FOLLY

 

 

Death lasts a year.

For a whole year after a loss, everyone remembers it’s a year of bad firsts. They call. They drop by. They ask if there’s anything they can do. It’s a kindness, and it’s welcome. That first year, my three struggled through those bad firsts so fiercely I was glad of any help.

Their first birthdays without their parents.

Their first day of school without their parents.

Their first report cards brought home to me.

Their first colds where they didn’t have their mom or their dad to tuck them in and make them feel better.

Only Uncle Huntington.

But the worst of the bad firsts had to be their first Christmas in our new apartment, instead of their house. Reminded of being orphans over and over again that first year left a mark on my three. I saw their hearts break every single bad first at a time, but nothing hurt them as much as Christmas did.

Santa couldn’t bring them what they really wanted. Not even he could deliver my brother and his wife, so the whole day lost its magic.

We got through it, and I think that might be the best I can say. We got through it. Like a chore.

But for my mind, the second year is harder. In the second year, no one came to the door with a special thought on any of those days. No one thought, “this is the first year without their parents, poor things” because it wasn’t.

Instead, the second year I felt like I had to start new things with my three, rather than holding them and comforting them in the face of the endings of what they’d had before.

Most of my life, I’ve been at peace with my little brain, but I’ve never felt so unclever as I did the second year. I missed my brother. I missed his wife.

A year is a long time; it’s no time at all.

Same as two years, really. One Christmas, two Christmases. What’s the difference? Just a few hundred days. Christmas, though, is designed to feel the same. The same ornaments, the same meals…

The third Christmas was closing in on us now, and tradition was on my mind. Traditions were what made things so difficult with my three. How can you have traditions when two out of your five were now gone? With a different person—and only an unclever uncle, at that—where before you had parents?

When Clark and I were young, our parents believed in four presents, a tradition from my mother’s side, and one raised us with. A rhyme, which made it easy for me to remember, told us there would be four things beneath our tree for each of us.

Something to wear, something to read, something you want, something you need.

Four presents, but for Clark and I, especially when we were younger, it all came down to the third gift—that thing we wanted—and our wish it would be everything we hoped it to be.

My father’s family traditions were our stockings and having our big dinner on Christmas Eve, where we also got what he called “a table gift,” so in truth we didn’t actually only get four presents, we had our stockings full of little things, a present for the dinner table, and the four gifts under the tree, but it my mother’s third gift always took centre stage in our dreams, our letters to Santa when we were young, and our requests when we were older.

Clark’s computer? My hockey gear? His telescope? My weights? All third gifts.

When it came to the books, I definitely took less to the yearly gift than Clark did, but our parents knew how to find me something I would read, most often biographies about people I admired, or books about physical training or how to cook and eat right once I started hockey, and eventually how to build things after I set aside my original dreams of being an athlete.

It’s funny, but with my three the word “orphan” is always there on the tip of my tongue, but I never think of myself as an orphan, and I don’t think Clark ever did, either. Clark and I were lucky, though. Clark had our folks long enough for them to see him get his degrees. I had our folks long enough for them to see me happy. I think they worried I’d never find anything I enjoyed as much as I enjoyed hockey, but the first time I showed them a house I’d help build, they knew I’d found my place in the world, as simple as it was—and continues—to be.

Maybe that’s the real thing that makes an orphan an orphan. Not if you have parents or not, but how much of your life they got to see before they’re gone.

“You okay, Hunt?”

The question pulled me back to the world, and I smiled at Gabe. Just like me, Gabe lived in one of the odd apartments above the storefronts that lined the Village. He’d stopped halfway down the narrow alley between the stores to ask me the question. He was a nice young man, dark-haired and always polite, and he lived with his boyfriend, Justin. A student, Gabe worked at Third Eye part-time. Probably he was coming home from work right now. His journey wasn’t far; Third Eye was only a block down Bank Street.

His brown eyes looked just shy of worried, though, and I realized he’d probably asked me a question already. Or said hello.

“Sorry. Just in my head,” I said, tapping my gloved hand against the side of my hood. Most people knew that about me: I could get in my own head sometimes, and there wouldn’t be room left for much else.

Little brain and all that. He’d walked right up to me, and I hadn’t so much as noticed he was there.

“Ah,” Gabe said, chuckling. “Gotcha. Thank you, by the way.” He gestured to the pathway I’d already shovelled between the buildings.

“Welcome,” I said, and set back to shoveling once he took the rear door. I heard him start his journey to the third floor before the door closed. I looked after all the buildings on this side of the street for Marion when it snowed, She paid me, but I kept the money aside and donated it right back to her shelter and food bank—and I enjoyed the work. Shoveling snow in Ottawa can be hard, especially when it falls thick and wet, but even when it’s heavy, I don’t mind.

I know what I have to do, I know I can do it, and I know I’ll get it done.

I’ve always liked things like that.

 

A

 

An hour later I had the back walkways and through paths shovelled and salted, and I was back inside, pulling off my toque and coat and hanging them up on my hook by the door to the big apartment where I’d lived for the last two years. Once I blew the winter from my nose, I caught the smell of something warm and nice coming from farther inside.

I got my boots undone and followed the scent.

It led me to Micah, which shouldn’t have surprised me.

“All done?” Micah said quietly, turning to look at me. He sat at the kitchen table, a book open in front of him, and a tin of dark brown cookies. Ginger. That’s what I’d been smelling. They didn’t look like gingerbread, though. They weren’t shaped—he hadn’t used a cookie cutter—just round cookies, and they seemed much thinner than gingerbread, with a kind of crackly look to them.

“All done,” I said. “Thank you for looking after my three.” Micah lived in the corner, one-bedroom apartment across from ours. Ours was the largest apartment Marion owned, and it took up one whole side of the hall. Micah’s place had only one bedroom, but being on the corner gave him really good light, which he cared more about than space.

Micah is an illustrator, and his paintings are beautiful. The youngest of my three, Nellie, had connected with Micah in particular when she’d learned he had a job to do with books. The shared love of books between Micah and Nellie had quickly turned into a real friendship among my three and him. He was often happy to sit with them while I ran a quick errand, and it had become a habit for him to come over when I shoveled the walkways behind our block.

I truly appreciated him.

Also, I liked looking at him.

“They are never any trouble,” Micah said, like he always did. “You’d already fed them and they’d had their baths. We baked.” He gestured to the cookies. “And they went to bed without any fuss, once I invoked Santa, though I think Johnny was only humouring me for the girls.”

“I’m pretty sure I have to have the talk with him soon,” I said. I wasn’t looking forward to it. I picked up a cookie and took a bite. I’d expected it to be crunchy, but it was soft inside. Molasses and cinnamon and ginger distracted me from thoughts of Johnny. I pointed to the rest of the cookie. “This is really good.”

“Swiss ginger cookies. A recipe my nurse shared with me after my accident,” Micah said. “You have to have a talk with Johnny?”

“Santa,” I said. “Pretty soon—or maybe already—Johnny is going to realize, or get told, I figure.”

“Ah,” Micah said, leaning back in the chair. “Do you have a plan for that?”

“Well. My father told me Santa was real when you were little, but as you got older, you become Santa for the other little people around you.” I smiled at the memory, and my father’s voice explaining it to me as such an important responsibility, especially for my little brother. “He said becoming Santa was a big job for a big boy.”

“That’s sweet,” Micah said. “I think Johnny will like that. He’s a good big brother. Definitely better than mine.”

“I hope so,” I said, then frowned, because that didn’t sound right. “I didn’t mean—”

“I knew what you meant.” He waved it off, then rubbed his bottom lip with his thumb, which made me notice his mouth.

I looked away and took another bite of the cookie. It might have been the best cookie I’d ever eaten. I realized this was the first baking that had happened in our kitchen this December. “I’m behind,” I said. Our third Christmas, and I’d still not figured it all out.

“Beg your pardon?” Micah said. He always spoke like that, smart and proper-like. Another of the reasons Nellie loved him so much. He taught her words I’d never heard before, and how to use them, which delighted her.

