I knew he meant how long kids stayed children, but his words burrowed deep into my soul, lingering far after I’d bought the indigo alpaca number and headed on my way. You don’t know how many more Christmases you have left.

  Deep in my thoughts, I settled at one of the cold metal tables out front of People’s Cup. Hadn’t I thought I’d be celebrating our quiet little Christmases with my parents forever? A memory crept in: us enjoying some tea that weekend, them making plans for changing things a bit to accommodate Tucker and Char now having to do two holidays.

  “You should go to the Murphys, too,” Mom had said. “You know you’re invited. And Sawyer will be there.”

  For the first time I wondered if she’d known. If the whole world but me had known what a hopeless crush I’d had for decades. Then my memory shifted and I was ten or eleven, my father trying to talk me into trying a harder ski run for the first time. I’d argued that I was much less likely to fall on the bunny slope.

  “Some risks are worth it, Hollis. You’ll see someday.”

  But I hadn’t, not really. I’d grown from a risk-adverse kid to a risk-abhorring adult. My business was my big risk of the decade and even then, I had made sure I had a safety net. Risk meant falling and falling meant people noticing. People laughing. People gossiping.

  “Are you really so afraid of a little gossip, Hollis?” I heard my mother’s voice, plain as day in my ear, so startling that I actually glanced around. Inside the People’s Cup, Brady was finishing up his shift, already looking up the street toward Iplik. Like me, he’d lost his parents too young, but he’d fearlessly crafted a life for himself after tragedy.

  Live, Hollis, the wind seemed to whistle at me. This wasn’t the life my parents would have wanted for me. They’d want me to go to Char’s tonight, go to the Murphy family tomorrow. They’d want me to do the hard thing, to expand my comfort zone. If she’d known how little time she had, would my mother have come out and confronted me about Sawyer? It had been there in her eyes that day and I was only now seeing it.

  They’d want me to be happy. I knew that deep down. They’d want me to stop punishing myself. The problem was that before Sawyer loped back into my life I hadn’t seen a way past the mountain of grief and guilt. And now I could see past, could see what happiness looked like, what it felt like to have memories comfort instead of stab.

  You don’t know how many more Christmases you have left. Not this year, but maybe next, Sawyer would move on. There would be someone new at his family’s gathering, someone folded up into the family for years to come. Was I really so worried about Sawyer’s staying power? Or was it more that I was invested in the Sawyer who couldn’t settle down? Because he would. I knew that in my bones, even if I didn’t want to admit it.

  He’d find some adventurous man to bring home, someone who let him bring out the side that only I had uncovered. He’d string lights with someone else, bring them lattes, bask in their gratitude and affection. He’d take them to the kink workshops that caught his fancy. He wouldn’t be chasing after the prickly shopkeeper forever. He’d find someone who loved the season, someone who admired his window without caustic wit. Someone worthy of him and his boundless enthusiasm and his limitless heart.

  He’d said he couldn’t live in the limbo we’d been in for years, and I’d tried, I’d really tried to find a part of me that could be happy for him moving on. He was a lovable guy. He deserved love, deep and true. He deserved not to be bound up in the weird dance we’d done for years. After all, it was me who liked having my hands tied, not him.

  We overspent, but it doesn’t feel like enough, Ev had said, and I understood some of his urgency. This was my Christmas. It was the one Sawyer had tried to give to me. Not the faceless man who would get him forever but me. This was the last Christmas before the twins came, before things changed yet again. Who knew, with the growing family, maybe even Char would stop trying so hard. Maybe I’d finally get the quietly forgettable holiday I’d wanted so badly.

  Somewhere my mother and father frowned. You don’t have to live life on the bunny slope, Hollis.

  Down the street, Ev was greeting Brady now, a hug in the middle of the sidewalk, before they left, arm in arm to do whatever joyful things one did on Christmas Eve with a partner in tow. What would that be like?

  I’d focused so much on what I didn’t like—the crowds, the noise, the huge gatherings, the endless questions and prodding—that I’d never once visualized a moment like Ev and Brady’s quiet companionship heading off to handle the holiday together. And suddenly, fiercely, I wanted that. I didn’t want Sawyer having those quiet moments with someone else, selfish though it was of me. I didn’t want someday to look down the street and see him greeting a partner.

  I’d rejected what Sawyer had tried to give me, but maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late. Maybe we could still have this Christmas. Maybe we could have all the holidays, if only I could take a risk and head down the steep slope of uncertainty.

