The Probability of Mistletoe

by E. J. Russell

  “Why, no, Todd.” Parker let a hard edge creep into his tone. “I don’t. Perhaps you could spell it out—for both of us.”

  Todd glanced over his shoulder. “You know. You. Me. As much Dom Pérignon as you want. A car at your disposal. Not a Beemer, but an Audi at the very least.”

  Parker canted one eyebrow. “Almost nothing’s too good for me, eh?”

  “You got it, baby.” Todd’s grin turned cocky as he rocked back on his heels, the smug idiot.

  To keep from smacking him upside the head, Parker shifted his gaze away, and there was Keith, right behind Todd’s shoulder. God, he looked just the same—tall and gangly, his dark hair overlong and curling around his ears.

  Although Parker had just been fuming over how everyone had stayed the same, he was half-afraid that Keith would have changed. Parker wanted the old Keith—the one who snarked with him about ridiculous high school social politics, who baked Parker a birthday cake with his age calculated in nanoseconds piped in bilious green frosting, who built odd little bots out of electronic scraps and Legos and left them inside Parker’s locker, somehow on the days when he needed them most.

  Parker adjusted his blazer, his cheeks aching with the width of his grin. “You came.” And here I am, strategically placed near the mistletoe. Keith nodded, cutting a glance at Todd, who still lurked at Parker’s side. “You got new glasses.” They were narrow rectangles, bordering on trendy. Parker missed the old ones.

  Keith touched the frames as if he were trying to remember what they looked like, and Parker’s heart constricted. I’ll bet he let the optician pick them out for him. “Yeah. Couple of times, I guess.”

  “‘Kith’? Seriously?” Todd snorted. “Figures.”

  Keith frowned at Todd’s hand on Parker’s arm. Parker shook it off but smiled for Keith’s benefit, his heart pattering in time with the driving beat of the music. “So. Want to dance?”

  “No.” Then Keith turned around. And walked out.

  “Jesus,” Todd muttered. “Is that guy for real? Talk about rude.”

  “Oh, shut up, Todd.”

  Parker rushed across the room and followed Keith into the foyer, where Brianna was still forcing badges and raffle tickets onto hapless reunionees. He was just in time to see Keith rip his name tag off his lapel and rifle it into the trash can under Brianna’s reproachful gaze.

  “Keith. Hey, Keith!” Parker grabbed his arm before he could disappear out the door. “Come on, please don’t go. Did I freak you out by asking you to dance? I know you know how. I taught you myself.”

  Keith glanced down at Parker’s hand, his shoulders rising with a quick breath. When he looked up, a smile quivered on his mouth but then faded as he focused on something beyond Parker’s shoulder. Parker followed the direction of his gaze.

  Not something. Someone. Todd, dang it, was loitering in the doorway, a contemptuous smirk on his face.

  Keith pressed his lips together and shook his head. “I should have known better. This was a bad idea.”

  “What? Coming to the reunion?”

  Keith barked a laugh. “That doesn’t take rocket science to figure out. But no. That’s not what I meant, exactly.”

  “Then tell me. What do you mean?”

  Todd strolled over, inserting himself into the conversation without an invitation. Typical. He rested his hand on Parker’s lower back with a totally unwarranted proprietary air. “Yeah, Kith. Or do you still need a computer to do your talking for you?”

  Parker glared at him, stepping away from the unwanted touch. “Not now, Todd. Go back inside, will you?”

  Todd’s lip curled at Keith’s glower, but he backed off. “No problem. And if you want that dance, Parker? I’m not afraid to take a walk on the wild side.”

  Parker turned back to Keith. “Listen, don’t pay any attention to Todd, okay? I think he’s made too many trips to the open bar.”

  Keith cocked one eyebrow. “Really? So what was his excuse in high school? Because he was as much a douchebag at the last winter formal, and I know the punch wasn’t spiked.” Keith froze for an instant. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have brought that up.”

  Heat rushed up Parker’s throat. God, he was the douchebag then, not Todd. Well, Todd was too, but that was his default state.

