Well, not strangers.
But still, people outside the family and their chosen circle of beloveds.
Was it wrong to hope Sadie and Caroline fell in love with each other once they reached a proper age? Like thirty?
“There was spray,” Sadie was saying, her delicate features animated and auburn hair perfectly coiffed and maintained in dramatic looping curls. “And I had to close my eyes and hold my breath because the lady said it was bad for me! Why would they use something bad for me?”
“The price of beauty is steep,” Matt said gravely.
Sadie blinked at him.
“Next time tell them you don’t need the bad spray, okay? Your hair is allowed to move. It’s a free country.”
Caroline watched her with blue eyes so round and amazed she looked like a cartoon character. Her neat little black braids were tightly wound to her head, no doubt in the vain hope it would stay cute until pictures were over.
Her dads knew her well.
“Anyway, you both look perfect,” he said, a hand at each of their backs, protective and steadying. “And you’re going to do great during the ceremony.”
Sadie nodded sagely. “I’ve done this before, at Mommy and Daddy’s remarrying. I’m good at it.”
Matt stifled a laugh. When he looked at Caroline, though, he caught the lower lip wobble. “What’s up, Caro? You were so good at practice last night!” Matt slid an arm around the little girl’s waist. “You just have to carry the flowers down the aisle. Then you go sit with your dads.”
Caroline leaned against her godfather’s chest. Matt felt his holly getting squished, but the hell with it. Sniffling little girls beat perfect garnish any day.
“What if I trip?” she mumbled.
“Hmmm.” Matt rubbed Caroline’s back. “I doubt that’ll happen. But if you do, I’ll trip too.”
Sadie gasped. “Uncle Matt! You can’t!”
“If Caroline trips, then I’m going to do it too,” Matt said. He looked up to see Evan watching him with a smile on his face. “Evan?”
Evan started, as if unaware he was staring. He sat down on the coffee table across from Matt, his face serious. “Hmmm… I think that’s a good idea. Then everyone will think it’s part of the wedding. I’ll fall too.”
Matt nodded. “Good, good. Sadie, what do you think?”
The little girl looked torn. She bit her lip, looking at each of them in turn. Finally she set her gaze on Caroline, still tucked under Matt’s arm.
Shoulders back, Sadie nodded. “I’ll trip too,” she told Caroline gravely. “Because you are my favorite friend.”
“Me too,” Danny called; the four of them looked in near unison in his direction. “I’m taking a dive if Caroline does.”
The little girl smiled, ducking her head in embarrassment at all the attention.
“It would be better if you didn’t,” Sadie leaned forward and whispered. “Because that’s a lot of people on the floor.”
KENT RETURNED, red-cheeked and flushed from the cold, to gather everyone up for the limo. Evan helped the little girls into their coats while Matt sent texts to all the appropriate adults that they were on their way.
A few feet toward the door, Matt’s phone buzzed with Katie’s ringtone—“Sweet Caroline” by Neil Diamond, and she was just lucky he loved her so much.
“Hey, hang on.”
Matt paused, then pulled his phone out.
“What’s up? Everything okay?” Matt asked worriedly. Second thoughts? Feeling ill? Did she discover something his and Jim’s background checks on Austin had not?
Katie laughed. “I’m fine. Everything’s great.” She sounded lighthearted and bubbly, but Matt knew that undercurrent in her tone. “I just…. I wanted to hear your voice.”
“My voice? You need me to sing or something? That night at karaoke didn’t happen—we’ve discussed this.” Matt tucked himself into a corner as he watched Evan herd Caroline and Sadie out the door.
“I’m just—I’m so excited and happy, but like, whoa. I’m getting married! And a family that I’m becoming a part of, and I just…. Am I going to be able to do this? I’m not Josiah’s mom.”
Matt felt her worries because he’d lived them. As much as he loved the Cerelli kids, he wasn’t their parent—not in a traditional sense of the word. He was their friend, their confidant, and their protector. He would lie down in front of a tank for them, step in front of a bullet without hesitation.
