by Annie Harper
“I guess I could hang those and let you have that drawer,” Hank said from the kitchen. “While we’re at it, maybe I should get you a key. Keep me from having to go down all those stairs and let you in every time you come over.”
“A key? That would be…” Marcus paused as fancy blue lettering across the top of the paper caught his eye. Jeffrey’s Jewelers. “…convenient,” he mumbled as his eyes quickly scanned the receipt. Two words leaped off the page. Gold Ring. Marcus shifted his gaze from the paper toward Hank; his mouth opened in shock. Hank’s back was turned. He scoured the receipt and noted it was dated the previous day. At the bottom was scrawled must be complete before Christmas.
“Maybe Santa will bring you a key,” Hank said with his back still turned to Marcus as he vigorously stirred something in a bowl. “If you’re a good boy. Did you find a shirt?”
“Yes,” Marcus said in a whisper, the heart pounding in his ears nearly drowning out the sound of his voice. Guilt gnawed at his stomach as he shoved the receipt back into the drawer and pushed it closed as quietly as possible. “I found something.”
“Well, hurry up. The food is going to get cold.”
Marcus threw the T-shirt over his shoulder and scurried into the bathroom. Oh, my God. He closed the door behind him. Gold Ring. Gold Ring. The words repeated over and over in his head, and he had to steady himself against the sink. Could it be? He placed his hand against the porcelain and leaned close to the mirror to look into his eyes. But it’s so soon. He took several deep breaths to slow his beating heart. We’ve only been dating… He pulled his sweaty work shirt from his trim shoulders and let it drop to the floor. Is he ready for that? Am I ready for that? He turned on the water in the sink, let it run for a second, and then splashed some on his face. He did mention keys and moving clothes. Marcus stared at his reflection. Water dripped from his red eyebrows and the tip of his nose. A broad smile spread across his freckled face. I’m getting proposed to for Christmas!
Marcus jumped as Hank pounded on the door. “Everything okay in there? Food’s getting cold.”
“Yeah,” Marcus replied. A Christmas engagement. He grabbed the towel from the back of the door and dried his face. It would be awfully romantic. He slipped his arms into Hank’s T-shirt and pulled it over his head. The large shirt hung loosely around his thin body. If the setting is just right. He fussed with his hair in the mirror and then took a deep breath. Gold ring. Golden Ring. Just like the Tammy Wynette song. “Tammy Wynette!” he said aloud and pushed himself back from the sink. He fished his phone out of his pocket and began pecking out a text message on the screen.
To Helen: Gather Do-Nothings tomorrow. Emergency meeting. Need help. And bring that Christmas magazine!
He nodded once at the phone and smiled. My first real Christmas will be the best Christmas ever.
Chapter Three
“Are you sure it said ‘ring’?” Francine asked as she stepped into Marcus’s grandmother’s house and let the screen door slam shut behind her. She dropped the heavy cardboard box she was carrying behind Marcus’s blue plaid couch in one of the few spots the Do-Nothings had not filled with overflowing bags, boxes, and bins of decorations. “Maybe you read it wrong.”
“No. It definitely said ‘ring,’” Marcus said over his shoulder as he squatted to open the box. “What’s in this one?”
“It’s just some old decorations from the diner.” Francine braced herself against the back of the couch and slowly knelt beside Marcus. She pulled a huge, red bow out of the box. She shook it back and forth in her hand and tried to mold the velveteen ribbon back into its proper shape. “It got a little squished. I don’t know if you can use any of this junk, but it’s yours if you want it. If you don’t, just donate it to Brother Marty’s.”
“No offense, but that’s kind of tacky.” Marcus took the bow and shoved it back in the box. “I’m going for pure class. I want this place to look amazing.”
“Wise choice passing on that bow, honey,” Helen opined from a bar stool at the kitchen island behind them. Another box lay open beside her, and she had spread yard after yard of glittering gold and silver garland across the counter top. Her diamond earring and a bit of glitter stuck to her cheek sparkled in the morning light as she shook her head. “Primary colors are so three-Christmases-ago.”
