The stuffing in the sweet potato roulade was made with parmesan and cheddar cheese, crushed garlic, nut bread crumbs, sage and parsley. The moussaka was made with portobello mushrooms and seitan. There were Provencal stuffed tomatoes, buttermilk biscuits, and ginger-brandy cheesecake for dessert. There was a lot of food. A lot of wonderful food.
What there was not, was a turkey.
But there was plenty to drink, and Elliot kept Tucker’s glass topped up — and his own.
They had sailed across that morning on Tucker’s boat. The biting cold wind off the Sound had turned their hands red and their faces ruddy in the early morning light, but every time they caught each other’s gazes, they’d grinned. Their first Christmas.
They were spending the day with Roland, but they would sail back that night. Tomorrow they would have all day to themselves.
Tucker was dealing manfully with the absence of turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes at Christmas dinner. But then Tucker had a small turkey all prepped and ready to go into the oven when they got home to Goose Island that night.
Roland, who had also had his share of alcoholic beverages, was saying, “When you look at it that way, when you consider how much money is spent on stuff that people don’t want and don’t need, it makes sense to skip buying presents and just donate to the person’s charity of choice.”
Tucker and Elliot had exchanged gifts last night. Elliot had given Tucker a top of the line stainless steel thermos and Coffee Joulies. Tucker took his coffee seriously, and Elliot remembered how often it was hard to get hot coffee, let alone good coffee on the job. Tucker had given Elliot a tactical fountain pen (“Never hurts to be prepared”), a copy of Photography and the American Civil War, and a very expensive watch.
“Hey, I thought we agreed we weren’t going crazy buying gifts,” Elliot had protested as Tucker had fastened the watch on his left wrist. Elliot’s right arm was still in a cast.
Tucker had ignored the reproach, leaning in to shut Elliot up with a kiss.
Now Tucker drawled, “What charity were you thinking of donating to on my behalf?”
Roland stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I guess the NRA doesn’t really qualify as a charity, does it?”
Elliot laughed and popped a stuffed olive in his mouth. His two favorite people in the world and they couldn’t be more unlike each other. But they were making an effort. They were all making an effort. And you couldn’t ask for more than that.
Tucker glanced across the table. His blue eyes gleamed in his tanned, freckled face. He gave Elliot a slow, deliberate wink.