What he was, maybe there wasn’t a word for it. But he knew Katie could do it.
“I’m not your mom,” Matt said finally, his voice pitched soft. “Or your dad. But Katie, do you know how I feel about you? In your heart? Do you know?”
Katie sniffled through the line. “Of course I do. That’s why you and Dad are walking me down the aisle today together.”
Matt’s heart pulsed in his chest. The honor was almost more than he could comprehend. “Don’t try to take anyone’s place, Katie. Make your own space in that kid’s life and love him without expectation. You’ll figure out what you mean to each other.”
They breathed at each other for a few minutes; Matt knew Katie was crying, and he wasn’t feeling all that steady himself.
“Maybe he’ll become my favorite,” she said finally, a damp laugh following her words. “Like I’m yours.”
“Shhhh, that’s our secret.”
The door opened and Evan slipped through, his expression questioning. He came to stand next to Matt, who reached out his hand, tangling their fingers together.
“Miranda says my makeup is ruined, so I have to go get it fixed,” Katie murmured. “But thank you. And I love you.”
“Love you too. See you in a bit, okay? I’m the guy who looks like the ghost of Christmas Marshmallows Past.”
Katie was giggling when she hung up, and that was all Matt cared about.
Evan handed him a handkerchief as soon as the phone was back in his pocket.
“I hope you have more of these,” Matt sighed, wiping his eyes.
Linking their arms together, Evan pulled Matt close. “Let’s go see our girl get married.”
3: Felicitous (Sounds Like A Holiday Word)
EVAN GOT home from the precinct at half past eight, shaking icy rain droplets off his overcoat before he went inside. December seemed determined to be as shitty as possible, weather-wise—and otherwise—and the silence of the house told him that Matt’s moping hadn’t improved.
T minus two days until Christmas, and the only indication in the Cerelli-Haight (Haight-Cerelli) household was a currently unplugged tree sitting forlornly in the front window. A few dozen Christmas cards sat on the dining room table, mostly unopened. The lack of presents—already shipped to their far-flung family—completed the depressing picture.
There would be no Christmas around these parts, at least not for Matt and Evan.
Matt’s version of handling this development included brooding, splitting more wood than they could possibly use in a year, going to bed at nine every night, and saying things like “They have their own lives now—it’s fiiiiine.”
It didn’t seem fine.
Truth be told, Evan existed in that dark well of bah humbug right next to him. He’d always struggled a bit with holidays, as they were so tied to being married to Sherri, but right from the beginning, Matt had worked to change that. He was their Santa, their head elf, their Director of Holiday Activities. But right now? He was Scrooge McGrinch, and Evan didn’t blame him one bit.
The kids would not be home for Christmas.
His eldest, Miranda, and her husband, Kent, were spending a few months in London, where Kent was researching a book about royal gardens. Katie, her husband, Austin, and their son, Josiah, were in Boston, unable to travel down to New York, as Katie had to work the Celtics Christmas Day game.
Matt wore his Knicks jersey for four straight days in silent protest.
Twins Elizabeth and Danny, the youngest of the brood, were both studying abroad; Elizabet
h in Paris and Danny in Spain. At least they would be spending the holidays with Miranda and Kent, which made Evan feel somewhat better.
Or it should have.
The entire crap scenario might have been bearable, he thought, leaving behind wet shoes and a soaking coat to wander into the kitchen for a beer. It might have been salvageable if their closest friends, Jim and Griffin, and their little girl, Caroline, could join them. At the very least they’d have had a child to spoil and a reason to celebrate.
Except this was their year to host Griffin’s enormous family at their home upstate, and despite the invitation, Matt nixed the idea of spending Christmas with fifty people he wasn’t related to and couldn’t even begin to remember the names of.
Evan hadn’t asked for elaboration because he already knew the answer—watching other families celebrate with their kids when his and Matt’s were missing? No. Not enough beer in the world to medicate that ache.
