by Gray, Kiska
The walls were white and barren of anything remotely homey. No pictures or photographs hanging in frames, nothing that even said that a guy as vibrant as Mika even lived here. In fact, when I really looked around, Mika didn’t have much at all in the way of furnishings, and what he did had definitely looked second-hand.
I moseyed into the kitchen, then wished I hadn’t. In the center of the room was a bucket filled with dirty water, dripping from a giant bubble in the ceiling. The roof leaked too? Where was maintenance? Sure, it might’ve been the holiday season, but if I had so much as a drip from my ceiling, my maintenance guy would be there faster than you could say “happy holidays.” What the fuck?
Behind me, Mika cleared his throat. I turned to him, at a loss for words. He must’ve seen the shock on my face because he crossed his arms over his chest and thrust out his chin. “You don’t have to look at me like that. It’s no castle, I’m well aware.”
“I didn’t expect a castle, but this?” I pointed to the ceiling bubble. “This isn’t healthy.”
“No shit?”
“Where’s maintenance?”
He shifted his weight uncomfortably. “I called them a couple weeks ago. They’re busy, I guess.”
“That’s—there’s no excuse! Your roof is leaking. Surely that’s more important than some numbskull’s clogged toilet. Why don’t your ask your mom for help? I’m sure she’d—”
“She’s the last person who needs to know about this,” he snapped. “It’s fine. It’ll be fine, they’ll get to it eventually. I’ve got buckets until they come and fix it and besides, it’s not like it’s any of your business. Not like you have to live in this shithole.”
“You shouldn’t have to—” I started, but he cut me off with a shout.
“I can’t afford anything else, okay? Don’t you see? I’m a fucking failure. Not everyone can be some high and mighty rock god with a billion dollars. I’m just another face in the crowd, nothing more, nothing less.”
“Mika, that’s bullshit and you know it. You aren’t a failure.”
“I am,” he retorted with a quick shake of his head. “My brother’s got his own law firm, my sister’s studying to become a nurse so she can save lives like Ma, and then there’s me—a college dropout living paycheck-to-paycheck. Ma can’t know about this. She can’t find out, okay? She’d freak...” His shoulders drooped, all the fight seeping out of him in one slow exhale.
He raked his hands through his blond hair. “Fuck. Enrolling in business college was the stupidest decision of my life. I was still a mess over the whole nearly-jumping-off-a-building thing, but I thought… I figured if Matt could do it, so could I, but I was so stressed out over grades. I didn’t eat. I barely slept. I was miserable and I took it out on everyone around me.”
“College isn’t for everyone,” I said.
“Yeah. Anyway, I ended up seeing a therapist because I was scared I’d do something stupid and this time, Saint wouldn’t be there to talk me off the ledge. She suggested that maybe college wasn’t the best idea, so I dropped out, but I’m still paying off the student loans and I’m making minimum wage at a job I try not to hate, but who wants to pick up someone else’s dirty laundry every day? I’m the failure of the family and if I told Ma, it would only be admitting to it.”
He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, then sighed. “I’m so fucking jealous of Matthieu. No matter what he does, he can fall into a pile of shit and come out smelling like a rose every time.”
“So maybe you just haven’t found your calling yet. You’ll find it—and you’re not a failure. Don’t ever say that again. You’re amazing, Mika, and I mean that. You’re just a late bloomer, is all.” I offered a smile, relieved when his posture softened. “Now let’s shake it off, get zen or what-the-hell-ever, and let’s go out and have some fun. I’ve got the whole evening planned and I think you’re gonna love my surprise.”
“I’d better,” he grumbled, but he couldn’t hide the smile that peeked out.
He did.
17
Gideon
“Ho-ho-ho, Merry Christmas!” was Joriah’s greeting of choice when Mika and I walked through the front doors of the tattoo parlor. I made it two steps inside and stopped dead in my tracks. What the hell…
Standing behind the reception desk, the flamboyant man was trussed up like a damn Christmas tree. His frizzy hair had been freshly dyed, bright green on the top and cherry red down the sides. Talk about dressing up for the holidays. Big jingle bells dangled from his gauged ears, and it looked like he’d tripped and fallen face-first into a pot of glitter.
