by Annie Harper
Marcus closed his eyes in an attempt to calm his anger. Light flashed behind his eyelids with each beat of his heart. “I told you Sarge opens the tree farm at ten o’clock, and he said people line up for hours beforehand all up and down the highway so they can pick out the best trees. And now that we’re late getting there, all the good ones will probably be picked, and we’ll be stuck with some scrawny thing that isn’t much better than that pine-scented air freshener hanging in your truck.” Marcus jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the bay window that faced the driveway.
“I don’t have a pine-scented air freshener,” Hank grumbled. “And I don’t know why you don’t just go down to Ginsburg’s Drugstore and buy a fake one.”
“No!” Marcus spun on his heels to face Hank. “It has to be a live tree. Gracious Living says it has to be a live tree. You just don’t understand.” He kicked the leg of a dining chair to slide it back under the table, pouted, and stared at his shoes.
“Clearly, I don’t.” Hank rolled his eyes, dropped the clumps of wax he had picked onto the table, and stood. “But if it makes you feel any better, I was late because I was picking up your present. Not that you deserve anything more than a lump of coal with the way you’re showing your ass today. I forgot how obnoxious you are when you’re sleepy.”
Marcus jerked his head up and stared at Hank. “My present?” He groaned. “See, that is exactly what I’m talking about. Everything needs to be memorable and perfect when you give it to me. I wanted my house to be a winter wonderland when you proposed to me, not looking like a glittery toxic dump with a fake tree and some ticky-tacky decorations flung up.”
“Marcus.” Hank threw his hands up. “What does it matter what your house looks like when I give you… wait… when I what?”
“I’m sorry the surprise was ruined, but I know all about the ring. I found the receipt in your drawer on Thanksgiving. And you were talking about swapping keys and moving clothes, and I just knew what you were up to. And this is a story we will tell the rest of our lives, so I wanted it to be perfect and have really classy—”
Hank ran his fingers through his thick, brown hair and let out a short, frustrated snort. “What are you talking about?”
“I wanted it to be as beautiful as the town square was that night when I finally got my head out of my ass and danced with you. You know, the first night we… But everything in that magazine is a lot harder to make than it looks in the pictures. And I can’t get anything done right. And everything is just ruined.” Marcus waved his hands frantically around his head.
“Fiat, listen to me.” Hank stood and grabbed Marcus’s wrists to stop his flailing. “Calm down. I’m not proposing to you for Christmas.”
“And the Do-Nothings told me I should be sure to use…” Marcus’s voice trailed off as Hank’s words sank in. He pulled his hands free from Hank’s grasp. “You’re… not? But the receipt from Jeffrey’s Jewelers. I told the girls about it, and they agreed with me that it had to be… well, not Francine. But Helen said everyone goes there to buy… oh, God.” Marcus pulled the chair out from the table and dropped onto it. His cheeks grew hot as he leaned his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands.
“No,” Hank said calmly. “I’m not proposing. You really want me to propose to you?”
“Oh, shit. I just thought with how close we have grown and the talk of house keys and…” His words trailed off as he lifted his head to the piles of half-finished decorations littering the usually immaculate house. A wreath of wilted magnolia leaves and half-dead fruit rested limply against the wall by the front door. The garlands he had woven around the picture frames on the piano had slipped and dangled askew along the keys. A light haze of smoke still hung through the house. He glanced at his feet and the shards of the broken ornaments lying beside the tattered pages of the magazine. Marcus dropped his head onto his crossed arms on the table. A cloud of gold and silver glitter wafted up and sprinkled down onto Marcus’s red hair. “Fine. Just leave, you Grinch. I was trying to…”
Hank took a deep breath and sighed. “Fiat, sit right there. And for God’s sake, don’t try to decorate another thing.”
Marcus groaned and said, “Well, fa-la-la-la, shit.” Tears stung at the corners of his eyes.