  “Look, Keith, I don’t want us to end this way. You said you came here to see me. Did you have anything in particular you wanted to say?” Please please please.

  Keith swallowed, staring down at his feet. “Yeah. But apparently it’s too late.”

  A trio of women—other members of the reunion committee—marched out of the ballroom, headed purposefully in Parker’s direction. Uh-oh. Time’s running out. “Never too late for a friend, right?”

  “A friend.” Keith looked up, blinking in what Parker prayed was hope. “Right. A friend.” He jerked his chin in a decisive nod. “Okay, then. Can I see you tomorrow?”

  Parker winced. “It’s Christmas Eve. I’ve got last-minute stuff….” He recognized the expression that flitted across Keith’s face—disappointment, sorrow overlaid with resignation, as if he couldn’t expect any better. He wore the same one when Parker dodged the mistletoe back in high school. “Know what? Screw that. How about breakfast? Meet me at our old table at Maggie’s?”

  This time the smile that tugged Keith’s lips was definitely hopeful. “Our table? Gotcha. What time?”

  “Is eight too early?”

  Keith chuckled. “Nah. You know me. I’m a—”

  “Morning person,” they said in unison.

  “I’ll see you then,” Parker said as the committee Furies dragged him backward into the ballroom. “I’m really, really glad you’re back.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  KEITH CLUTCHED the wheel of the Corolla as if he could keep it running with his thought waves. It had developed an alarming clank since he’d taken the speed bumps in the Golf Club parking lot with a little too much gusto.

  Todd Bolton. That asshole had been sniffing around Parker since forever, and from the sound of things, he’d finally managed to get somewhere. A riverfront condo, a BMW, and a suit that screamed “I cost more than your life.” How the hell was Keith supposed to compete with that?

  Not in an ill-fitting polyester sport coat with a torn pocket, that was for damned sure. So fix it. Fix it right fricking now.

  He detoured to Macy’s with fifteen minutes to spare before store closing time. Picking out a sales clerk was easy—when he barreled into the men’s department, only one guy looked at Keith instead of his own watch. And when he winced at Keith’s jacket? Score.

  Keith walked up to him, held out his arms, and said, “Help me. Money’s no object.”

  The clerk’s eyes lit up, and damn if he didn’t do the job right, all the way down to drawing diagrams of acceptable outfit combinations. It cost a mint, but Keith swallowed his qualms and shelled out the cash. This is an investment in my future. One that includes Parker.

  Then as he pulled into the hotel parking lot, his back seat full of bags rustling with unnecessary tissue paper, the Corolla gave a final clonk-rattle-hiss and rolled to a stop.

  “No, no, no. Not now.” Keith rested his head on the steering wheel and tried to calm his ragged breath. He needed all his bandwidth to refactor himself into a confident, competent, and less feral guy before he made his case to Parker. Car trouble was not in the project plan. On the other hand, if he couldn’t even get to the meeting, it wouldn’t matter what he looked like.

  Shut up and deal, Trainor. Take it one task at a time, just like any software sprint.

  The next morning he spent the time he’d intended to use getting a haircut at the local Bishop’s on the phone with a rental car agency. Last-minute rentals were not a thing you could do, apparently—not on Christmas Eve and not if you wanted a reasonable car. The one he ended up with was as far from reasonable as it was possible to get and not be a stretch limo.

  Stop grousing. At least it’ll get you to the restaurant on time.
<
br />   He hunched over the wheel all the way to Forest Grove, thankful the über-tinted windows masked him from any curious stares. No doubt Todd fricking Bolton could swan around town in something like this, but Keith felt as if he should be apologizing to the EPA.

  As he turned the corner onto Twenty-First, a spot opened directly in front of Maggie’s, as if other cars were so submissive to this ridiculous vehicle that they scuttled out of the way at its approach. He glided to an effortless stop at the curb, a little nostalgic for the way he’d had to cajole his crotchety Corolla into the same maneuver.