“Their mom always baked cookies with them,” I said. “I haven’t fit it in yet. Or their letters to Santa, so I can make sure I find out their want for the year.” I sighed. My boss Mick had five job sites on the go, and it had been non-stop for weeks. No one wanted construction running too far into December, not in their homes. Unfortunately, we’d had a run of finding problems we hadn’t expected, which was always a risk in any renovation, but made for longer hours for all of us, even when Mick’s stepson Ben stepped in and helped some, when he wasn’t at college or working at his restaurant job. We were “all hands on deck” right now, which Mick always said when things got like this.

“You still have time,” Micah said. “Don’t forget you’re one person, not two.”

That made me laugh, though it wasn’t exactly funny. It reminded me of how I’d been feeling very much like one Uncle Hunt, not a Mommy and a Daddy. “Believe me, I know.”

“You’re doing a wonderful job with them,” Micah said. “Really.”

“Thank you,” I said. He was a very kind man. I held up the last bit of my cookie. “And your cookies are better than what we would have made, anyway.” I popped it into my mouth.

“I’ll give you the recipe,” Micah said. He rose, picking up his book and his walking stick. “And I’ll leave you to your evening.”

I liked the way he always said that, even if my evenings tended to be exactly the same every night: feed my three, bathe my three, get my three to bed, and then get things ready for tomorrow before going to bed myself.

Not exciting, usually far from it. But I slept well most nights, even if some nights I needed to take care of myself before sleep would come. And maybe sometimes that included thinking about a particularly kind man who lived just across the hall.

I walked Micah to the door. He didn’t have a jacket, but he leaned his stick against the wall and sat on the stool I left there for him and my three to use while to put on or take off their shoes. “If you need me tomorrow, just knock,” he said, tying his laces.

“Probably will. It’s supposed to snow again,” I said. “Thank you.”

“You’re the one doing the hard work,” Micah said. “I get to stay inside and be warm with the kids, and you’re out there making me a path to walk.” He straightened again. “Pretty sure I’m coming out ahead on that deal.”

“It’s not hard work,” I said, because it really wasn’t.

“Says you,” Micah said. “Do you know how long it would take me to shovel all that snow, one handed?” He lifted his cane.

“It would take me longer to draw a book, though,” I said, and he chuckled. “When we were kids, my brother Clark used to say he got the little body but the big brain, but that I got the big body and the little…” I paused letting it hang in the air the way Clark always did. “And then he’d just grin at me, because if he didn’t say I had the little brain, he wouldn’t get in trouble for it.”

Micah laughed, but he also a flinched, like he was embarrassed for laughing. “Sorry,” he said.

“He wasn’t wrong.” I shook my head.

Micah looked like he wanted to argue with me. Like I said, he’s kind like that. “Good night, Hunt,” he said, opening my apartment door, and then turning, he smiled.

I always noticed Micah’s smiling, because when he does—he changes. When he wasn’t smiling, Micah looked thoughtful. And not just smart, but clever. He had brown eyes, dark ones, and they moved around when he looked at you, as though maybe you were a puzzle he wanted to figure out.

But the smile changed his eyes, and the way he looked at a person. When he looked at me like that and smiled?

I don’t know how to describe it, really. Maybe… like he’d figured out that puzzle after all, and he felt proud or glad about it.

Either way, making Micah smile was a great way to end a day.

“Good night,” I said, and I watched him to make sure he got back to his apartment before I closed my door.

 

A

 

It did snow, and stopped early enough that I knocked on Micah’s door as soon as I got my three home from school and had a casserole ready for the oven. He took over, and I headed down to the street to start my work, waving to a couple of my neighbours and making sure I had Marion’s path done first, in case she got home early today.

She used a walking stick too, like Micah. Only in her case it was because she was much older than me and a little arthritic, too, not because it something had been so badly broken. She never slowed down, though. It made me worry about her. I didn’t want her to fall.

By the time I’d cleared the snow and made it back to the apartment, my three were holding out their plates while Micah served them each their portion, and I considered eating before cleaning up, but I felt gritty and dirty and my mother would never have let me sit at the table all filthy from a day of renovation and shoveling, so I told them to start without me and had a shower.

Scrubbed up and changed into sweatpants and an undershirt, I rejoined them.

Micah was looking at me strangely, so I checked my undershirt. “Did I miss something?”

“No,” he said.

“Your hair is all flat,” Nellie said. “You look funny.”

“He looks fine,” Micah said, shaking his head at her, and she giggled at him.

I sat and listened to Johnny talk and Nellie gush about their days at school, rarely letting Susy get a word in edgewise, but Susy was a bit like me, so I didn’t try too hard to force it.

I don’t mean Susy isn’t bright. Susy’s very bright. But she always liked to listen more than talk. We had that in common.

After Johnny talked about his school Christmas party, and Nellie asked Micah if he would stay and read her her bedtime story, Susy did speak up.

“Are we going to see Santa this year, Uncle Hunt?”

“If you want to,” I said. Their first year with me, I’d taken them to see a local Santa, and hadn’t been smart enough to realize they’d expected the same Santa they’d all seen their whole lives, the one Clark and his wife had always taken them to. Nellie, especially, had found it confusing—even though my brother had told them the Santa they’d always gone to wasn’t Santa-Santa, but a Santa-helper.

I don’t think I did a good job of explaining part of Santa’s magic meant he had helpers everywhere.

“I think I do,” Susy said.

“Then we will,” I said, but wanted to make sure she understood what I could—and couldn’t—offer. “It won’t be the Santa-helper from Toronto.”

She smiled. “I know.”

“There’s a great Santa-helper who comes to the library,” Micah said.

“The sunflower library?” Nellie said. Her favourite branch of the library, and our closest, was on Sunnyside, and the librarians there planted sunflowers in all the boxes outside. In the summer, our walks to the library were a twice-a-week event, and while all my three enjoyed it, Nellie loved it.

“That’s the one,” Micah said. “My friend Nat works there. They’re a librarian. Have you met them?”

“I know Nat! They have cool bowties,” Nellie said, nodding emphatically. Nat was one of Nellie’s heroes, and now she seemed completely on board. “Can we see that Santa-helper, Uncle Hunt?”

“I’ll look at what days,” I said, not wanting to promise until I knew. That lesson had come quick in our first year together. My construction schedule was nothing like what my brother and his wife had worked, and made things more difficult to plan than they were used to. There’d been tears more than once when they realized Saturdays and Sundays didn’t mean Uncle Hunt would be available for whatever they might like to do.

“I’ll find out for you,” Micah said with a small shrug when I frowned, about to tell him it wasn’t his job. “I brought it up.”

“I want a story book,” Nellie said.

“You always want a story book,” Johnny said, shaking his head like it was a waste of her want gift. “We always get a book, anyway. ‘Something to read,’ remember?”

“But two books is better than one,” Nellie said, sounding an awful lot like a teacher.

“One cannot argue with that,” Micah said, with one of those nice smiles of his. “It would be folly.”

Nellie blinked. “What’s ‘folly’?”

“Oh,” Micah said. “It’s another word for foolish. Sort of like silly.”

“Folly,” Nellie said the word carefully, and I knew it was going to be her new favourite word, at least for the next few weeks, until she found another. The last one had been susurrus, which meant any sound like soft whispers.

Once we were done eating, I wrangled my three through their after-dinner baths and got them changed into their pyjamas. When I brought them back out to the couch for their goodnight story from Micah, I found he’d loaded the dishwasher and run back to his apartment and brought a book back with him.

The man was so kind, and so good to my three.

“What’s that book?” Nellie said.

“It’s a collection of stories by Samuel Brunswick,” Micah said.

“Brunswick?” Nellie’s eyes went wide. “That’s your name.”

“That’s because this is a book my ancestor wrote,” Micah said. “A great-great-uncle or something like that.” He waved a hand. “He wrote a lot of stories, and I think you’ll all like some of the stories in this one.”

“Are there horses?” Susy said.

“There are definitely horses,” Micah said. “In fact, Samuel Brunswick wrote a whole series of stories that start with a really great story about a horse-drawn sleigh ride.”