  Chapter 14

  I had found some courage, but Lloyd Center Mall on Christmas Eve remained a special kind of torture. Even the buses were packed. Still, though, I found what I wanted. Shopping bags bulging, I paused on the second floor right above the ice skating rink. Holiday music blared and coffee and cinnamon pastries scented the chilly air. The ice skating rink was full of families and couples. I was about to look away when I spotted two teen guys skating together, hand in hand. The taller, blonder one pulled the shorter guy into a spin and they both laughed. They had that young love glow to them—the sort of way of looking at each other that you knew they might not make it
out of the parking garage before they were necking....

  Don’t kiss Jimmy Ingles, Sawyer. Kiss me instead. How different might my life have been if I’d found my courage back then? Or if I’d followed him up to his hotel room at the wedding? How much time had I frittered away because I couldn’t get out of my own way? All I’d known was that Char was laughing and I’d felt so visible. And I’d run. As usual.

  When I got back to my apartment I did something I hadn’t done in three years, probably more, and voluntarily turned on a holiday movie. White Christmas was always Mom’s favorite, but while I felt nostalgic watching it, I didn’t feel the crushing weight of grief I would have even a few weeks ago. And when “Sisters” came on, I laughed out loud, because there had always been a sister between me and my mister.

  I was still laughing, in fact, when the door buzzed. Damn it. If Char had sent Tucker to fetch me for Christmas Eve, I was going to—

  “Sawyer?” I opened the door to find Sawyer standing outside my condo, holding the world’s tiniest Christmas tree, a can of paint, and a little bag.

  “Hollis? You okay?” Sawyer’s forehead creased as I held the door for him to enter. “You alone?”

  “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “You were…laughing, and is that White Christmas on? Hols, have you been drinking?”

  “I’m having some wine.” I gestured to my glass next to a finished stack of presents.

  “You’re wrapping…” Sawyer’s eyes narrowed and then the widest grin split his face. “You’re coming tomorrow?”

  I nodded, not sure I could speak in the face of that much joy.

  “Hollis.” The look of wonder on Sawyer’s face as he crossed to me was something I’d remember my whole life. “You were going to come.”

  “I was going to try.” For you. I had to pinch the bridge of my nose to keep my eyes from stinging. “What are you doing here? You always spend Christmas Eve with your family—services with your dad and helping your mom with the food for tomorrow. Won’t they miss you?”

  “They’ll survive without me.” Sawyer set down his things. “I brought you a tree.”

  “I see.” I rescued the poor spindly thing before its little pot could tip over, put it by my stack of gifts for tomorrow. “And the paint?”

  “Proper Gray. You won the bet. I figured we could get a good start tonight, finish it up tomorrow so it’ll be ready for customers with your big after-holidays sale.”

  “I didn’t mean you had to give up your Christmas!” Why are you really here, Sawyer? was what I most wanted to ask but couldn’t.

  “I’m not. I’m bringing it to you.” Sawyer took another step toward me, all big eyes and open hands. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and you were right.”

  “I was?”

  He nodded. “You said that I wanted to turn you into something you’re not. This whole month I just wanted to give you the kind of holiday I love, wanted you to open up and see how much fun it could be, but I forgot to consider what you’d like, who you are.”

  “It was fun,” I whispered. “More than I let on. But you’re right—I’m not, I can’t be like you and Char. I’m not wired all social.”

  “I know.” Sawyer stroked my jaw. “I know. And so I’m bringing you a quiet little Christmas, because that’s what you deserve. I thought we’d paint a bit, then walk back here and scare up some lights for scrawny and maybe roll out the cookie dough I brought. Figured maybe I could talk you into a funny Christmas movie, but you’re already on that—” He gestured at the screen. “I’ve got eggnog in the bag, too. Maybe we’ll crack open your liquor cabinet, go a little crazy.”

  “That sounds…lovely.” I leaned into his touch, much the same way Benedict leaned into mine when I’d ignored him too long. “But I don’t want you to give up your family Christmas for me. All your traditions —”

  “Are meaningless without you. That’s what I was trying to say the other night and doing a horrible job at. I love you, Hollis.” He said it so easily, so confidently, that I inhaled sharply, oxygen in short supply.

  “You do? But why? I’m the introverted asshole, remember?” My voice was far shakier than I would have liked.

  “Yeah, but you’re my introvert. And you’re not an asshole. See, that’s what I’ve been thinking about a lot—why you make me so crazy. And I think it’s because you’re always so…selective. You’re choosy about your clothes and your books and your pens and your food. And for years now, I’ve just wanted you to choose me.”