On top of all that, he wore the most hideous sweater I’d ever seen. It could’ve won an ugly sweater award, it was that bad, but I didn’t have the heart to judge him out loud. I wasn’t an asshole…well, at least not a total asshole. I was still judging him in my head.
Mika shoved into me with his shoulder, like he knew exactly what I was thinking and he was hoping I’d keep it to myself. “Rocking that holiday attire, Joriah. Very festive,” he said and the man lit up like the star atop a very wide Christmas tree.
“You likey? I thought maybe I went a teeny bit overboard, but let’s be serious—I love it. I’m shining bright like a diamond. You ready to finish these things, Mika?”
Mika pulled up the sleeves of his shirt to inspect the mostly-finished ink that now graced his arms. The bright colors gleamed under the bright lights overhead and his smile told me all I needed to know.
He was ready.
And of course, the two chatterboxes tuned into a very specific channel. Christmas. It just had to be about Christmas. Joriah rambled on and on about what his family was planning for the holidays, who they were inviting and what kind of feast Zed was gonna make. He practically vibrated with excitement, buzzing as loudly as the tattoo gun shooting ink under Mika’s skin.
I tuned them out best I could, which was hard with All I Want For Christmas Is You blaring from the boombox on the window ledge. I leaned back in my seat, laced my hands behind my head and relaxed…for a little while, at least.
“So. Gideon.” Joriah looked at me with curiosity in his dark eyes, his lips puckered into a duck face. His bushy brows bounced when he tilted his chin. “What does your family do for the holidays? Anything special? Fancy dinners with the band? Tell me all about it. Let me live vicariously through you.”
Ugh. Not the conversation I wanted to have. Not now, not ever. “Nope.”
“No?” His eyes flew open wide. “You don’t celebrate?”
I shrugged it off. “It’s not really my time of year. It’s my least favorite holiday and I’ve never enjoyed it. That’s all.”
For some reason, this seemed to blow the man’s mind. “Whaaaat? How can you—Not even as a kid? All kids love Christmas! Oh my god. Did Santa not bring you any gifts? You poor thing…”
I scowled. “Sorry to burst your bubble, but Santa isn’t real. There ain’t no fat man in a sleigh racing reindeer through the sky, making Christmas morning all bright and shiny for boys and girls around the world. It’s all a bunch of consumerism bullshit.”
Joriah gasped and clapped an overdramatic hand to his chest. “Blasphemy! Santa’s in your heart.”
“Haven’t you heard our song? My heart is a wasteland,” I retorted, rolling my eyes. “Can we talk about something else? Anything else, so long as the word Christmas isn’t involved in any way, shape or form. Okay?” I couldn’t help it. Just thinking about it set my teeth on edge. If I didn’t stop grinding them, I’d end up with a full set of dentures by thirty-five.
Joriah opened his mouth to argue, but Mika grabbed his arm with a small shake of his head. The man deflated, like his holiday spirit was all but extinguished because I was bah-humbugging it. Screw it. If they weren’t gonna change the subject, then I was. I opened my mouth to be cut off by Mika, who shot me a quick smile right before launching into his plans for his next tatt.
Saved by the twink.
Somehow, the conv
ersation landed on baking. Mika began to tell Joriah what all he was bringing to Christmas dinner. “It’s always been a tradition in my family to load up on sweets; sugar cookies and peanut brittle and caramel pecan clusters. It’s a miracle we all don’t gain ten pounds in December.” He laughed. “My brother worked as a chocolatier for a year or so and he makes the best homemade candies. I’m bringing cookies, but they don’t even compare. We’re talking melt in your mouth caramels, here. Mmm.”
“Hey, don’t put yourself down,” I told him. “Your caramel apple cookies were to die for, so I can only imagine what your sugar cookies will taste like. I’m getting cavities just thinking about them. Obviously, you got your cooking talent from your mom.”
Mika’s cheeks flushed, but his eyes turned shiny. “I’m nothing special, I just love to bake.”