Johnny sighed, and I snuck him a little squeeze on his shoulder. Putting up with the stories your younger siblings wanted to hear wasn’t always a fun part of being the big brother, but he was usually up for it. He was a good kid that way. He smiled at me. He was probably getting too big for bedtime stories at all, come to think of it. He already did a lot of things for himself.

“Have you decided what your want is?” I asked him quietly, while Micah listed off the choices of stories in the book for Susy and Nellie—though I had little doubt we were in for the horse story.

“New skates?” Johnny said, and I heard the question in his voice. Is that okay? All my three did that some, but Johnny’s voice did it the most, and it broke my heart every time. They’d lost something important, and sometimes it seemed like Johnny thought he had to be a very good boy, or else he’d lose something else. He struggled with asking me for anything, no matter how much I told him he could always ask. Our family Christmas tradition had been one of the few ways I had to get my three to tell me when they wanted something.

“I’ll let Santa know,” I said, winking. He smiled again, and then Micah was settling down on the couch to read them their story. I put away the casserole while he read them a story about a man with a russet-coloured beard—another new word for Nellie, who stopped to ask Micah what “russet” meant and learned it meant a colour somewhere between red and brown—who had an adventure when riding a horse-drawn sleigh and getting lost in a snowstorm.

While I put my three to bed, Micah waited for me and he pointed to his phone when I came back into the living room.

“The library has Santa for Thursdays, Fridays, and weekends in December, and the week leading up to Christmas Eve,” he said. “I’m so sorry. I should have run it by you alone, first. It’s kind of a drag show, too.”

“That sounds great. And it’s fine,” I said. Nellie loved going to the Drag Story Times. “I’m sure I can go to one of them. We’ll make it work. Thank you again for looking after my three.”

“I adore them, Hunt.” Micah shook his head, smiling that nice smile he had. “And I’ve told you before, it’s no trouble.”

“You’re a kind man,” I said. He looked at me for a while, and for a second, I thought maybe I had something on my face from dinner. But if I did, he didn’t tell me, which made me think probably I didn’t. He wasn’t the sort of person that let other people look foolish if he could help it. Just another way he was handsome, really. An inside way, rather than the outside.

Not that his outside wasn’t handsome either. Which I continued to notice maybe more often than I should.

“Good night, Hunt,” he said, picking up his book and his walking stick.

“Good night,” I said. I walked him to the door, and made sure he got into his own apartment, like I did every night, then I went back to my apartment, and looked up ice skates on my computer, setting my mind to find some with dark blue, which was Johnny’s favourite colour.

 

A

 

“They’re beautiful,” Susy said, her eyes wide, staring at the Santa who’d just arrived, two green-clad elves to either side of him. I recognized the elves as two of the drag queens I saw most years at Pride, though though their shiny, green-sequinned, fur-trimmed dresses were new to me. The Santa I didn’t recognize—a drag king—but honestly the performer was one of the coolest looking Santas I’d ever seen, with a long red greatcoat over a red plaid double-breasted suit vest, matching red pants, shiny black boots, and although the neatly shaped white beard had to be fake, it looked perfect.

I didn’t know Santa could look so nice.

“Santa looks fancy,” Nellie said, which was probably a better description than mine.

The rest of the library was fully decked out in decorations that included Christmas, Kwanza, and Hanukkah and other festivals I didn’t know, but all the attention had turned to the arrival of Santa and his elves.

“Look at their glitter eyes!” Susy said, as the two elves passed right by us, waving and escorting Santa to the large chair set up by the window. It took me a second to realize both the drag queens had glittery gold and green eyeshadow.

“It’s very pretty,” I said, knowing how much Susy liked everything glittery, and wanting to make sure I agreed out loud. When Clark had first told me Susy had told them she was a girl, he’d called me. She’d wanted Clark to let me know, right after she’d told them.

“It’s our job now to make sure she knows we support her, Hunt. Susy is her name now. Okay?” He’d sounded so scared, so unsure of himself. I’d never heard him like that before. “I mean, I know you get it, you’re gay. You’ve kind of done something like this already. In fact, she says that’s why she knew we’d be okay with it, and God, Hunt, I’m so terrified I’ll screw this up somehow.”

“You won’t,” I’d said. “You’re the smartest person I know. Tell Susy I love her.”

When Susy appreciated something glittery or fancy, I always remembered Clark’s words. Susy and I hadn’t done much with makeup ourselves yet. She was still young for it, but I’d watched a few videos on the internet just in case, and hopefully I wouldn’t be all thumbs if it wasn’t much like Venetian plaster or caulking—but we did play around sometimes when she felt like dressing up as a princess or a fairy.

I wondered if this was her way of letting me know she’d like something similar. Like Johnny, sometimes Susy wasn’t quick to tell me that sort of thing. More than once I’d had to tell my three they couldn’t hint to me if they wanted me to know things. Better to come out and say it, if it was important.

“Have you all decided what you’re going to ask for?” I said, after the Drag Elves and Santa took their places, and the first child in the line had climbed onto Santa’s lap.

“New skates,” Johnny said, nodding firmly, then giving me a small, embarrassed shrug. Maybe I’d get one more year before I had to have the talk about becoming a Santa for his sisters after all.

“I want a doll,” Susy said.

“Dolls are folly,” Nellie said.

“They are not,” Susy said, and her cheeks turned red.

Oh no.

“Hey now,” I said, and knelt down in front of the three of them. “Nellie?”

Nellie squirmed. Me kneeling down meant serious business, and she knew it. I did it whenever I wanted them to understand something was important. It put us eye-to-eye, on even footing, asking them to listen and understand me. I think Nellie already knew what I was going to say, too. But I still needed to say it out loud, for Susy especially.

“Yes?” Nellie said.

“Just because you don’t like something, doesn’t mean something is bad,” I said. “Dolls included. I never wanted storybooks when I was a little boy. Does that mean you wanting a storybook is folly?”

Nellie gave me a guilty shake of the head. “No.”

I looked at Susy, who didn’t seem quite as upset as before. “Is there one doll you’re hoping for?”

“One like me,” Susy said, shrugging.

Huh. I nodded to her and stood up again. One like me. I wasn’t sure I knew exactly what that meant, but I had some time still. The line moved quickly, and soon Johnny was taking his turn, and then Susy, and finally Nellie. When all three had had their turn, we started to leave. To my surprise, one of the Drag Elves took my arm and pulled me towards Santa.

“Not so fast, Mr. Big Man,” she said with a big smile, tracing one of her brightly painted green nails across my forearm all the way up to my hand. “Your turn!”

“What?” I said. But a second later, I understood. I glanced over and saw Johnny, Susy, and Nellie all hopping up and down, laughing and clapping, Johnny with his phone out, ready to take photos, and realized I’d been set up. My three were no doubt behind this.

“Your nieces and nephew want you to tell Santa what you want for Christmas,” the Drag Elf said, confirming it.

I didn’t want to crush Drag Santa, so I sat on the armrest of the chair, and he aimed a big smile up at me. “Ho ho ho!” His voice was impressively deep. “So what’s your name?”

I felt like a—Micah’s word—folly, but I did my best to play along. “Huntington. Everyone calls me Hunt,” I said.

“Ah, of course!” Drag Santa boomed. “Uncle Hunt!” He leaned in close. “Have you been a good boy this year?”

“I try to be,” I said, because my three were watching, and I always said being good is something you had to keep trying to do forever, not something you ever were.

Drag Santa laughed. “And what do you want for Christmas?” He crooked one white-gloved hand, and pointed at his ear. “Whisper it in my ear!”

What did I want for Christmas? I had no idea. All I could think of was to say, “I want my three to have a good Christmas.”

“Ho, Ho, Ho, that’s very nice, but not what I meant.” Drag Santa shook his head, and lifted up one white-gloved hand, wagging his finger at me like I’d done something wrong. “Something for you, Uncle Hunt.”

“I—” I shook my head. My little brain had nothing. I took a breath and tried again. I’d never gotten the hang of thinking quickly. “I don’t… I don’t know. You choose for me?”

I think this time, Drag Santa realized I wasn’t very bright and didn’t do well at this sort of thing. I’ve always needed time to plan things, to make my thoughts line up better. He took pity on me, and patted my shoulder. “I’ll get you something just right!” Drag Santa boomed, and then I was off to collect my three, who were delighted at having seen their big Uncle Hunt whisper into the ear of the fancy Santa-Helper.

