The Santa Mug (2 page)

“Um. Thank you. Emily.”

“Ma! What about me?” Max held out his arms and hugged his mother fiercely.

“Oh, I have missed you so much!” Emily held her son out at arm’s length. “You are still too skinny, boy.”

“Ma, you are a walking cliché.”

“Never mind that. Just get your stuff and get on in here. You’re father has almost forgotten what you look like.” Emily turned as she let herself back into the house. “And you sure don’t know what he looks like.”

Max looked sheepishly at Darren. “Six years is a long time, I guess,” he said as he jumped off the stoop.

Darren followed him back down to the car. “What did she mean about you not remembering him?”

“She’s talking about Dad’s accident.”

The words triggered a vague memory of an uncharacteristically quiet Max saying something to that effect while they watched a ball game on the tube. Darren couldn’t remember for sure, and the thought bothered him somehow. “Has it been difficult for them?”

“Hard enough, I suppose, but they seem to manage okay,” Max said as he pulled a suitcase from the back seat. “It’ll be easier if Dad can ever get fully outfitted.” He reached back into the car and pulled out another suitcase and a small overnight bag. He handed them to Darren. “Would you mind grabbing one of these?”

Darren grinned and lifted the luggage. “Bodyguard and baggage porter, huh?” He turned and carried the bags up the neatly trimmed walk to the front stoop. Max slid past him and pushed the door open with his foot.

“Dad? We’re here!” Max dropped his luggage on the floor with a clatter.

A deep baritone voice wafted out to greet them. “Don’t drop your luggage, and we’re in the kitchen.”

“Uh oh. If they’re in the kitchen then something’s up,” Max said. “Best go see what it is and get it over with.”

Darren added his baggage to the jumble and followed Max into the kitchen.

“Hey Ma! That smells goo—” Max broke off abruptly as he stood in the doorway to the brightly lit kitchen. Darren peered around his left shoulder to see what arrested the man.

“Daddy?” Max’s voice surged with emotion.

Carl Torreigne stood at the kitchen table, one hand lightly resting on his wife’s shoulder. “What do you think, son?” He took a hesitant step forward.

Max shouted, a sound halfway between a laugh and a sob, and crossed the floor to grasp his father in a fierce bear hug. “Oh my God, you’ve got feet!”

“Easy, boy! I just got these danged things last week, and I ain’t ready to dance just yet.” Carl’s admonition was teasing, but an answering surge of emotion swam just beneath the gruff veneer.

“Let me see you,” Max said, releasing his father and stepping back. “How do they feel?”

“Like hell,” Carl gruffed. “But the doc says I’ll get used to ’em in no time.” He looked down at his wife, who was beaming. “Personally, I think he’s full of shit,” he said, smiling in return. Emily pushed at him, and he tottered slightly.

“Quit it, woman. I have no intention of dumping on my ass in front of guests.” Carl turned to face Darren. “You must be Darren. We’ve heard a lot about you.”

“It’s a pleasure, Mr. Torreigne.”

Carl rolled his eyes. “Please, call me Carl. My last name is a mouthful even when you’re used to it, and I like to keep things simple.” He held out his hand and Darren shook it, careful not to upset the older man’s balance.

“Carl, then. Thank you.”

“Oh, you could take lessons from this one, Max. Why aren’t you ever that polite?”

Max scowled. “I know you better than he does,” he said. Then his voice softened. “You really do look good. I am so proud of you.” He hugged his father again before stepping back.

“Yeah, well, flattery aside….” He eyed his son significantly. “I’m getting there, one step at a time.” Carl raised one eyebrow and grinned. Emily groaned and stepped out from beneath her husband’s hand. She busied herself at the stove, her back to all three.

“Your mother is itching to see me land on my butt, I think.” Carl spoke as he leaned on Max to take the few tottering steps to reach a chair. “Dodging out from under like that, and me with nothing to hold on to for support.” He grumped, but the shine in his eyes said far more about his true feelings than the words he chose.

“Um, hello? What about me?” Max chided his father.

“Like I said. Nothing for support. You’re too skinny,” Carl said.

Darren laughed. “I think you’ve got a conspiracy on your hands, Max.”

Max glared at his father. “I think you’re right.”

“Why don’t you boys get yourself settled in, then hustle on back. Dinner will be ready soon, and we can catch up.”