The front door creaked open and closed with a faint click. Marcus lifted his face in response to the sound and stared out the window at Hank’s truck. Hank crossed in front of the window, paused for a moment to look to the sky, and ran his fingers through his dark hair in the way he did when he was in deep thought. He pulled out his phone and dialed. After a short conversation that involved some angry looks and hand waving, he hung up the phone shoved it back in his pocket. He opened the passenger’s side door of his truck and snatched something off the seat. He slammed the car door and walked back to the house.
Marcus dropped his head to avoid eye contact as Hank walked back in. A small box wrapped in bright-red paper and a glittery gold bow dropped on the table in front of him. Marcus stared at the package, unsure of what to say or do.
“Merry Christmas,” Hank said as he sat beside Marcus.
Fighting back tears, Marcus raised his head and looked at Hank. His voice cracked as he said, “But Christmas isn’t for another week. I don’t have a gift for you yet. And look at what a mess this house—”
Hank placed a finger on Marcus’s lips. “Fiat, just listen to me for a second. Then I want you to open it.” He slid the package away and took Marcus’s hands in his. He locked eyes with Marcus and took a deep breath. “I’m not too sure what is going on here. I don’t know if those old broads of yours put all of this into your head. I don’t know if it’s because Christmas kind of sucked for you as a kid. Maybe this is some attempt to create a fantasy you’ve always had. I have no idea where this is all coming from, but I don’t think you really want me to propose to you.”
Marcus opened his mouth to reply, but Hank silenced him with a shake of his head.
“You acted surprised when I suggested leaving a toothbrush and some clothes at my apartment, like the thought of even living together never occurred to you. Hell, just a few months ago, you were seriously thinking about selling this house and running away from here.”
Marcus nodded and whispered, “But I didn’t.”
“No. You didn’t. And I’m so glad you stayed. Because I do love you, Marcus.” Hank lifted a hand and rested it softly on Marcus’s cheek. “All of you. Happy you. Sad you. Sexy you. Even the nutjob you sitting beside me right now. And I will still love you even when you explain where all this decorating frenzy is coming from. I will love you even if you act like this every December. Okay?”
Marcus blinked hard, blushed, and leaned against Hank’s warm hand. “Okay.”
“Good. I want you to remember that I love you when you open that gift and I don’t propose to you.” Hank took his hand away from Marcus’s face and slid the box over to him. “Go ahead.”
Marcus’s hands shook as he grabbed the ends of the frilly bow and pulled in opposite directions to untie it. He nudged the paper away to reveal a velvet-covered jewelry box. He swallowed the lump in his throat and took a deep breath before easing the top of the box open. He peeked inside and gasped. In the box lay a large golden ring. Attached to it were a small gold locket engraved with the letter “M” and a single key. “Oh, my God. It is a ring.” Marcus threw his head back and laughed. “A key ring.” He fidgeted with the locket clasp until it popped open. Inside were black and white photographs of two smiling faces. Marcus moved closer to the box to inspect the pictures. “That’s my grandmother and my father!”
“Yes,” Hank said. “Those pictures are to remind you that your family is always with you. Even when they aren’t here anymore. The key may get you into a house, but a family is what makes it a home. And I really want you to consider me a part of your family.” Hank pulled the key ring out of the box. He took Marcus’s h
and, opened his palm, and placed the key in it. “Look, Fiat, I’m not asking you for forever right now. Just say you want to be in my house more often, okay?”
Marcus stared at the key in his hand until a smile crept across his face. He beamed at Hank. “I do.” He leaned forward and pulled Hank into a long, slow kiss. He sat back and rubbed the key between his fingers. “Yes, I do.”
“All right. Now about this Christmas madness.” Hank bent over to retrieve the Gracious Living from the floor. He held it in front of Marcus. “This is not what Christmas is about.” He tossed the magazine toward the trash can, and it landed on the tile floor with a harsh smack. “Christmas isn’t trees and wreaths and ribbons and cakes. Christmas is about being with the people you love and remembering the ones who are no longer here. Christmas is about family.”
Marcus ran his finger over the picture of his grandmother in the locket. “Family.”