 

A

 

“How did it go with Santa?” Micah asked. He’d come out of his apartment and stood at his door while my three filled up our own entrance shedding their coats and boots. I waited outside for my turn at the stool, leaving them to getting their coats and boots off and joining him a few steps back.

“Really good, thank you.” I waited until my three weren’t watching. “Though they made me sit on Santa’s knee and tell him what I wanted.”

“Did you at least tell him?” Micah laughed, and I might not be very clever, but the way he was laughing? It wasn’t just my three who’d come up with the idea. His brown eyes twinkled, and he looked like he was trying to hide half his smile.

He’d been in on it.

“I said a good Christmas for my three, but Santa said it had to be something for me.” I shook my head. Now I really felt foolish, knowing Micah had been a part of it and I’d been so blank. “I didn’t know what to ask for so I told him to choose for me. I had to sit on his chair, and I wasn’t ready.” Why was I telling him this? “I couldn’t think all quick like.”

“I’m sorry. It was supposed to be…” Micah shook his head, the smile gone now. The twinkle in his eyes, too. “Sorry.”

“Nah,” I said, holding up one hand. I didn’t like making Micah sad. It wasn’t his fault. His idea was fun and funny. “They liked it, that’s what matters.”

“Fair enough, but…” He glanced at the door to my apartment and now it was now empty, the door only partly ajar. No doubt my three were already on their way to their various weekend favourites: video games for Johnny and books for Nellie—always harder to know what had Susy’s attention at any time, though.

Susy. I still had to figure out a doll for her.

“Actually, do you have a moment, Hunt?”

I blinked. Micah didn’t often ask me for a moment. “Sure,” I said, and I stuck my head through the door of my own apartment long enough to say I was just going to talk to Micah for a few minutes. Johnny and Susy’s replies of “okay!” told me they’d heard. Probably Nellie already had her whole brain lost in a book. A train could crash through our apartment and if Nellie was reading, she wouldn’t notice a single car.

I closed the door and went back to Micah’s, taking my boots off in his entrance way. His one-bedroom apartment was in the corner of the building, with two big windows. He kept the place very tidy, and even his small kitchen always struck me as clean and proper. Some of his paintings hung on the wall, and I couldn’t help but look at my favourite: a self-portrait Micah had done from a photograph of himself swimming in a lake. It looked wet, with droplets spraying as he broke the surface and spread his arms out to the side. Micah wasn’t built big like me. In the painting, you could see how narrow and graceful he was.

His skin in the painted sunlight looked so real, warm and soft like you could reach over and touch, and your fingers would come away cooled by lake water.

“I’m heading to that meeting with that new publisher in Toronto tomorrow, and then I’ll be heading to my sister’s place after that for the holidays, but I’d like your permission for something before I go,” Micah said, and I turned around to see he’d moved behind his easel.

I frowned. “My permission?”

“I know you have a tradition,” Micah said. “Four gifts for Christmas. Well, and the dinner present and stockings.” He smiled again, probably remembering how last year my three had decided a perfect thank-you gift for Micah should be a stocking of his own.

He’d never had one before, apparently.

“That’s right,” I said, still not sure what he needed from me.

“Well, I’d like to give them this.” Micah said, and he used his foot to unlock the wheels on the round platform beneath it. He moved his easel around and showed me the painting.

“Oh,” I said. I wished I had a different word. I’m sure there were better ones.

It was a painting of my three, laughing and happy, pushing their way through a field of giant sunflowers. Only, after a second, I realized the sunflowers weren’t giant, my three were little—and they’d each got wings. Johnny’s wings were a bright, vibrant blue offset with black stripes; Nellie’s wings silver and white in a very pretty, feather-like pattern; and Susy—oh, Susy!—had wings every shade of purple and pink.

My three painted as fairies. Or at least, fairies if fairies still wore sneakers and jeans like Johnny’s. Only Susy looked particularly fairy-like, in a pretty dress. Nellie’s dungarees, glasses, and sandals were perfectly her, though.

Oh, who was I kidding? All three of them looked perfectly like themselves, but Susy truly looked magical.

“Since I’m not going to be back until Boxing Day, if it’s okay with you, I’ll wrap it up here and you can come get it when the kids aren’t likely to see it. I’ll give you a copy of my key.” Micah was still talking, but I barely heard it, I was just staring at my three, who looked so magical and wonderful and happy…

“Oh,” I said again, and I reached out to the painting, though I knew better than to touch it.

“You like it?” Micah said, and I almost laughed, because he sounded worried, like it’s possible I might not like it, which made no sense at all. The painting was beautiful, and I couldn’t wrap my little brain around how he created something like this with paint and his own skill.

“It’s wonderful,” I said, still wishing I had better words. “They’re going to love it.” Then I realized this is something that must have taken Micah days, maybe weeks to do, and normally he was paid a lot of money to do it. “But I can’t let you just give it to us. I can pay you for it.”

Micah shook his head. “Hunt, I want to give this to them,” he said, and then he looked at me, and his voice got quieter. Softer. “I want to give this to you.” His eyes were flicking back and forth, like I was a puzzle again.

“I…” I didn’t know what to say, so I did the thing I always do. Be polite. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Micah said. He smiled.

That’s better. It’s always better when he smiles. Sometimes, Micah can get inside his own head, too, I think. This one time, he told me all about some paintings he was working on, and how the author and the publisher he was working with couldn’t seem to agree on what they wanted, and I could tell he didn’t like letting anyone down, even when it wasn’t possible to make everyone happy.

It’s not the same, and it’s not like I’m an artist like Micah is, but I’ve had that problem with renovations sometimes, where even Mick knows we’ve got no way to make it perfect when multiple people can’t agree on what’s perfect.

He was so good.

“You remind me of my brother,” I said, because Clark was like that too, always trying to find a way make things as good as possible for as many people as he could—but also he was smart, and talented, and good at pretty much anything he tried, too.

“Ah,” Micah said, and his smile got wobbly, like he was upset or let down.

“It’s beautiful,” I said again, pointing at the painting, hoping his smile would go back to the way it was before.

“Thanks.” But his smile didn’t come back, not the way it had been, not even when I said goodnight and he walked me to his door and watched me go into my apartment.

I spent over an hour after my three were in bed trying to figure out how to find a doll that Suzy would like—one that’s “like her”—and I started to realize I just wasn’t smart enough to figure it out, so I went to bed and tried not to let it stop me from sleeping.

I ended up tossing and turning anyway.

I’d ordered the skates for Johnny, and I’d made sure they could be exchanged if he preferred another style or brand. Nellie’s storybook would be even easier. She asked for a copy of the storybook Micah had been reading to her from, the one his grandfather or great-grandfather or whoever it was wrote. I’d stop by Ian’s bookstore and ask him to order that for me. And the rest of Christmas I could keep on track, with some effort. We’d already visited Santa. I could find time to bake.

But if I couldn’t figure this doll out for Susy…

The urge to ask Micah for help again didn’t help the way it usually did. He was always so clever, he usually had an answer to anything I asked him. But this time I remembered the way he looked at me when I talked to him back at his apartment, and I wondered if maybe I relied on him a bit too much.

He seemed sad.

And maybe tired? Sometimes visiting his family did that to him, but he hadn’t gone to see them yet. Or maybe it was my fault, for trying to pay him. Or for how often he watched over my three while I shoveled the back walkways. I knew he didn’t like it when people treated him like he was fragile just because he used a cane, but did I go to Micah more often than I should? Had I asked too much of him?

I bit my lip and rolled onto my back, staring up into the dark.

Micah wasn’t just clever. That was the real problem. I thought of the painting of him swimming in the lake, the one that made me think it would be wet if I touched it.

No, the problem here was me.

Because it wasn’t just the painting I wanted to touch.

 

A

 

More snow was falling by the time I made it to the Second Page, and even though Ian was keeping the bookstore open later all month because of Christmas, I ended up getting there only a half hour before he was closing. At least I wasn’t the only customer. I could see someone’s toqued head just barely visible at the back of the store.