  He turned off the ignition and patted the pocket of his jacket, ensuring that the envelope with the proposal hadn’t somehow disappeared since he’d left the hotel. Through Maggie’s big plate-glass window, he could see Parker sitting at their usual table, sipping a glass of water as he scanned the street. He obviously wasn’t expecting Keith to drive up in a luxury tank. That makes two of us.

  Keith took a deep breath and climbed out. As he locked up—or rather as the car locked itself—he met Parker’s gaze over the car roof. For an instant Parker looked at him blankly, with no spark of recognition. Then his eyes widened, but the next instant, he narrowed them, pressing his lips into a thin line.

  Yeah, pretty much as Keith had expected, Parker was obviously not a fan of the megavehicle. Like Keith, Parker always believed in scaling technology to fit the solution—keeping it at exactly the right level to get the job done elegantly and appropriately. That was one of the main reasons Keith had finally gotten up the nerve to approach him.

  Circling behind the rear bumper, Keith kept his gaze lowered so he wouldn’t trip over the curb in his new shoes-that-were-not-sneakers. When he looked up, intending to offer Parker an apologetic smile, Parker’s eyes had popped wide again. Was that a good thing?

  Even if Keith stood no chance with Parker on a personal level—damn Todd Bolton anyway—Keith still needed to convince him to take the chance on a business partnership. He ran a hand furtively down the outside of his pants, the wool unfamiliar and smooth under his fingers. The sales clerk had nicknamed this outfit Captain of Industry, so Keith chose it for this meeting to prove he could at least look professional.

  From Parker’s stony expression, however, this was going to be a harder sell than Keith ever imagined. He stepped into the restaurant, the bell over the door jingling merrily, just as it always had.

  He took a deep breath and approached the table. “Hey, Parker.”

  Parker glared up at him. “What the hell are you playing at, Keith?”

  Keith nearly missed the seat of his chair. Parker never swore. At least he never used to. So much for leading up to this gradually. He pulled the envelope out of his pocket and laid it on the table.

  “It’s a proposition, I guess you could say.”

  “A proposition?” Parker’s voice dipped alarmingly.

  “An offer. A… a gift.” He nudged the envelope closer to Parker. “Fifty-one percent ownership of my new company.”

  Parker leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Let me get this straight. You show up in that”—he jerked his chin at the car—“dressed like this, and offer me stock options to buy me?”

  “What? No, that’s not—” Keith swallowed, his throat gone suddenly thick. “I know you’re with Todd—”

  “Who says I’m with Todd?”

  “Well, last night—”

  “That was Todd being his douchebag self. I got Brianna to send him home in a cab. Alone. To his pregnant wife.”

  Keith’s eyes widened. “Wow. He really is a douchebag.”

  “Totally. And I’m a little insulted that you’d think I’d ever fall for his bull. In fact….” Parker pushed away from the table with enough force to topple the ketchup bottle. “That you’d think for one minute that I’d—”

  “Hey, hey, hey. Hold on.” Keith stretched a hand across the table, palm up. Parker didn’t take it. Damn it. “If this were ten years ago, I’d know the answer to that. But we’ve been out of touch for a long time. Things change. People change.” And this is a monumentally stupid idea.

  “Is that why you ran out last night?” Parker’s chest was heaving. “Because you thought I’d changed into the kind of poser we always used to mock?”

  Keith winced and withdrew his hand to rub the back of his neck. “No. I left because I haven’t changed.”

  “You haven’t? You expect me to believe that your new upscale style evolved in less than twelve hours?”

  “Desperation is a great motivator,” Keith muttered. “When my Corolla died last night, I—”

  “Wait. Your Corolla?” Parker’s voice no longer held that angry bite, and he wasn’t poised as if to leap out of his chair anymore. That’s promising. “Not the one you drove in high school?”

  “Yeah. It made it up here from San Jose, but apparently Hillsboro to Forest Grove was more than it could handle.” He gave the rental a disgusted glare. “This was the last car on the agency lot.”

  “Hmmm.” Parker drummed his fingers on the table. “What about the sartorial makeover?”

  “Sartor—oh.” Keith tugged on his sleeve out of habit—unnecessary since the jacket covered his wrists perfectly well. “I stopped at Macy’s last night. I wanted to dress like someone you wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with. I… uh… asked the sales clerk for advice.”