“I just can’t figure out what Hank is thinking. It seems a little soon to me. Y’all haven’t been dating that long,” Francine said as she pulled the bow back out of the box. “And this bow was very expensive, Helen. Thank you very much.”
“What does it matter how long they’ve been dating?” Inez said as she walked out of the hallway. She tugged at the elastic waistband of her purple Capri pants to pull them farther up her waist. “When you know, you know. By the way, Sweetheart, you are out of air freshener in that bathroom.” She walked to the dining table and began pulling glass balls out of another box and sorting them into piles. “Elbert and I dated for less than a year before we got hitched. And Marcus is right; a Christmas proposal would be really romantic. Shit, am I supposed to be grouping these by color or size?”
“You and Elbert knew each other since kindergarten.” Francine shrugged and said, “I think Marcus should take a little time to—”
Helen spun around on the stool to face Marcus and Francine. “Just because your first two marriages were disasters doesn’t mean everybody has to be as wary as you.” She crossed her arms over her chest and grimaced. “Hank Hudson is a good man and you know it. And what a wonderful excuse to do some good, old-fashioned decorating!”
“I’m not saying he isn’t a good man. And if y’all are just going to keep insulting me, then I’m going to—”
“Francine, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way. I just don’t understand why you can’t be excited for Marcus.” She spun back to the box and rummaged around, humming an off-key rendition of Jingle Bells.
“Would you say this is more blue or green?” Inez asked as she held up a large teal ball. “I’m going blue.” She dropped the ball onto a pile and reached into the box for another. “You know, Francine’s got me thinking, though. Maybe the ring isn’t for you?”
Marcus dropped the string of lights he was trying to untangle and stared at Inez. “Who the hell else would he be buying a ring for?”
“Maybe his mother?” Inez shrugged and placed a red ball in another pile.
“He doesn’t speak to his mother since she kicked him out for being gay.” Marcus picked the lights up and began snatching at the tangle of wires and bulbs. “It has to be for me. Ugh, this is hopeless.” He flung the strand of lights toward the garbage can sitting at the end of the kitchen island.
“Easy, now.” Francine placed a hand on Marcus’s upper arm and rubbed lightly. “Don’t blow a gasket. Christmas is supposed to be fun.”
“Maybe it’s just a friendship ring,” Inez suggested. “Do you gays do that? Friendship rings?”
“Oh, good lord, Inez.” Helen closed the box in front of her and slid it to the side. She pulled over another box and opened it. “The receipt was from Jeffrey’s Jewelers.” She began pulling wads of newspaper out of the top of the box. “Everyone knows you buy engagement rings from Jeffrey’s. If Hank wanted some cheap little trinket, he would have gone to… Bingo!” she yelled as she pulled an intricate lace snowflake ornament out of the box. “I knew your grandmother’s ornaments were in here somewhere!”
Marcus jumped from the floor and took the ornament from Helen. “Wow! Oh, wow,” he said in a breathy voice as he held the lacy snowflake up and let it spin on its string. The ornament was made of fine white thread twisted and knitted into a myriad of small lines and angles, spreading out from a simple silver-star pattern in the center. Iridescent thread interspersed with the white caught the light and twinkled with each pivot at the end of the satin ribbon tied at the top. The entire snowflake had been starched to make it hold its shape. �
��This is beautiful. And you said my grandmother made it?”
“Of course,” Francine said as she tried to rise from the floor. She rocked back and forth and let out a groan. “Jesus, my knees. Inez, come help me up.”
“Eloise was a whiz with anything that involved a needle,” Inez said as she grabbed Francine’s arm and pulled her off the floor with a grunt. “She tatted those things way back before your granddaddy died. She’d use them every year.”
“Matter of fact,” Helen added, “she made by hand most of the Christmas presents she gave people.” She pulled another snowflake from the box. “Usually those homemade gifts are a bit meh, but Eloise was an artist. I’ve still got everything she ever made me.”
“She’d be so proud of you doing all of this hard work to make her house look pretty,” Inez said. “I mean your house. Oh, I wish you could’ve seen it when she had it all decorated. It was absolutely gorgeous.” Her face grew darker, and her lip trembled as she stared at the ornament. She whipped around and returned to her sorting project. She mumbled, “You have to put that on your tree.”