“I promise I know what I need,” I said, going right to the counter, where he was opening some boxes and pulling out new books.

“Don’t worry about it,” Ian said. “I’m going to be here another couple of hours at least.” He gestured to the boxes. Ian’s eyes don’t match. One of them is green and one of them is blue, and even though I know it, I always notice the first time I see him face-to-face on any given day.

“Nellie wants…” I paused and pulled the paper out of my pocket. Even though I’d written it down first thing in the morning before work, it had gotten dirty. “The Collected Tales of Samuel Brunswick.” I said it carefully, then looked up.

“Oh. I know that one. Just came out this month. In fact…” He went to the far side of the store from the counter, where the kids books were, and he reached up to the second shelf. “Ta-da.” He pulled down the book. It was the exact same version as the one Micah had.

“Actually, Micah did all the illustrations in this one,” Ian said. “The author was his great-great-uncle, and when the stories went into public domain, he put it together himself. I don’t even think he used his usual publisher.”

“Really?” I followed Ian back to the counter. “He didn’t tell us he’d published it.”

Ian glanced at me, raising one eyebrow. “Us?”

“Oh,” I said. “He reads to my three a lot, and he brought that book over the other night.”

“Ah,” Ian said, with a funny little smile. I wasn’t sure what was funny.

“Hey,” I said. “Susy wants a doll that’s like her. Do you know of anywhere I might be able to find something like that?”

Ian stopped to think about it, but it wasn’t him who answered.

“Urbane Myth.”

I turned. The peach-coloured toque I’d seen before belonged to Marion, and she was walking up with two paperback books in her free hand and her cane in the other. It had a little spike attached to the bottom of it for the potential ice rain. She put the books on the counter beside us.

“The clothing shop?” I said, not quite following. I’d only gone into the place a couple of times. The stuff they sold was a bit too fancy for me, but they’d had some really bright colours for scarves that Susy and Nellie had both liked.

“Phoebe does amazing hand-made doll clothes for Christmas every year,” Marion said. “And she stocks some dolls as well. I’m pretty sure the dolls are made by students from the university art program, and given it’s Phoebe, you can bet on there being queer dolls with queer doll outfits to match.” She smiled. “Also, thank you for salting this morning, Hunt. Turned out we needed it.” She nodded to the windows of the bookstore where the snow was definitely turning into something icier and wetter now.

“My phone warned me,” I said. “Do you know if Urbane Myth is open late, too?” I asked Ian.

“I don’t think so,” Ian said, shaking his head. “But Phoebe’s on the Village website like the rest of us.”

That would work. A couple of years ago, the Village Business Association had put together a website for all the stores in the Village.

“I should have thought of that.”

“Nah,” Ian said, smiling. “This way we got to see your face.” He paused. “Oh! And before I forget—are you done with the stockings yet?”

“Not quite,” I said. I always bought the books from Ian, but he sometimes had other things that were good for my three’s stockings, too.

“Check this out,” Ian said, turning the little spin-rack he had on the counter for bookmarks around until one side faced out in particular. They were bookmarks, though smaller than usual, and I was about to point out my three lost their large-sized bookmarks on the regular when Ian pulled one out and opened it, revealing it was folded over in half and had magnets attached to it.

“You clip them around the page,” Ian said. “They won’t fall out or get lost.”

“That is clever,” Marion said. “And I’ll be needing one of those, too.”

There was a pretty purple one that was perfect for Susy, and one with piles of books on it that Nellie would like. It took a bit longer for me to pick one for Johnny—I ended up going with a night sky, mostly because it was blue more than the stars or moon—but in the end, I got the storybook and three more things for their stockings.

“Thank you, Ian,” I said, taking the paper bag from him. I turned to Marion. “And thank you. I’ll check the website.”

“Merry Christmas, Hunt,” Marion said.

“Merry Christmas,” I said.

 

A

 

Back at home, I paid Rhonda, who told me my three had been no trouble at all, and I finally got to shower off the long day. When I went to the kitchen, I was surprised to see Nellie there, in her pyjamas, blinking up at me. She was holding a copy of Scaredy Squirrel, which was a book that was probably too young for her now, but also one of her favourites.

“You’re supposed to be in bed,” I said, though I wasn’t really bothered. They were off school now, so it wasn’t a school night.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She lifted the book. “Couch cuddles?”

“Couch cuddles,” I agreed, and she grinned.

Couch cuddles usually required our softest blanket, two pillows, and snuggling up on the couch while I read to her, and tonight was no different. Scaredy Squirrel’s antics made her giggle as always, and she leaned against me while we worked our way through the book.

When I closed it, she sighed. Probably she knew what came next, which was me tucking her back into her bed.

I kissed the top of her head, and noticed she looked off. Not sad, exactly, but something was going on in her head.

“Everything okay?”

She nodded, but she didn’t say anything.

“Are you sure?”

She sighed again. “I wanted something to happen, but it didn’t happen.”

I frowned. Had I missed something she was hoping for? I wished I could convince my three to speak up more. “What did you want to happen?”

But Nellie shook her head. “It’s okay, Uncle Hunt.” She looked up at me, and I tried to decide if she meant it or not, but I couldn’t really tell.

Which was always the problem.

“Nellie,” I said. “You remember how I asked you three to tell me when you want or need something, right?”

“I know.”

“Because you know I’m not good at guessing things,” I said, repeating it anyway. “I don’t always understand hints and things like that. It’s better just to say things to me as plain as you can.”

She blinked. Then she smiled, and then she grinned. “Right,” she said, in almost a whisper. “That’s right.”

I squeezed her in our little nest of blanket. “So, is there something you want to tell me?”

“No,” she said, but all that sadness was completely gone, and she looked really, really excited again. “No, I’m okay.” She managed to get her arms out of the blanket and wrapped them around my neck, pressing her forehead against mine. “I’m ready for bed now. Thank you.”

I tucked her in, and she grinned the whole time.

Whatever it was, she’d tell me eventually, I figured. And if not her, maybe she’d do her usual thing and talk to Susy and Johnny about whatever it was that was on her mind, and Johnny would let me know if it was important.

“Goodnight, little bean,” I said, at her doorway.

“Goodnight, Uncle Hunt,” Nellie said, in a voice just shy of laughter.

 

A

 

The last week before Christmas always got hectic, given my three weren’t in school for half of it, and added to that Mick had me finishing off the plaster at two sites, but Rhonda was happy for the extra money and I juggled everything in the end, even if we ended up relying on takeout a few times for supper, something I tried not to do very often.

Urbane Myth had indeed had the perfect doll on their website. It had the same hair colour and eye colour as my Susy, and was tall and slender like her. The owner, Phoebe, had been there when I came to pick it up, and she helped me pick out two outfits for the doll, which it turned out she’d made herself, like Marion said. The doll clothes even had little tags inside the dresses that said “Phoebe Original,” just like the ones she made in the store.

It was the final present I’d needed, and I’d wrapped it once my three were in bed on the twenty-third. By the twenty-fourth, I had only one more thing to pick up: the painting from Micah’s, and while all the jobs for Mick had meant we were going to have a delivery Christmas Eve dinner, my three definitely weren’t going to complain about that.

When I got home on Christmas Eve and asked what everyone wanted on their pizza, I had them set the table while I took Rhonda aside to pay her for her time.

“Thank you again,” I said.

“They were great,” Rhonda assured me, then she glanced at the kitchen and took another step into the hallway with me. “One thing,” she said quietly.

“Okay,” I said, following her.

“This morning they had a call with a friend, on the computer,” Rhonda said, biting her bottom lip. “Johnny said it would be fine, and they’ve done it before, so I didn’t think anything about it, but I’ll feel more comfortable telling you. It wasn’t a kid they phoned, it was an adult.”

“An adult? Who?”

“Apparently your neighbour?” She lifted one hand. “Micah, I think his name was. Nellie wanted to talk to him about something, and—like I said—Johnny seemed to think it would be fine.”