“Yes.” Hank gestured at the boxes scattered around the room. “All the rest is just stuff.”
“Pretty stuff,” Marcus said as he set the key ring on the table and lifted one of his grandmother’s snowflake ornaments. He let it twirl and sparkle in the morning sun.
“Fine. Pretty stuff.” Hank grabbed Marcus’s other hand and placed it on his chest, “But this. You and me. Being together is what matters, okay?”
“Okay.” Marcus rested his head on Hank’s shoulder. He let out a long sigh as he lifted his hand higher to make the ornament catch more light. He shifted his head, looked up into Hank’s face, and gave his best puppy dog eyes. “But can we still get a tree?”
Before Hank answered, someone pounded on the door. “That will have to wait,” Hank said as he jumped from his chair and went to open the door. He stood with his hands on his hips and forced an exaggerated frown at the people standing outside. “Ladies, how about you get in here and fix this.”
The Do-Nothings shuffled into the house one at a time with their heads lowered and faces fixed in sheepish scowls. Helen clutched a large wreath. Inez followed with a tray of cookies balanced on her hands. Priscilla waddled behind with an old CD player swinging by her side. Francine trailed carrying a plastic bucket with a feather duster, several rags, and a bottle of window cleaner poking over the top.
“Oh, Honey,” Helen said as she tossed the wreath onto the sofa and threw her arms around Marcus’s neck. “Hank called and told us what a mess we might have created.” She released Marcus from her hug and bowed her head. “I’m sorry if I made you feel like you had to do all of this stuff. You know me. I just get my mouth going, and my brain gets left out. But don’t you worry. The cavalry is here!”
“We forget not everyone has been doing this crap since Jesus was a child,” Inez said with a loud laugh. “You know that garland can be tricky stuff.” She set the cookies on the counter before rushing over to the piano and rearranging the greenery that drooped from the back.
Priscilla put the CD player on the table. “Nothing will make the work go faster than some good Christmas music.” She hit a button on the front of the player, and the room filled with the sounds of sleigh bells ringing and a choir singing. Her bouffant bobbed in time with the music as she wobbled around the table and began to gather the few unbroken ornaments against her chest. “We’ll be needing these. Francine called Sarge, and he’s bringing a tree a little later.”
Francine crossed to Marcus and put the bucket on the floor. She pulled him to her side and rubbed his back. “So? You engaged?”
Marcus shook his head and pointed at the key ring lying on the kitchen table. “No. Key ring. Not engagement ring.” He smiled at Francine’s confused look. “And it’s perfect. I’ll explain later.”
Francine wrinkled her brow. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, ma’am, I am.” Marcus chuckled as Hank and the Do-Nothings scurried and danced about the house. Discarded lengths of fabric disappeared into boxes. Decorations found homes. The wreath moved from the sofa to the front door. His home began to transform. Marcus turned up the music and took Francine into his arms. He began to dance her around the kitchen and sang along with the music. Francine’s laughter rang in his ears as he spun her out in a careless whirl. “I’m more than okay. I’m going to have a real Christmas.” Marcus retrieved the Gracious Living magazine from the floor near the trash can. He stared wistfully at the cake on the cover. He shifted his gaze from the picture to his friends laughing and singing in the living room. He tossed the magazine into the garbage. “A real Christmas.”
* * *
About the Author: Killian B. Brewer lives in his life-long home of Georgia with his partner and their dog. He has written poetry and short fiction since he was knee-high to a grasshopper. Brewer earned a BA in English and does not use this degree in his job in the banking industry. He has a love of greasy diner food that borders on obsessive. Lunch with the Do-Nothings at the Tammy Dinette was published in January, 2017. His debut novel, The Rules of Ever After, is available from Duet Books, the young adult imprint of Interlude Press.
True North
by Pene Henson
Even for Los Angeles, it was unseasonably warm. A winter sunset outlined the balcony railings in gold. Shay Allen leaned against the sliding doors to look out across the city. Beyond her, palm trees and nearby apartment buildings were hazy silhouettes against the orange sky; below, a ribbon of taillights stretched along the street and disappeared.