“Speaking of,” Francine said as she returned to her pile of ornaments on the table, “when are you getting your tree?”
“Oh,” Marcus said as he let the snowflake twist and turn from the tip of his finger, “they had some decent fake ones at Ginsberg’s pharmacy. That’s where I got the one I used in the garage lobby. I’ll probably go this afternoon and—”
“Fake tree!” Helen gasped. “You are most certainly not putting these beautiful ornaments on a fake tree.” She took the snowflake from Marcus’s finger and set it gingerly on the counter. “Your buddy Sarge has beautiful trees on that farm of his that he sells at a fair price. Simply everyone gets their trees from Sarge.”
“But aren’t they messy?” Marcus asked. “And kind of a pain to deal with?”
“I insist you use a live tree,” Helen said with a firm nod of her head. “Eloise would turn over in her grave if you brought a fake tree into this house. She always used a live one, and you should too.”
“Now y’all hush about Eloise,” Inez mumbled from the table. She placed another green ball into a pile and stepped away with a sniffle. “You’re going to get me crying, and then I’ll be no good to nobody. Lord, I miss that woman.”
Helen hopped off the barstool and grabbed Inez by her arm. “Why don’t you come with me over to Priss’s house? She couldn’t find anybody to sit with the reverend and she’s got a nativity set for Marcus.” She began tugging the other woman toward the front door. “We can also get some bunches of magnolia leaves out of my yard, so Marcus can make that wreath for the front door.” She snapped her fingers and hurried back over to the couch. “I almost forgot!” She reached into her large purse and pulled out a thick, glossy magazine. “Ta-da! Here it is. The bible. Gracious Living Magazine.” Helen handed it over to Marcus with a flourish. “The directions for the wreath are on page ninety-seven. I’m sure you can figure it out.”
Marcus was shocked at the weight of the magazine. It appeared to be at least three hundred pages long, far thicker than the Marathon phonebook on his kitchen counter. He scanned the glossy cover, and knitted his brows as he read. A decadent-looking cake with white frosting and delicate decorations adorned the cover under deep-red lettering that read Gracious Living Magazine: For Southern Homes with Taste. Glittery ornaments and shiny ribbons curled about the base of the cake. Several headlines promised Marcus “the best eggnog recipe ever with no alcohol required” and “proper poinsettia care” and “homemade gift tags that will wow your guests.” Marcus dropped the glossy tome onto the dining table, where it landed with a thud and made the pile of glass balls Inez had abandoned there jostle and scatter. Marcus barely caught one before it rolled off the edge of the table.
“You just let that be your guide,” Helen crowed, “and you’ll have this place whipped into shape in no time. It’ll be the perfect spot for your man to get down on one knee.”
“Oooh!” Inez squealed from the doorway and clapped her hands in front of her face like an excited child. “I’m so excited I could spit. Marathon’s first gay wedding. And right here on our street! We’re going to have so much fun planning that!”
“I’ll have to dig out my Gracious Living wedding issues!” Helen bustled to the door and shoved Inez into the yard. “Let’s get moving. Marcus has a lot to do!” The two women trotted down the sidewalk chattering and giggling.
Marcus laughed as he closed the door behind them. He turned to find Francine sitting on a stool at the counter with her arms crossed and a worried look on her face. “Those women are nuts,” Marcus said as he sat on the stool beside her.
“Shoe Button,” Francine said and placed her hand on top of Marcus’s, “don’t let those busybodies talk you into doing something you aren’t ready to do.”
Marcus twisted his face in confusion. “What do you mean? I definitely want to decorate for Christmas. I never had anything like this when I was growing up.” Marcus plucked a piece of the garland from the counter and twirled it in his fingers. “You think my Thanksgivings were sad? Christmas was the same thing. Mama always worked. We never had a tree or stockings or any of that stuff. And I always got clothes or maybe some book or toy she found cheap at a yard sale—something we could throw in the truck when she decided it was time to move on to a new town.” Marcus dropped the garland and frowned. “It sucked.”