“Oh,” I said with a smile. “It is. Micah is in and out of here all the time, and he’s away in Toronto right now for his work and for the holidays.” I relaxed, though I hoped Nellie hadn’t interrupted Micah while he was at anything important, like those meetings with the new publisher or time with his family. I knew he didn’t always enjoy either as it was. “Nellie adores him. They all do. We all do. Thank you for telling me, though.”

Rhonda shrugged into her jacket. “Oh, good. I’m glad.”

“Oh, wait, I have something for you…” I said, remembering just in time after she’d put her boots on. I went to the hall closet and came back with a little bag from Sweet Temptations, the candy shop in the Village. When I held it out to her, she laughed.

“Did you buy me gelt?”

“Happy Hanukkah,” I said. “I know I’m early, but I won’t see you again before.”

“Thank you, Hunt,” she said, looking at the small bag of chocolates. “Are these hand-made?” She sounded surprised. “They smell really nice.”

“They’re from Sweet Temptations,” I said. “Avery makes all his chocolates in the store.” I paused, suddenly worried I’d made a mistake. “Is that okay?”

“It’s probably going to be the best tasting gelt I’ve ever had, Hunt,” Rhonda said, laughing.

After she’d left and the pizza arrived, I gathered my three around the table and watched them open their dinner presents. They’d been surprised when all their presents were exactly the same shape—bright red envelopes—and Johnny had been the first to reveal what was inside.

“Hockey tickets?” He bounced in his chair. “For real?”

“For real,” I said. “I already booked the games off with Mick.”

He was hugging me when Nellie saw her gift certificates for the bookstore and cheered, adding herself into the hug before he’d even let go. Susy had a quieter reaction, as always, but she smiled at me.

“Art camp,” she said, and her eyes were wide. “Like… sleep-away?”

“Micah found it,” I said. “It’s an LGBTQ camp for two weeks over summer.” I watched her face, hoping it wasn’t going to overwhelm her. “If you don’t want to do the sleepovers, though, you don’t have to.”

She shook her head, considering and thinking it through like she did most things. “I’d like to.”

I exhaled, relieved. They watched me open my gift from them, which was a new hat and scarf, both of which were very soft and a dark blue I was pretty sure meant Johnny had picked them out.

“Thank you,” I said. “These will be great when I’m shoveling the back paths.”

After that, we ate. Johnny was on his third piece before Susy had even finished her first, and Nellie had barely stopped talking about all the books she wanted to use her certificate to buy long enough to eat her first piece, but they all seemed to be in a really good mood.

“You had fun with Rhonda?” I said.

“She’s great,” Nellie said, speaking for all of them as usual. “Did you know she and Lyndsay are getting a dog for forever this time?”

I fought off a smile. Rhonda and her girlfriend were, in Nellie’s opinion, two of the coolest women she’d ever met, and she tended to see anything they did in the best light. Lyndsay volunteered at a dog rescue, and Rhonda often showed them photos of whichever dog they were taking care of in their home when she babysat.

“That’s great for them,” I said. “They like dogs, and since they live with Lyndsay’s grandmother, there’s always someone home to take care of it.”

Johnny pointed his half-eaten third piece of pizza at Nellie. “Not like us. We can’t have a dog, Nellie.”

Nellie sighed. “I know.” Then she pushed her pizza around on her plate. “But if someone was home?”

“That’ll have to be a someday wish,” I said.

They all got very quiet, and for a moment I thought about reminding them that pets weren’t something we could fit into our lives, but they didn’t seem upset or anything, so I let it go. In fact, they were smiling at each other, which felt good.

This year, it didn’t seem like Christmas was bringing them too many memories of their parents.

Once dinner was done and everyone had been tucked into bed—two stories for Nellie tonight, who seemed very excited still, which wasn’t unusual for Christmas Eve—and then once the girls were asleep I leaned into Johnny’s room, where he was sitting up in his bed playing on his phone, like he did most nights before finally going to sleep.

“You okay to hold down the fort for a few minutes?” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

“Sure,” he said.

I got the key Micah had given me and went into his apartment. He’d left the painting in the middle of the room, wrapped in crisp white paper and a red ribbon, with a tag hanging from the bow. I flipped the tag, just to make sure, and it said: To Johnny, Susy, Nellie and Huntington, from Micah with love.

I was just about to pick it up when I heard the sound of a key in the door behind me, and turned, surprised. When the door opened a second later, Micah looked even more surprised than me.

“Oh,” he said. He bit his lip, then pulled his small rolling suitcase through the door. “Hey.” He stopped in the doorway after that, just looking at me.

“You’re back early,” I said, because I’d thought he was supposed to be back on Boxing Day. Then I realized I was standing in his apartment, and I pointed at the wrapped painting. “I came to get the painting.”

He smiled. “I figured.” He took another step inside and leaned his cane against the wall while he took off his jacket and hat and hung them up, and then he stopped again. “Hunt, I…” he said, then he sighed. He looked good in his brown sweater, even with his hair rumpled from his hat. He always looked good, But he also seemed worried or nervous or something.

“I’m sorry,” I said. He might want to go to bed, I realized. “You’re probably really tired. I should go.”

“No,” he said, holding up one hand when I took a step. “Don’t.”

I stopped. “What?”

“I spoke to Nellie today,” he said, and he looked at me, and then he looked away, staring at the ground.

Oh no. Had I missed something after all? Rhonda hadn’t said anything had seemed wrong, and I hadn’t noticed anything at dinner, but maybe there was. “Is everything okay?” I said. “If something is wrong, please tell me, Micah.” What had I missed?

He frowned, and then shook his head. “Oh, God, no. No, Hunt, it’s nothing like that, I’m sorry…” He took a breath. “I’m so sorry, no, everything is fine. Really.”

“Okay,” I said. “I don’t really understand. If everything is okay, why did Nellie call you?” I frowned. “Wait. Is that why you came home early?”

“It is,” Micah said. “She told me I needed to speak plain. That you weren’t good with hints.”

“That’s true,” I said, but now I was even more confused. “But I’m not sure why she said that to you.”

“Oh, because I was being a coward,” Micah said, crossing his arms and smiling at me, and making me feel like a puzzle he’d just solved, even if I was still completely puzzled myself. “I was definitely hinting, rather than saying.”

“Hinting at what?”

“I really like you.” Instead of his usual voice, the one that made him sound smart and confident and most of all clever, he seemed almost embarrassed. “And sometimes I think you like me, too, but then you told me I reminded you of your brother, which wasn’t the most romantic analogy, and so I thought I’d maybe imagined it, and then—”

“Micah?”

He looked up at me again. My heartbeat felt loud inside me.

I’ve never been good with words. I didn’t really have any now, either, beyond the obvious ones.

“I really like you, too,” I said. Then I stepped forward and leaned in, careful to go slow in case I’d misunderstood, though I didn’t think I had. He didn’t pull away, so I kissed him. He held on to me, and I pulled him against me and it turned out his lips felt about as perfect as I’d thought they’d feel.

I don’t know how long we kissed. I was too busy enjoying the little noises he made and how nice it felt to hold Micah Brunswick in my arms, but eventually we stopped, though both of us were breathing heavy and I really, really wished I didn’t need to go back to my three before Johnny fell asleep.

“Okay,” Micah said, in this husky voice I’d never heard him use before. “So we cleared that up.”

I laughed and loosened my grip. “I… need to get back to my three.”

“Right. Right. Responsibilities and things.” He looked up at me, his brown eyes dancing back and forth. “Remind me to thank Nellie for the advice.”

“Did she know?” I said. “That you were coming back?”

“Yes,” he said. “They all did. They all wanted me to tell you.”

They all wanted him to tell me. They all knew? That explained how excited they all were. I looked at Micah. Micah who liked me. I shook my head. “I should probably be worried how much they arranged things behind my back.”

“Maybe,” Micah said. “They also invited me over for Christmas Day tomorrow. If that’s okay.”

“It is,” I said. I wanted to invite him to spend the night, but I couldn’t. Not with my three asleep in the apartment with us. We’d have to talk before Micah could spend the night. I’d never brought someone home like that, not that I’d been with anyone these last few years.

But I wanted to bring Micah home.

“Good night,” I said, forcing myself to step back.