On the refrigerator door, an invitation—actually a Post-it Note shaped like a wedge of swiss cheese with Helena’s chicken scratch across it. She and Shane had purchased a new town house in the Village and, in the middle of renovation, didn’t make plans for Christmas.
“Come over, bring liquor. No wait—we have liquor, bring food” was her invite as she left the precinct the day before. She gave him the note with the address and made him promise to at least consider it. Eight o’clock Christmas Eve.
Evan leaned against the counter and drank his beer.
He could cajole Matt into going—a little wine, a little sex; not his first rodeo in terms of getting Matt to do something. They’d have fun with their freewheeling friends. Eat too much, drink too much, and laugh inappropriately. Pass the night trying not to miss the kids. But Evan’s heart just wasn’t in it.
A tiny part of him knew he could have guilted the kids into coming home, laid out the money to get them all back to New York. The first holiday where none of them would be around? The first holiday ever spent apart? Hell, if he didn’t want blood on his own hands, he could have unleashed the full impact of Matt Haight on the four of them and had them dutifully on the doorstep singing carols like a Hallmark commercial.
“I’m better than that,” he said aloud in the silent kitchen of his dark, quiet house, and then he got himself a second beer. “It was their decision.”
Or maybe he didn’t want to face the fact that his beautiful, beloved children were all grown up and didn’t need to be home for the holidays.
HE FOUND Matt upstairs in their rumpled bed, watching the Rangers destroy the Bruins.
“How was your day?” Matt mumbled as Evan began to strip out of his suit. “I forgot to make dinner.”
“Shitty. It’s fine—I ate peanut butter crackers out of the vending machine. And had two beers.” He hung up his suit, wishing he had the gene that would allow him to throw his clothes on the floor. Like Matt. Whose clothes were on the floor, piled around Evan’s feet.
“I had pork rinds and a Diet Mountain Dew.” Matt rolled over, his hair sticking up every which way. “We’re a special sort of pathetic.”
Evan draped his tie on the rack, noting it was Elizabeth’s gift to him last year. It crossed his mind to protest Matt’s assessment, but really—he wasn’t wrong.
The rest of his nightly routine went out the window. Suddenly the long, cold day and the crushing bleh of everything knocked Evan’s legs out from under him. He shut the closet door in something resembling a slam, then turned toward the bed, where Matt already had the covers pulled back for him.
“Come on, I’ll give you a blowjob,” Matt said, at least throwing a growl into it.
Evan appreciated the effort.
AT FIVE forty-five, Evan’s alarm went off, immediately followed by Matt’s cell phone.
Playing “Too Shy” by Kajagoogoo.
Matt shot out his hand to grab the phone, death-gripping it until he got it to his ear, which was still tucked under the covers. “I swear to God—”
“Good morning, Matt!” Helena chirped, followed by some heavy breathing through the line. He knew she was calling from the treadmill, which made him hate her even more.
“Not Evan” was all he managed as Evan mumbled next to him, still half asleep as he rolled out of bed.
“I know.”
“Then whyyyyyy?”
“Because I’ll see Evan in about an hour, but I needed to talk to you. Now. You should be getting up too.”
“Whyyyyyy?”
Helena sighed dramatically. He could imagine her in her swanky gym gear and pixie hair, smiling as she harassed him over the speaker in the NYPD gym. “Because Shane is picking you up at six thirty. You’re going with him to pick up a piece of sculpture he bought. In Massapequa.”
Matt dragged the phone away, pushing it toward where Evan stretched and creaked next to the bed. “I think Helena has been kidnapped and she’s trying to give me a message about her captors.”
Evan—because clearly he loved Matt and didn’t want him to go to jail for killing an NYPD spokesperson/ex-detective—took the phone. “Helena….”
The rest of the conversation consisted of Evan saying “okay, but” and then pausing. With each passing second, Matt felt dread rising, stomach churning with dread. His day of lying around feeling sorry for himself and hoping the flu had descended on him was clearly about to be interrupted by an unrelentingly cheerful Shane and some crazyass errand.