“Then why don’t you go to culinary school? You already have talent in spades,” I said. “You told me you were still searching for something to do with your life. Why not spend it doing what you love?”
“Chefs don’t make money,” he mumbled.
“So what? Why does it only have to be about money?”
“Coming from the guy who’s loaded.”
“Mika.” I pinned him with a look. He shrugged it off, like it was no big deal.
“My job isn’t the most profitable, but I love what I do. I love seeing my artwork come to life on living canvases.” Joriah set the tattoo gun down on the counter and gently wiped the ink down. Holding Mika’s wrist between two fingers, he studied his work with an almost smug smile. “And what a glorious living canvas you are. It isn’t always all about the money, honey. Trust me.”
“You’re done?” Mika gazed down at his arms, placing them side by side so that he could pour over the brightly-colored tattoos that now stained his skin. I leaned in to admire Joriah’s handiwork and groaned.
“Fucking gorgeous. When can you get me in?”
“After Christmas,” Joriah replied with a nonchalant wave of his hand.
“Book me. The sooner the better.”
“Addict,” Mika said.
I reached over to ruffle his mop of blond hair. “Yep. Ready to go home, lemondrop? It’s snowing like a bitch outside and I’m hungry.” I patted my stomach, which had been grumbling for the past forty-five minutes or so. “Pretty sure there’s leftover take-out in the fridge with my name written all over it.” I started towards the front of the shop.
“I get the lo mein!” Mika called after me.
We stopped to pick up fresh egg rolls and crab rangoon to go with our leftovers. My car smelled like a cheap Chinese joint and damn, if it wasn’t great. I kept sneaking peeks at Mika, who seemed enamored with his new tattoos, smiling to himself, and my heart skipped a beat. He was too cute.
We ate like kings. I waddled to the couch, stuffed to the point of bursting, and flopped down into its cushion-y embrace. Mika ran into the living room and flung himself over the back of the furniture. We both made “oof” sounds when he landed on top of me.
“I’m so full,” he said. “But it was so good.”
“Totally worth the heartburn later, huh?”
He grinned goofily up at me. “Definitely.”
We spent the rest of the day indoors, neither of us too eager to go out into the blustering wind and cold. Winter was definitely in full swing. For shits and giggles, I popped over to the weather channel. Of course, the weatherman was talking about how we were gonna have a white Christmas—possibly the whitest Christmas in over six years. New York was gonna get a buttload of snow.
“Can I ask you something?” Mika mused.
“You just did.”
“Gideon. For real.” He scoffed at me. “It’s about Christmas. You really hate it that much?”
I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply. “Yeah. Guess I do.”
“Your family—”
“Sucks. My family sucks, the end. Look, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t like my family and I don’t like Christmas, and if that makes me the Grinch, well I’m sorry.”
“So…I’m taking it you don’t wanna put up a tree and exchange gifts, then.” I couldn’t not hear the lilt of sadness in his voice. Damn it. I was being a selfish prick. Realizing I wasn’t going to answer, Mika shrugged it off. “It’s okay if you don’t.”
“No it’s not,” I uttered. “It means something to you.”
“It does. Christmas has always been a big deal for my family. It was Dad’s favorite holiday and he always went whole-hog on decorating, lights on the house, inflatable reindeer outside—the whole nine yards. He even dressed up as Santa Claus one year for a charity thing. Some kid couldn’t contain his excitement and peed on him.” His laugh was breathy. “Ruined the crushed velvet slacks he was renting. Never got his deposit back.”
“He sounds nice.”
Mika’s eyes went soft. “He was. He was the kindest man in the world, a good father. I miss him.”
“Would it make you happy? I can’t promise you I won’t hate it, but… If it’ll make you happy, we’ll get a tree and decorate it. Try to inject a little holiday spirit into this place, but only if you promise to bake me Christmas cookies,” I said firmly.
“Let’s kiss on it. Make it official.”
I puckered my lips. “Lay it on me, sugar.”