“I’ll bring the painting over in the morning,” Micah said. He stepped back to lean against his wall, like he needed to have some space between us. I understood that. I wanted to kiss him again, but if I did, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t leave.

I really liked kissing Micah, and the way he fit against me. I wanted to put my hands under his sweater, to see what that skin in the painting felt like beneath my palms, to see if I could make him make those little noises in his throat again.

We stared at each other. He swallowed.

“Good night,” Micah said, and I managed to make it out the door and across the hall.

 

A

 

Nellie leapt onto my bed before dawn, and I remembered at the last second to pretend to be asleep.

I’d been tossing and turning most of the night, because even if my three had wanted Micah to tell me he liked me—and he did, and I liked him—around three in the morning, I’d heard the hiss of ice rain against my bedroom window and then my brain had realized something.

I counted on Micah Brunswick. So did my three. He watched over them. It wasn’t just me, either. Micah was important to Johnny and Susy and especially Nellie. He had a friendship with each of them they treasured. Nellie might have wanted a storybook ending for Micah and me, but there was no way to know if that would happen.

By four in the morning, I remembered that kind of thing had never happened to me before. I’d had four boyfriends before my three had come into my life, and the truth was they’d all gotten tired of me for the same reason when it came right down to it.

Micah was talented and skilled and not just smart but clever. More clever than any of the men I’d been with. Those men had all been more like me, guys I’d met at the gym or the club, who’d liked the way I looked enough to not care so much about anything else. If those men had gotten tired of me not getting their jokes and not understanding their hints, how long would it take Micah?

Nellie landed on the bed before I could come up with any answers.

“What time is it?” I said, pretending to be sleepy and confused.

“I waited until seven,” Nellie said, with so much frustration in her voice I had to laugh. I grabbed her in a hug and she laughed into the blankets.

In the kitchen, Johnny and Suzy were already up, and the smell of cooking bread was already coming from the toaster. I worked with Johnny and we managed a quick assembly-line of toast and jam and peanut butter, which Nellie devoured without barely saying a word between bites, something that really only happened when there were presents waiting for after.

“Does anyone want a hot chocolate?” I said, teasing and stretching after they were done eating. “I might have a cup of coffee first…”

“Uncle Hunt!” Nellie pleaded, putting her forehead down on the table.

“Go get the stockings,” I said, and they were off like a shot, even Johnny. I cleared the table, though I’d get to the dishes later, and joined them in the living room where they’d each staked out a spot—Johnny and Susy on either end of the couch, Nellie on the floor—and my own stocking was sitting on the chair.

“Merry Christmas,” I said to them, and they smiled and said it back and started tearing into their stockings. I watched, forgetting to even pull the first thing from my own stocking. Johnny took his time, ripping open each gift and really looking at it—even if it was just some candy or a hockey puck—and Susy was even more careful, trying not to rip the paper on her presents as she went through them.

Nellie shredded her wrapping like she was trying to make confetti.

I loved them so much. They were very much the centre of my life. My brother’s kids, who I was lucky enough to call my own. I couldn’t risk—I wouldn’t risk—

“Uncle Hunt?” Susy said. She looked at me, and I realized she’d undone the package of hair ties, ribbons, and clips and had put her hair back with one of the clips.

“Sorry, what?” I said, tapping my temple. “I was in my head.”

“You’re not opening your presents,” she said.

“Oh, right.” I laughed. “I like watching you all.”

She smiled at that, but she didn’t open another present until I started with mine, the first of which was a bar of soap. I filled my own stocking, of course, but I’d forgotten I’d gotten that for myself, so it was easy to pretend surprise.

“Why does Santa always get you things like soap and stuff?” Nellie said. She’d paused tearing her way into a chocolate orange to ask the question.

“I like soap,” I said. “You’ve seen how I look when I come home sometimes.”

Nellie took a second with that, then nodded, going back to her work.

The doorbell rang.

For a second, they all froze, and then they grinned at each other. Nellie leapt up and said, “I’ll get it!” and was halfway down the hallway before I could have said a word.

I’m not sure what word I would have said, anyway. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know what to do. Because if this was Micah—and who else could it be?—I still hadn’t figured anything out.

Susy looked at me, and a little line formed between her eyebrows, so I tried to smile for her.

“Come in, come in!” Nellie was practically dragging Micah—because of course it was Micah—into the room, and he was barely holding on to the wrapped picture and his cane, and I got up to take the package from him and then he smiled and…

Oh. Micah had come dressed the way we dressed for Christmas morning: his pyjamas. For Micah, that was a pair of red flannel pants and a plain white t-shirt and he looked wonderful.

“Surprise,” Micah said, with a crooked twist to his lips.

Right. I wasn’t supposed to know he was home.

“You’re here,” I said. I couldn’t tell if I’d fooled any of them with that.

“We invited him,” Nellie said, grinning and looking back and forth between Micah and me. “Is that a present for us?”

“Nellie,” Johnny groaned. “At least let him sit down.”

“I’ll get your stocking, Micah,” Susy said.

“But it is a present for us, right?” Nellie said.

Micah had been looking at me, and I couldn’t tell what he was thinking, but he finally glanced down at Nellie. “It is. It’s for all of you.”

“Take my chair,” I said, and Micah sat down as Susy gave him his stocking, and I put the painting down beside the tree, and then realized I wasn’t sure where to go myself, but given my stocking was by my chair, I ended up sitting on the floor beside Micah, who put a hand on my shoulder.

I looked up at him.

“Merry Christmas,” he said. That crooked smile was back.

“Merry Christmas,” I said. How long will he look at me like that? I swallowed and glanced away. Susy was looking at me again, that little line back between her eyebrows.

Micah and I made it through our stockings—Nellie noticed most of the things were the same, right down to the bar of soap—and then Micah asked if my three could open the gift he’d brought first.

“Okay.” My throat had gotten raw, and the word came out a little choked.

Micah waited until my three had their attention on the wrapped painting before he leaned in.

“Are you okay?” he said in a soft voice.

“I don’t know,” I whispered back, and he frowned, but then Nellie was basically screaming and we turned to see they’d torn the paper off and all three of them were looking at the painting.

Johnny glanced back at us, first. “That’s really cool, Micah.”

“Thank you,” he said.

“We’re so small!” Nellie said. “We’re fairies!”

“It’s awesome,” Susy said. She turned to look at Micah, tears in her eyes. “Thank you. It’s really beautiful.” Her bottom lip trembled, and Nellie frowned at her.

“Why are you crying?” Nellie said.

“Oh, honey,” Micah got off the chair, sliding to the floor, and he opened his arms. Susy gave him a big hug, burying her face in his shoulder.

“Thank you,” Susy said again.

“I don’t understand why she’s crying,” Nellie said.

“Sometimes good things make you cry,” I said, rubbing Susy’s back with one hand. I wasn’t entirely sure I understood myself, really, but I think it was because Susy the fairy in the painting was so very perfect. It looked like her so much it was her.

Micah had tears in his eyes, too, and when Susy finally pulled back, sniffling, he said. “Lucky for us I got handkerchiefs in my stocking.” He opened the box of white cotton handkerchiefs and pulled one out for her and another for himself.

Susy laughed as she blew her nose and Micah wiped his eyes.

Nellie sighed. I could tell her patience with crying and feelings was about to completely run out.

“I’m going to go get coffee started for me and Micah,” I said, raising one hand when Nellie opened her mouth to complain. “But he can hand out the first presents for me while I do that, if he doesn’t mind?”

“I don’t mind,” Micah said, and Nellie cheered.

I gave Susy one more squeeze and then I ran away. I needed to think, and I couldn’t seem to think while I was watching Micah with Susy. Before I got too lost in my head, I got the coffee started, and then I just stood there.

I liked him. My three liked him. If it didn’t work out, then it wasn’t just me who’d lose him. Susy needed people like Micah in her life. People who saw her. I leaned against the counter, my arms to either side of the coffee machine, watching the dark liquid start to fill the jug. I couldn’t find the answer.

I wasn’t even sure what the question was.

“Okay, that’s really unfair,” Micah said, his voice snapping me out of my thoughts. I turned to look at him. He was in the doorway, one hand on the wall. He’d left his cane in the living room, I noticed.

