Chapter Sixteen

WHEN CHRISTMAS FINALLY does roll around, it snows early in the morning. Montgomery wakes up on his back in Sam’s bed, Sam rolls over and drapes his arm around Montgomery, and they lie there for a long time. Sam rests his head against Montgomery’s shoulder, and Montgomery holds Sam’s arm to his chest with one hand. They’re warm under the sheet and blanket, reluctant to leave the bed for the chilly space beyond it.

Montgomery never could’ve predicted he would end up here. He wouldn’t have believed it, if someone told him before he met Sam. Two Christmases ago, this was impossible in Montgomery’s mind: the kind of friendship he has with Sam. He thought he would be alone the rest of his life, and he wasn’t doing a good job of handling it.

Now he’s got a platonic life partner. He isn’t relaxing into it yet, probably won’t for months or even years, but he’s grateful anyway.

“Sam,” he says. “You awake?”

Sam hums in response.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Sam replies, sounding half asleep.

“Everything.” Montgomery rubs his thumb against Sam’s arm.

Sam smiles softly against Montgomery’s shoulder. “This might come as a surprise, but you’re not hard to love.”

“Just easy to leave.”

“I’m not going to leave you,” Sam says, his eyes still closed. “You’ll see.”

They’re quiet again, until Montgomery speaks.

“Well, I guess we should do Christmas. What do you want for breakfast?”

“Funfetti pancakes,” Sam replies. “With the red, green, and white sprinkles. And whipped cream.”

“Now, see, I thought I was talking to a grown man, not a five-year-old.”

“One benefit of being grown is eating whatever I please.”

“Those pancakes sound awful.”

“All right, then, tell me what adults are supposed to have for breakfast on Christmas morning.”

“Black coffee, eggs, bacon or sausage, and maybe some toast. I’d say leftover ham from Christmas Eve dinner, but we’re having the ham tonight instead.”

“You can eat that on any given Tuesday.”

“Don’t fix what ain’t broke.”

They have breakfast. Afterward, Sam calls his parents while Montgomery smokes a cigarette outside. He doesn’t want to know what Sam’s chosen to tell Mr. and Mrs. Roswell about their relationship, if anything at all. He stands out in the cold morning air, wondering what Bo Davis is doing right now and if Al is having the Christmas she wants. He remembers, for a little while, the Christmases he shared with them.

There aren’t many presents under the tree. Sam gave Montgomery a scarf, a copy of Cormac McCarthy’s All the Pretty Horses, and a monogramed ashtray made of bronze.

“It’ll look good on my table,” Montgomery says of the ashtray.

He’s got the scarf draped over his shoulders, and it brings out the gray in his eyes.

Sam’s gifts include a professional massage, a handsome fixed-blade knife with his initials engraved on the handle, and an honest-to-God Stetson cowboy hat. The hat is a beautiful cream white 4X that cost Montgomery a couple days’ work.

“It’s meant to be worn on the back of a horse,” he tells Sam. His way of saying they’re going to ride together more often.

Sam tries the hat on, feeling self-conscious, and Montgomery nods with a faint smile.

“It suits you,” he says.

Sam’s eyes rest softly on him. “I appreciate you looking out for me the way you do. Nobody else ever has.”

Montgomery meets his gaze a little shyly. He clears his throat. “Merry Christmas, Sam.”

“I have one more gift for you,” Sam says. There’s a strange hint of bashfulness in his tone that gives Montgomery pause. Sam gets up and crosses the room to an accent table set against the wall. He pulls open the drawer in the table and retrieves a small, wrapped box. He brings the gift back to Montgomery and sits in his seat again, watching the other man.

Montgomery unwraps the box, expecting a watch or some other piece of jewelry he probably won’t ever wear. Instead, he finds a key.

“It’s to the house,” Sam says. “I know you don’t want to move in—but I want you to feel like this is your second home. You should be able to come and go whenever you want.”

A swell of emotion catches Montgomery off guard.

“You’re the only one I’ve made a spare key for,” Sam tells him. “The only one.”

Montgomery nods. “Thank you,” he says in a thick voice.

“You’re welcome.”

Montgomery closes the box, leaving the key inside. He’ll put it on his key ring later. He scrubs at the back of his neck with one hand, unable to meet Sam’s eyes. “Now, I feel like I should’ve given you something special.”

Sam shakes his head. “Don’t worry about it. All I wanted was to spend Christmas with you. And I got that.”

Montgomery nods. “I’m gonna step out for some air.”

He puts on his jacket before walking out the front door.

He doesn’t light another cigarette—just stands at the porch’s edge with his hands in his jacket pockets and breathes in the cold. The street is quiet, not a single neighbor in sight. He can hear birds twittering, a dog barking in the distance. The houses across the street match Sam’s, right out of a Christmas card illustration. Standing on this front porch is nothing like standing on Montgomery’s own, where the only view is the brush and the sky and where the silence is sometimes so colossal he may as well be standing alone in an empty cathedral.

The door opens behind him. Sam steps up along his right side. He’s wearing his knit cap now, along with his jacket.

“We could go for a walk,” Sam says after a minute of silence.

“Sounds like a good idea.” Montgomery pauses before adding, “I’d give you a key to my place, but I’m pretty sure you’d never use it.”

Sam smiles. “Probably not.”

They walk shoulder to shoulder in the road, heading north past bare trees and snow and unlit string lights on the houses. It’s quiet throughout the residential area they’re in, except for the occasional noise of children playing in yards.

Once they turn around to head back to the house, Sam takes Montgomery’s hand in his without asking. Montgomery glances at him in slight surprise but doesn’t resist. He hasn’t held anyone’s hand in a long time. It isn’t half bad.

He almost warns Sam someone might see them, then figures Sam is well aware of the possibility and doesn’t care. That, more than Sam’s hand in his, gives Montgomery a tender feeling.

“I love you, Sam,” Montgomery says.

Sam looks almost struck for a second, and then his surprise melts into warmth. “I love you too,” he replies.