Max nodded. “Okay. I’m going to put us up in mine and Mark’s old room, assuming Ma hasn’t turned it into a sitting parlor or something.”

Emily turned to face the two young men. “I did hang those lovely lace curtains with the yellow flowers. I thought they’d make a nice touch.”

“Ma! You didn’t, did you?” Max sounded genuinely alarmed.

“Hurry back, dear. We don’t want the roast to dry out, waiting for you,” Emily turned back to the stove.

“All right, Ma.” Max sounded dubious, but he nudged Darren out into the living room. As they gathered their luggage and headed up the stairs, Max said, “That means she doesn’t want us fooling around before dinner.”

“What?” Darren nearly dropped his suitcase. “Do they think we’re a couple?”

“Probably, but not because of anything I said.” Max nodded to the left when they reached the top of the stairs. “Just something in her tone of voice when I told her I wanted to have you over for Thanksgiving, that’s all.” He pushed open a door and groaned. “God, she really did hang those nasty curtains. I thought she was joking.”

Darren followed Max in and set his suitcase down alongside one of two twin beds. “They’re pretty awful,” he agreed. He dropped his overnight bag on the nearest bed and sat down heavily.

Max landed his gear as well and began poking around in drawers and closets. “Man, I can’t believe she kept all this stuff,” he said, holding up a battered catcher’s mitt. “I used this in Little League.”

Darren looked up. “It’s hard to picture you as a jock, even at that age, but you’re changing the subject. Why would your parents think we were a couple?”

Max dropped the mitt back into the drawer and closed it. He crossed the room and sat down on the opposite bed to face Darren. “Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“Well, did you say something to them?”

“Of course not, Darren. Get real. I think it’s just the fact that I wanted you to come here, especially after I’ve been gone for so long.” Max looked down at his hands. “As open and accepting as they are, I think they still have some antique notions of how ‘the whole gay thing’ works.” He laughed ruefully. “Either that, or they simply expect it because of the thundering horde and their myriad of spouses and children.”

“Max, why
did
you invite me here?” Darren laid back and stared at the ceiling. Paper stars and moons, probably pasted up at least two presidents ago, which no doubt still glowed in the dark, dotted the rough woodwork. “I mean, we’ve been friends for a long time, and I like you and all, but we’ve never done anything like this before. Why now?”

Max also laid back and stared at the same stars. “Do you want the truth, or do you want me to lie?”

“The truth, obviously,” Darren snapped. He felt unaccountably tired. Tired of struggling though another holiday season, tired of being on his best behavior, and tired of Max. Maybe him worst of all, because for as well as they knew each other, he really didn’t know what made Max tick. And that made him tired of his own stupid ego for never having bothered to find out.

“Marlon.” Max dropped the name quietly between them, yet it hovered like an ominous cloud, threatening to spill its wrath.

“What about him?” Darren spoke softly, his voice as cold as winter ice. “What does he have to do with anything?”

“Everything,” Max said, his voice flat. “We were all there, Darren. All your friends, all the people who care about you were at the funeral. Then, for four years, we shut up. Never mentioned his name around you, never said or did anything that might upset you, and after a while things were better. Except during the holidays. Then you’d fall back into those same old patterns, pushed us away like we were last year’s canned ham, and we let you. I let you.” Max sat up and stared hard at Darren’s face. “Maybe I should have said something sooner. All I know is that I couldn’t bear to watch you curl in on yourself again and wonder if this was the year I’d lose you for good.”

Darren draped one arm over his face, shutting out his view of the little stars on the ceiling and the sight of Max’s earnest, comfortable face. In the darkness behind his eyes, anger overtook him. A potent rage born of the fact someone dared try to usurp his right to grieve. “You shouldn’t have interfered,” he said coldly.

“Really? Really, Darren?” Defiance abbreviated Max’s words and gave each a razor’s edge. “Well, here’s a news flash for you: Marlon was my friend, too, in case you’ve forgotten. I introduced you to him, for Christ’s sake! All that I have left of him is in you, and I miss him.” Max got up and crossed the room. He paused at the doorway and turned. “I
miss
him, Darren. And you.” He sighed when Darren said nothing. “I’m gonna go eat. Come down if you feel like it, or I’ll bring you a plate later.” When Darren still said nothing, Max sighed again and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Beneath the crook of Darren’s arm, his eyes streamed with silent tears.
I miss him, too, Max. You have no idea how much.