  “Keith.” Was that exasperation in Parker’s tone? “What is this really about?”

  Keith picked up the envelope and held it out. “This isn’t an offer to buy you. It’s the start-up proposal for my new software company. I’m kind of begging you save me. By signing on as my business partner.”

  “BUSINESS PARTNER.” That wasn’t the kind of partnership Parker was hoping for. But was it enough if it meant reigniting their friendship?

  Keith nodded. “I’ve run the numbers, Parker, and I believe it can work, but I can’t do it without you. I know what I’m capable of and what’s beyond me. I mean, I can read code, but I can’t read people.” He uttered a strangled laugh. “Clearly.”

  “But—”

  “At least review the proposal, okay? Think it over.” God, Keith’s face. So earnest. Parker had always been a sucker for that look. “You don’t have to decide immediately. I’ll wait, at least for a while. I’ve got a room at the Springhill Suites down at Cornell and Cornelius Pass for the next week.”

  “You’re leaving town again? So soon?”

  “Yeah. But it’s up to you whether I stay down in San Jose or move back up here.”

  “Way to put pressure on a guy,” Parker grumbled. His skin still prickled from the shock of thinking Keith had turned into Todd, like some kind of nightmare personality transplant. He hadn’t realized how much of his own life, his own worldview, had been founded on the bone-deep certainty of Keith’s values and how they matched his own.

  Parker had been disgusted by his former classmates’ puerile behavior last night, but he’d almost bolted just now—this close to repeating the mistake he made all those years ago when he dodged the mistletoe kiss. So much for overcoming my impulsiveness.

  But Keith was right about one thing—people could change in ten years. Parker needed to be absolutely sure. And to do that, he needed time. Time with Keith.

  He picked up the fallen ketchup bottle and plopped it on top of the envelope. “I’ll read it. But not now. Right now we’re going to order breakfast, and you’re going to tell me all about what you’ve been doing since the last time you texted me. And then….” He let his voice drop into his best menacing Batman impression. “You’re going Christmas shopping with me.”

  He nearly burst out laughing at Keith’s expression of horror.

  “Shopping? At the mall?”

  “Consider this a test. You say you’re not that guy….” Parker waggled his fingers at the Lincoln parked at the curb and then at Keith’s jacket. It’s a really nice jacket. He looks great. But then Parker had always liked Keith’s rumpled, absentminded professor style
too. “This is your chance to prove it. Let’s eat.”

  One thing hadn’t changed—Keith’s taste in breakfast food. He ordered the same spinach and egg-white omelet he always got at Maggie’s, coupled with one of the diner’s giant gooey house-made cinnamon rolls for the two of them to share. He called it the yin and yang of dining.

  Parker used to order the steel-cut oats with bananas and raisins every time the two of them came here for breakfast—which, until that ill-advised dodged kiss, was every Saturday from freshman year to senior. These days he was more likely to go for yogurt and a run—he was ten years older, after all—but something about facing Keith over this table made choosing anything else seem wrong. He ordered the oatmeal.

  “So,” Parker said between mouthfuls, “what have you been doing in the last few years? The last time we saw each other was—”

  “When I came home for Dad’s funeral.” Keith’s voice was even, but he didn’t lift his gaze from his plate, and Parker could have kicked himself.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

  “It’s okay.” Keith looked up. “It’s been almost six years, and at least he got to see me graduate from Stanford. That meant a lot to him.” A smile flickered across his face. “Son of a welder. What were the odds?”

  “He wasn’t just a welder. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but the job he got paid for wasn’t all of who he was.”

  “Yeah. He was born in the wrong time, you know? He had the soul of an inventor but not the opportunity. If he’d been a turn-of-the-century guy—the twentieth, not the twenty-first—he’d have given Thomas Edison a run for his money, I’m positive.”

  Parker toyed with a banana slice. “I always thought that’s where you got your tinkering tendencies, from mashing up your Star Wars models with old clockwork innards to building your own computers. Did he ever help with that?”