  “I do,” I managed to choke out. “And I was coming for you. I was. I had a whole plan—”

  “You taking on all the Murphys for me?”

  “I wanted you to win,” I whispered, my voice thinner than an extrafine line, the barest trail of sound. “I wanted to see your face when you won.”

  “This isn’t a game.” Sawyer cupped my face with both hands. “It never was.”

  “But it was, see. I was so afraid of losing—of proving every gossip who ever bet on us right, on letting you win the bets—that I forgot to see what I was gaining, too.” I couldn’t look him in the eye for the next part, but he wouldn’t let me look away so I shut my eyes. “I let myself call you a rival for so long, let that be my truth, when in fact…” I trailed off, my voice failing me.

  “In fact?” Sawyer’s voice sounded like he scarcely dared to hope.

  “You’re my best friend.”

  “Me? Not Char? Not Tucker?”

  “I never looked forward to their emails and calls when I was at college like I did yours. Seeing him never…lit me up the way you do.”

  “I light you up?”

  I nodded and his lips claimed mine. I met him eagerly, trying to tell him with my mouth the words I couldn’t seem to push out of my throat, not yet. I love you. I’ve loved you since the moment you plunked yourself down next to me in drama class freshman year. I loved you drunk dialing and I loved your dares. I loved you so much that I built a wall around those feelings, hoping they could hurt me, hoping I could hide them. But I love that you smashed through those walls. I love that you didn’t give up on me.

  I pressed myself against him, desperate for more of him, desperate to let him know how much he meant to me. We ended up on my couch, a frantic heap of mouths and searching hands and straining bodies. Gone was my usual fetish for delay—every cell screamed now, now, now. And when Sawyer’s hand found my cock I was climaxing within three heady pulls. I trembled and shook as I tried to reciprocate and Sawyer was equally hurried, mouth latching onto my neck as he came all over my fist with a shout.

  “Hi,” Sawyer said as we both floated back to earth. “That was…wow.”

  “Yeah.”

  “So…painting?” He grinned at me and I grinned back, facial muscles straining at the unfamiliar joy splitting my face in two.

  * * * *

  “You have paint on your nose.” Sawyer laughed, which jostled me because we were pressed so close together and made me spill a bit of my Scotch. My tub was huge—a big selling point when I bought the condo—but even so, two tall guys in it was a very tight fit. Not that I was complaining. Being squished by Sawyer was fast becoming one of my favorite things.

  Sawyer had set his phone up with my speakers to stream his holiday playlist, which gently filtered in through the open bathroom door. I had a well-earned Scotch after all the painting prep while he had a beer we’d picked up with pizza for him and a salad for me on the walk back here. Bubbles danced across the surface of the steaming water.

  “This is my favorite Christmas Eve ever,” I whispered, more than half to myself.

  “Mine too.” Sawyer laughed.

  “I am coming with you tomorrow,” I said, my voice stronger now than it had been earlier.

  “You don’t have to.” Sawyer licked my neck and made it hard to think.

  “I want to.” I
took a deep breath. “If we’re going to do this thing—”

  “We are.” Sawyer pulled me even tighter against him, making the water slosh.

  “Then compromise is important. I can handle a short visit with the family—”

  “If it helps, I’ll stay right with you. Won’t leave you to the gossip hounds or uncomfortable small talk.”

  “Please.” I wasn’t above asking for the fortification.

  “And we can leave as soon as the presents are done—before even, if you’ve had enough.”

  “You’re pretty wonderful, you know that?” I leaned back to kiss him, long and slow. “Why do you put up with me?”

  “Hmmm.” For once Sawyer didn’t make a quick joke. “I think it’s because no one my whole life has ever listened like you do. Everyone else is always oh that’s Sawyer just joking around or Sawyer’s the funny one, but you’ve always listened. Always cared. You…think about what I say. And even when you don’t agree, you hear me like no one else does.”

  “I made you wait,” I said ruefully, hand trailing through the sudsy water.

  “I wasn’t ready before. I thought I was at the wedding, but I was still trying too hard to make you something you’re not. And you deserve something serious—I wasn’t quite ready.”

  “I’m not sure I do,” I whispered, revealing the deepest of my fears. “I’m too—”

  “You’re perfect.” Sawyer kissed me soundly. “And you’re like…a swan.”

  “A swan?” I snorted.

  “Hey, those fuckers can be mean. I once got chased by one. But they say they mate for life. And they’re deeply loyal to their little families. And pretty sweet to look at, too.” He gave me another, longer kiss. He pulled away, blinking. “Does Bunny always watch you take a bath?”