4

“
They
were pretty much inseparable until Marlon died.” Max picked at his plate. “That was four years ago, Christmas Eve.”

Emily gasped. “Oh, those poor boys. That’s terrible.”

Max nodded. “Yeah, I know. Darren pretty much withdrew from the whole world for a long time after that.” He pushed his plate away and sipped his coffee instead. “It took him about a year before he decided to rejoin the human race.”

“Maybe it wasn’t his decision, Max.” Emily spoke softly. “Grief is a powerful thing, and people respond to it differently.”

“I know, Ma. And it was doubly hard for Darren because he and Marlon were so tight.”

Emily nodded. “Sometimes it takes a while, but he seems like a good boy, and I’m sure he’ll come through.” She snagged the last of the roast from the platter before Carl could skewer it and began loading a clean plate, piling it high. “You’ve had enough, Carl.” To Max she said, “Will he be all right?” She tilted her head upstairs.

Max thought about it for a long time before he spoke. “I hope so.”

He might have said more, but Darren spoke up behind him. “Hey, that smells good.” Darren laid a hand on Max’s shoulder briefly as he pulled out a chair and sat down. “Sorry I zoned out there. Your son woke me out of a perfectly good dream this morning by banging on my door at the crack of yesterday.”

“Maxie always was early to rise,” Emily said. “I was just fixing you a plate. Are you hungry?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Still so formal, aren’t you, dear. Hopefully you’ll get that out of your system before you leave.”

Darren grinned. “I’ll try my best.” He reached for the plate Emily handed him.

“Don’t you want me to warm it for you?”

“I’m sure it’s fine. It smells wonderful.”

“He can stick it in the microwave if he wants, Ma.” Max grinned at the reproving look his mother gave him. “I know, I know. It doesn’t taste the same. But Ma, your cooking is so good, not even a microwave can hide it.”

Emily looked startled, and Carl laughed. “God, now I’ve heard everything. Come on, Mama. Help me back to my chair so I can get these damned feet off and the boy can eat in peace.” Carl stood, leaning heavily on the table to do so. “Damn these things hurt. You gonna rub me down?” He waggled his eyebrows at Emily.

“If they’re swollen, I’ll put ice packs on you like the doctor said.” Emily offered her shoulder for Carl to lean on. “That’ll cool you down,” she said as they left the kitchen.

Max watched them leave, smiling faintly and shaking his head. “You know, I used to wish I was adopted.”

“I don’t know,” Darren replied. “I like your parents.”

“They’ll like you too.” Max peered into his nearly empty coffee cup. “I think Ma already does.”

“Why do you say that?”

Max shrugged. “She let you sleep. Anyone else and she’d have called you down. Wait ’til you see what she’s like with the rest of the family. You’ll understand.”

Darren smiled. “You know, Max. That sounds kind of ominous.”

“I know.”

*  *  *

Max
and Darren stacked their dishes in the sink and scattered when Emily threatened bodily harm if they didn’t leave the cleanup for her. They watched TV for a while with Max’s parents until Max began to nod off.

“I wasn’t the one who slept all the way here,” Max said when Darren chided him for it.

“I know. You’re right, Max,” Darren replied. “I did offer, once.”

“Yeah, and I passed, like any sensible human being with a healthy sense of self preservation.”

“Apparently Max doesn’t think much of my driving.” Darren turned to Carl and Emily, who were watching the exchange avidly. “Though I should point out it wasn’t me that got the speeding ticket last year.”

“Couldn’t be helped,” Max replied. “That guy in the Jeep was cute, and he did wave at us.”

“You’d think that if he wanted you to catch him, he would have slowed down.”

“I think he was playing hard to get,” Max said loftily.

“Is that how you gay boys meet each other, on the freeway?”

Max laughed. “No, Dad. We meet just like anyone else. Usually,” he added, and Darren laughed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Max and I met when he doused me with a pitcher of beer at a sports bar,” Darren grinned.

“What were you doing in a bar, Max?” Emily’s face held a faint frown.

“Drinking, what else? Or I would have been if that overmuscled jerk with the brains of an unstrung tennis  racket hadn’t bumped into me.” Max said.