Francine squeezed his hand. “Honey, that is not what I’m talking –”
“Don’t you see?” Marcus cocked his head and kicked at the counter. “I finally have a real home. And I want to have a real Christmas. The tree. The lights. The whole shebang. Just think about it, Francine. Getting proposed to in front of a massive Christmas tree with sparkling ornaments and twinkling lights and a big, old, beautiful star on top.”
“Sweetie, you sound more interested in the tree than the proposal.”
Marcus scoffed and shot a hurt look at Francine. “No. That’s not true.” His cheeks burned bright red, and he dropped his chin to stare at his hands as he fiddled with the garland. “But can’t I have both?”
“Marcus, listen to me.” Francine grabbed his chin and raised his face to look him in the eye. “Christmas is one day a year. Marriage is three hundred and sixty-five. Have you even considered what you’re going to answer?”
Marcus stared at her and blinked twice; his confusion at her question clouded his eyes. “I don’t know. I’ll figure that out when he asks.” He waved her question away and spun on the stool to face the piles of boxes in his living room. “I’ve got other things to think about right now.” He hopped down and hurried around the end of the couch. “Like, should I put the tree over here by the windows or back there by the piano?” He stood in the center of the room and turned back and forth to judge the advantages of each location. “I’d have to stick those chairs in the spare room if I put it over there.”
Francine edged herself off the stool and dropped to the floor with a sigh. She glanced at her watch, then back at Marcus. “Honey, I better get going. I promised Georgette I’d help her paint the windows at the Tammy. We’ve got a contest to win.”
“Uh huh,” Marcus muttered as he opened a white plastic garbage bag on the coffee table and began pulling fake evergreen garlands out by the handful. He draped one around his neck and flung one end over his shoulder like a feather boa. He shimmied and twirled the ends of the garland toward the mirror that hung over the piano.
Francine shook her head and sighed again. “I’ll see you at the diner tomorrow morning.” She walked to the front door and paused with her hand on the handle. “Marcus, think about what I said. Only twenty-eight days left.”
“To shop?” Marcus asked and giggled as he turned to one side, cocked his shoulder up, and winked at his reflection. “Merry Christmas, Mister President,” he sang in a whispery imitation of Marilyn Monroe. He pouted his lips and ble
w his reflection a kiss. He leaned closer to the mirror to inspect the dark circles under his blue eyes. His excitement over the Christmas decorating had kept him awake late into the night making plans. His face, which he always thought looked too boyish with his freckles and upturned nose, was puffy and tired. Girl, you look a mess.
Dismissing the thought, Marcus whipped off the garland and began arranging it around the picture frames that sat on the back of the piano. “Francine, do you think this looks…” He glanced up to an empty room. “Oh, you left.” Marcus shrugged and pulled another length of garland from the bag. As he wove the strand of prickly green foliage along the back of the piano, he sang at the top of his lungs, “In a one-horse open sleigh!”
Chapter Four
“Fa la la dee da,” Marcus sang, as he dropped a delicate marzipan holly leaf onto a perfect peak of snow-white frosting on top of the red velvet cake that sat on his grandmother’s cut-crystal cake stand. He used a toothpick to spear two red fondant holly berries and slid them precisely into place at the base of the green leaf. As he discarded the toothpick onto the kitchen counter, he used his other hand to twist the cake stand and inspect the cake from all sides. The frosting had covered divinely, just as the magazine recipe had promised. He scooped the cake stand off the counter and spun around to the island that separated his small kitchen from the living room. The ties of the emerald velvet apron, onto which he’d appliqued poinsettia flowers earlier in the day, fluttered behind his waist as he gracefully twirled twice. He sat the cake stand on the island beside the dozen small trays of sugar cookies, fruitcake slices, and brownies that were scattered among fragrant boughs of fresh cut pine splayed down the center of the island. He nudged one tray of powdered sugar-covered cookies slightly to the left until it was symmetrical with the other trays. He leaned over the counter and inhaled deeply; the smells of sugar and spice made his head spin. “Mmm,” he sighed in contentment.