The evening was flawless. This was what she’d hoped for in spending Christmas at home.
Shay’s phone buzzed in her shorts’ pocket. Her stomach twisted and twisted again with each new buzz. It was about the ninety-sixth time her agent had called in the hours since they’d landed.
“The man sure is persistent,” she said when the buzzing stopped at last.
“That’s why you employed him. Persistence makes for a good agent.” Shay’s closest friend and teammate, Devon Washington, was stretched out to her full six foot five inches on Shay’s new faux leather lounge. “Persistence and that face. It’s hard for some folks to say no to a man who looks that good.”
Shay shrugged. Manny wasn’t her type, but he was gorgeous.
“It’s probably nothing. Maybe he wants to take you to lunch while you’re in town. Chat about the Euroleague championships.”
Shay wrinkled her nose. She didn’t want to talk to Manny about Europe at all.
With her season as starter for the LA Sparks over, Shay had signed with Ekaterinburg for another well-compensated winter on the Russian Women’s Basketball Premier League’s foremost team. She liked the club and the fans. She didn’t like Russia’s stand on LGBT rights, and Ekaterinburg wasn’t a safe place to be out, but she didn’t plan to hold hands on the street. Plus, it was hard to turn down the salary. Shay may have been a star in the WNBA, but no career in sports was forever. Making enough in salary supplements while she could was crucial.
Shay could have spent this mid-season break seeing more of Europe: Prague’s delicate wonderland, Amsterdam’s dazzling Christmas lights. She could have visited Santa in Lapland if magic and reindeer and glistening snow were her thing. But the mild Los Angeles weather had called. She’d taken the long flight home, where she could avoid both the snow and her coach.
But she couldn’t avoid her agent.
Shay’s phone rang again.
“Hand it over, kid,” said Devon. “I’ll talk to Manny. He likes me.”
Shay rolled her eyes, pulled the phone from her pocket and tossed it over. Devon didn’t sit up, but simply reached out and plucked it from the air with one hand. It buzzed again as she flipped it over to see the screen.
“That does not look like Manny,” she said. She turned the screen to show Shay the picture. “It’s your mom.”
“God.” Shay lunged toward the couch and grabbed the phone from Devon. She sent the call to voice mail. Her mother’s anxiously smiling face faded to black.
“Dude,” Devon protested.
Shay held up her hands. “Don’t ‘dude’ me. I can’t talk to Mom right now. She’ll ask me to come home for Christmas. And with all this going on—look, my mama’s stubborn, and I’m exhausted. My defenses are down. I won’t be able to say no.” Shay slid the phone into her pocket and leaned against the door frame again. The sun warmed her shoulder. A horn blared from a car down in the street; a louder honk blasted in reply.
“Your mama’s not the only one who’s stubborn,” Devon said. “Want me to tell you what I reckon?”
Shay folded her arms across her body.
Devon grinned. “That’s a yes, then.” She pointed at Shay. “You, Shay Allen, star of the WNBA, are in a slump. It’s not surprising. You’ve been on this treadmill for seven years. And slumps happen. You know that, Coach knows that, Manny knows that. Every ball player who’s anyone has scoring slumps. Me included. It won’t last forever.”
Shay chewed her lower lip and met Devon’s dark brown eyes. “I’m under twelve points a game.”
“I know you are.” Devon bent her arm behind her head as a headrest as she considered Shay.
“Under twelve points, Devon. In Russia. The club pays me six times my WNBA salary. It flies us around in charter planes and puts us up in fancy hotels and gives us flashy jewelry I don’t even wear. When we were Euroleague champions they gave me a Fabergé egg. They don’t give me all that stuff to be decorative. I need to earn my keep.”
“It doesn’t work that way. Everyone understands that.”
“Then why’s Manny calling me?”
Devon fell silent.
Shay looked out the window again. The sun was heavy and rust-colored at the horizon. The traffic hadn’t dissipated. “I’m gonna lose the contract,” she said.