18
Mika
I’d always loved Christmas. I loved everything about the holidays—the music, the festive vibes, the lights, the decorations. Oh, the decorations…
I had so many good memories tucked away inside the photo album of my mind, memories of me and Dad hanging Christmas lights in the middle of a snowstorm because he was too stubborn to call it quits; memories of us in puffy coats and gloves, rolling lopsided snowmen with soggy scarfs and carrots for noses.
It was his favorite time of year and I didn’t want to waste the Christmas magic being sad. I missed him, but he’d want me to celebrate in his memory, so that was what I’d do.
I still couldn’t believe that Gideon was so dead-set against the holidays. I mean, really? Who could hate Christmas? The only thing I could guess was that his childhood was so bad that it’d scarred him for life or something. Still, the fact that he was willing to put up with me and my festive ways made me smile.
He was trying, and that was good enough for me.
One of the things my family always did—a tradition, of sorts—was bundle up and go driving through the city at night, to see the massive murals of lights hung on the tallest buildings. They were works of art. It always felt so magical with the snowflakes drifting down onto our windshield, illuminated by the glow of the street lamps.
Afterwards, we’d come home and Ma would make a pot of steaming hot cocoa and we’d sit around the table playing card games and laughing. Those were the days. Sometimes, I really missed being a kid. I missed being surrounded by the warmth and love of my family. We didn’t see each other nearly as often as we should’ve.
Maybe my New Year’s resolution would be to make more time for them.
Gideon was at band practice, so I had the entire apartment to myself. I paused in the middle of the living room and looked around Gideon’s place. My hoodie was flung over the back of his couch, where our blankets from the night before lay crumpled in a heap. On the coffee table sat our Starbucks cups and a big plastic bowl of popcorn kernels.
I’d really made myself at home, hadn’t I? My good mood faltered. Christmas would be here all too soon and then all of this would be just another memory. My chest clenched at the thought. I lay my palm flat over my heart and closed my eyes. Breathe in. Breathe out. Memories were a good thing. Who else could say they’d spent the holidays with a rockstar, huh?
But I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.
“It’s not over till the fat lady sings,” I muttered out loud, squaring my shoulders. No. I would cherish every last day I spent with Gideon. I would remember this for the rest of my life, but I wasn’t going to take that on. Not today. There would be time fo
r sadness later.
I picked up the living room and tossed the trash in the bin, then dialed Ma’s number. It rang twice before she picked up with a jolly, “Hello, darling!” that made my cheeks ache from smiling so big. Man, it was good to hear her voice. “To what do I owe this honor? Or are you just calling to chat?”
“I’m not allowed to miss my Ma?” I countered.
“I suppose I can allow that. I miss you too, honey. What’s up?”
I sat down at the kitchen table and we chatted about a little bit of everything. When my ear started going numb from holding the phone against it, I said, “Hey, I gotta let you go, but before I do, do you happen to have your cocoa recipe handy?”
“You know, I just saw that the other day when I was flipping through my recipe book. Give me a sec.” I listened to her shuffle through papers before she crowed, “Aha! Success. Got a pen handy?”
I snagged Gideon’s notebook off the table and flipped to the back, then uncapped a purple pen. “Yep, let me have it.” She recited the recipe and I wrote it down, step by step. I could practically smell it bubbling on the stovetop. “Thanks, Ma. Your cocoa is gonna hit the spot.”
“Make sure to save some for that man of yours,” she teased. “Gotta get him addicted to my cooking so he keeps coming around.”
“Pretty sure you sank your claws into him with that deep-fried turkey.” I laughed out loud. Gideon had only brought up Ma’s cooking about ten times since Thanksgiving. I guess she’d made an impression on him. “Alright. Love you, Ma. Talk to you soon.”
“You’d better, boy-child.” She kissed into the phone and I hung up, my mood restored. Good old Ma. I stuck my phone in my pocket and ripped the sheet of paper free from the notebook, skimming over it.
Cocoa, sugar, milk, vanilla, marshmallows. I was pretty sure Gideon had none of those things. I did a cursory glance through his cabinets and found a small bag of sugar, but his milk was sour. I made a face and dumped it down the drain. Guess I was going shopping.