“Sorry?”

“When you lean like that? Your arms.” He grinned. “Very distracting.”

“Oh,” I said, pushing off the counter.

He shook his head. “That wasn’t a complaint, Hunt.” He made his way carefully toward me. Using the counter and looking at me with that eye-flicking thing he did, only this time he didn’t seem to be figuring me out. “They’re going to riot if we don’t get back in there soon—well, Nellie is—but you seem upset.” He paused, and took a breath. “Is it because of last night?”

“Yes,” I said, and he flinched so I shook my head. “It’s not the kissing. I liked that. A lot.”

He smiled. “Me too.”

“I’m just…” I looked out through the open doorway into the living room, and then back at him. “I don’t want to ruin anything. For them.”

“Oh,” Micah said, frowning. “I’m not sure I get what you mean by ruin.”

“When you get tired of me—”

“Sorry, what?” Micah held up one hand.

“Uncle Hunt!” Nellie’s voice interrupted. “Is the coffee done yet?”

I groaned, and Micah put a hand on my shoulder. “You and I will finish that conversation, Hunt, but just to be clear?” He leaned in. “I am not going to get tired of you.” Then he looked back out through the door. “Of any of you.”

I swallowed. “You’re sure?” I said. “You know I’m not very…” I tapped my temple with a finger.

“You are kind, you are wonderful.” Micah leaned in closer. “You are very much the man for me, Hunt.” He kissed me, and I kissed him back, and I probably would have forgotten all about everything else, only—

“Uncle Hunt!” Nellie cried.

“We’re coming,” Micah said, pulling back. He sighed, then he winked at me, nodding to the machine behind me. “Coffee’s ready.”

Micah made his way back out, and I followed with two mugs of coffee. Micah liked his with cream, something I already knew. When we got back to the living room, I saw my three had rearranged themselves. Johnny had the chair, Susy had one side of the couch, and Nellie remained on the floor. They already each had a present in front of them.

“You two sit there,” Nellie said, pointing at the remaining space on the couch.

Micah’s lips twitched, but he sat in the middle. I took the end.

We each opened our “something to wear” present—my three had chosen this one for me, and I found myself the proud owner of a new Sens jersey, which would be great for taking Johnny to the games—and Johnny seemed happy with his new black hoodie, Nellie pretended to be enthusiastic about her dungarees even though we all knew full well she cared more about the books to come, and Susy shook out the lavender dress and beamed at me. “It’s purple!”

“I’m glad you like it,” I said.

“She always likes purple,” Nellie said.

“And you always like books,” Johnny said, though he wasn’t being mean, and Nellie stuck her tongue out at him playfully enough.

They’d all also gotten packets of socks and new underwear in their packages, but unsurprisingly, no one brought them up.

“You’re up,” I said to Johnny, and he handed out the next round of presents—“something to read”—and this time it was Johnny forcing some excitement rather than Nellie, though he at least opened the Ottawa Walking Tours book and flipped through it, glancing up at me with a questioning look on his face.

“I thought you could pick out the ones you want to do, and we could all go exploring,” I said.

He smiled. “Okay.” That sounded more genuine. I’d hoped a book that led to going somewhere and doing something would hit the right spot.

Susy had an art book—a how-to-draw kind of book—and she bit her bottom lip, looking at it. I wondered if I’d gotten it wrong, but then she turned to Micah and said, “Will you help me with this?”

“Of course. I’d love to.”

My throat got rough again, and I had to drink some coffee and look at my own book, a cookbook I’d picked up that promised all the recipes were healthy and quick to make. I’d see if that was true in time, I supposed. Once I was sure my voice wouldn’t choke again, I said, “Should we do it out of order this year, and do the ‘something you need’ next?”

All three groaned, and Micah laughed, and Johnny said, “That wasn’t funny when Dad did it, Uncle Hunt. It’s not funny when you do it, either.” He shook his head, but he laughed, and I realized he was really laughing. The memory of my brother doing the same thing every year—and Clark had always done it, Johnny was right—didn’t seem to be sad this time.

“Whose turn is it?” I said, honestly not remembering if Nellie or Susy had been the one to hand out the “something you want” gifts last year, but Susy raised her hand.

“My turn,” she said, getting the most coveted gifts to pass them out.

Nellie barely let Susy hand it over before she was tearing into the paper and cheering at the reveal of another storybook—and this one the very book Micah had published. Johnny seemed just as happy with his skates, but I was watching Susy the closest, and her slow smile at the reveal of the doll I’d gotten from Urbane Myth was everything.

She looked up at me. “She’s perfect.”

“Just like you,” I said.

She bit her lip and pulled out the two changes of clothes that came with the doll and laid them out beside her.

“Are you going to name her?” Micah asked Susy.

Susy thought about it. “What’s a good Christmas name?”

“How about Noelle?” Micah said. So clever.

“Hi, Noelle,” she said to the doll.

My gift was a new coffee thermos for work, one that stayed hot because you charged it, and Johnny watched me open it and while I made sure to thank all my three for it, I knew he’d been the one in charge of getting it so I made sure he knew I knew with a wink aimed just for him.

The “something you need” gifts never gave the same excitement as the third gifts, but Nellie liked her new school backpack well enough given her old one had been starting to rip, and Johnny’s attempt to pretend to be excited about new bedsheets was funny in its own way. He really tried to ham it up, reading the label and talking about thread-counts the way he’d normally talk about game scores. I was pretty sure he knew how much the season tickets had cost, and was being a very good sport about it. Susy had also needed new sheets, but her new ones were purple, so that was just fine by her.

I’d needed a new frying pan. Now I had one.

“What about Micah?” Nellie said after Johnny’s performance ended. She frowned, and I tried not to smile, because it had only seemed to strike her that Micah had no presents after the excitement of her having presents had worn off.

“I loved my stocking,” Micah said, which was nice of him, but I could have told him that would never work with Nellie.

“But you didn’t get a want gift,” she said.

Micah looked at me, and then said, in that wonderful soft voice of his. “Hunt?”

You are very much the man for me, Hunt. He’d meant that. Micah wasn’t the sort to say things he didn’t mean. I still wanted to ask him more questions. There were so many things we needed to talk about, but I knew he meant what he’d said. So I nodded, because my throat was going all choked again, and I wasn’t sure I could speak.

Micah leaned in, I put my arm around him, and Micah took my hand, lacing our fingers together after. Micah turned back to Nellie, and said, “I got the best want gift. Your Uncle Hunt and I are going to be boyfriends, if that’s okay with all of you.”

All my three were watching us, but Susy broke the silence first. “Really?” She clutched Noelle to her chest and grinned.

“Really,” I said. “I know you’ll all have questions—” I started to say, but the three of them jumped up and dogpiled us, and Micah and I found ourselves buried in hugs and laughter and the demand to be allowed to call Micah “Uncle Micah” from now on.

I rode it out, smiling across their heads at Micah who looked back at me even while he answered all their questions almost as fast as they could ask them, something I’d never been able to manage, and I let him, and I realized just how much he’d already been a part of all of us over the last two years.

We tidied up a bit, and when my three—our three—were busy bagging the shredded wrapping paper, Micah leaned in close to my ear.

“For the record?” he said. “I do have a ‘something you need’ gift in mind you can help me with.”

I frowned and glanced at him. He had that crooked smile again. “What do you need?” I said.

“Tell you later,” he said, squeezing my hand. “After their bedtime.”

I may not be very bright, but this time I knew exactly what he meant.

I wrapped my arms around him and squeezed him tight, putting my mouth to his ear. “Santa did say he’d get me something for Christmas.”

Micah laughed, but before he could reply Susy was back with her art book asking him if he’d like to draw now, and Nellie wanted to know if we could watch a Christmas movie, and Johnny suggested Rise of the Guardians.

Thoughts of later tonight would have to wait for both of us.

It was funny. The past three years had changed my life in every way, and somehow, they’d gone by faster than I could have imagined.

I had a feeling the next few hours were going to seem very slow in comparison.

Still, as the movie started and we all settled in and I listened to Micah quietly explaining how to hold a pencil for Susy, I had to admit Santa had delivered.

It all felt just right.