“Uh… yeah,” Evan said finally when the call ended, then dropped Matt’s phone into the tangle of covers.
Even in the shadows, Matt could see the guilt.
“Shane is, like, made of money—they can hire someone,” Matt bitched, even as he rolled out of bed. He tried to think if he had a T-shirt with a rude saying he could wear on this little adventure.
“She’s being nice.” Matt felt the bed shift. “She’s worried about you.” Evan’s arms went around Matt’s shoulders, and some of the tension seeped out of Matt’s bones. “She’s worried about me. I suspect there’ll be a strong-armed lunch.”
“Get a steak. And make her pay.” Matt turned his head enough to find Evan’s mouth; the familiar twist of lips, the way everything slotted together with practiced ease, knocked a bit more of the fog away.
When the kiss broke, Matt managed something resembling a smile in the face of Evan’s concern. “I love you, and I’m glad I married you… even if your friends are psychotic.”
WHEN MATT stomped out into the cold December morning—dressed like a ninja lumberjack—Shane was already in the driveway, behind the wheel of what could only be described as a gleaming red metrosexual monster truck.
“That’s not a thing,” Evan said, kissing Matt on the cheek before hightailing it to his own car, dwarfed by the vehicle behind it.
Shane honked and waved, then began gesturing an obscenely large cup of Starbucks through the window.
Matt grumbled, kicking through the frostbitten ground and what remained of their walkway plants. He walked slowly so as not to let Shane believe he could be compelled by Helena’s demands and a vat of fancy coffee.
When he opened the door, a rush of warm air and the sounds of Chipmunks singing “O Holy Night” greeted him, along with Shane’s giant grin.
“Happy holidays, Matt! Ready for our adventure?”
Matt stepped up and into the cab, then sank into the posh leather seats. He tried not to make a sound of delight at the heated-cushioned comfort as he slammed the door.
“It’s a chestnut praline latte,” Shane cajoled as he handed over the cup.
In front of the truck, Evan passive-aggressively gunned the motor.
“Whoops, don’t want to piss off the cop.” Shane threw the truck into Reverse, oddly at home behind the wheel. “Unless I have an ulterior motive.”
Matt hunched down, taking a sip of his latte. “I didn’t realize hipster types knew how to maneuver something this big.”
Shane waggled his perfectly groomed eyebrows as he expertly pulled out of th
e driveway and then headed down the street. “That sounds dirty.”
“You’re actually a ridiculous human being.”
They cruised through Matt and Evan’s empty neighborhood, as all the sane people and schoolchildren were still in their warm houses. Matt felt warm and sleepy by the time they reached the Cross Bronx, avoiding conversation, as Shane seemed far more interested in harmonizing with the furry songsters on “Holly Jolly Christmas.”
Finally Matt sucked down the last of his latte and cleared his throat. “So, this charity kidnapping—what’s the object? If you’re trying to cheer me up, please know it’s completely impossible to get me to change my mind about being miserable.”
“Charity….” Shane shook his head, his pom-pommed hat waggling on his head. “Nope. I need help moving this rad piece of sculpture, and you’re around.”
“Why didn’t you ask Bennett? Or ask him to hire someone. Or hire someone yourself.”
Shane snorted. “Have you seen him lift anything? He threw out his back last month moving Sadie’s plastic dollhouse upstairs.”
“So I’m brute strength and you’re too cheap to pay someone?”
“More I don’t trust just anyone with this piece.” Shane’s voice got all hushed and excited, like he was talking about Helena; it was almost sweet. “It’s really special. And it’s a secret.”
Matt shifted, unwinding the scarf from around his neck. The heat inside the truck and his fancyassed coffee were starting to make him feel cooked. “From who? Helena knows.”
Shane cackled, switching lanes like he was zipping around in a sports car. “Nope. She thinks she knows. The guy who’s making it—we faked the whole thing. She picked out something for the backyard, but ha, I switched it out for something else. She’s going to freak out. The goddess Helena, looking fierce, done in copper. It’s stunning.”
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