Tony
Dinner is, predictably, a nightmare. Ever since Jake dropped his little bombshell, I haven’t been able to think of a word to say. It’s all I can do to keep from glowering at everyone, and I’m pretty sure I’m doing a shitty job of that, if the frowns that Mama keeps shooting my way are anything to go by.
We eat dinner in the living room these days, on tray tables. That’s the new normal for us. It’s what we’ve done ever since Pops first got sick. He had no appetite to start with, back then. And just moving from his recliner to the table left him too drained to eat.
But it’s all new to Jake, and I can see the confusion in his eyes, the questions hovering on his lips as he looks around. And I pray he has the sense to keep his mouth shut until we’re alone. Not that I want to be alone with him, but if he’s gonna ask dumb questions, I know I’ll probably end up yelling at him. That might happen anyway, if I start thinking too much about the way he let me—and all of us—down back then. And I’d rather not have an audience for that.
Mama’s gone overboard with the cooking, as she always tends to do at this time of year. While the farm is busy and everyone’s spending long hours outside, it’s always been her goal to make sure we have a nice, warm, carb-heavy feast to look forward to when we come in from the cold.
Except…someone really ought to tell her that things have changed. That it rarely gets that cold, and our gear today is so much better than what it used to be. That nowadays, it’s just me going in to work every day, and that I mostly delegate the outdoor stuff anyway.
Tonight, I have less appetite than usual. Unlike Jake, who seems determined to eat his weight in everything that’s put in front of him. Split pea soup? Certainly. Another tamale? Yes, please. Chicken and gravy? Roasted potatoes? Stuffed acorn squash? buttermilk biscuits and two slices of pecan pie? Load. Me. Up.
I don’t know where he’s putting it, but he’s shoveling down food like it’s his last meal. Which…oh. Oh, crap. Is that it? Or is that what he think is happening? That thought twists a knot in my gut, so hard and so sudden I nearly pass out.
I shoot to my feet in a panic, causing everyone to glance in my direction. So, I start hustling around, clearing away the dishes, just to give myself an excuse not to talk to anyone. And then, when I get to the kitchen, I decide to buy myself even more time by starting on the dishes.
But the thoughts continue to haunt me. And thinking about how this might be the last time I ever see Jake, leads inevitably to thinking about the first time I did…
Jake was the first person I met at college; my freshman roommate. That very first day, he’d already been and gone by the time I made my way to our dorm room. And he’d already laid claim to the better bed—the one near the window. And the better desk—the one the door didn’t smash into whenever it was opened. All of which would have annoyed me— Well…it did annoy me, to be honest. Even though, if I’d been the one who’d gotten there first, I’d have probably done the same thing. Hypocritical? Perhaps. But really all it means is that we were both competitive and ambitious and had similar tastes.
I was stretched out on my bed, still trying to familiarize myself with my schedule, debating where I might go to find some lunch. I mean, it was Austin, right? So there were plenty of food choices available. I just wasn’t looking forward to doing it on my own.
Then Jake Hennessy slammed into the room like the force of nature that he was. And still is. That motorcycle is just fucking typical.
He’s not precisely handsome but, my God, that first sight of him took my breath away. It was something in the way he stood there, completely at ease, master of all he surveyed. He was tall and fit, dressed in dark colored sweats that hung low on his hips, and a Longhorn’s T-shirt that hugged his shoulders, his biceps, his chest. The flush on his cheeks and the way his ginger hair was just slightly mussed, suggested he’d been out for a run. Which he probably had.
And when I say ginger, what I’m trying to describe is hair of a warm indistinct shade—nothing usual about it. It’s lighter than brown, darker than blond and redder than either. Oh, and his eyes! D’you know that it took me the longest time—countless hours spent staring into their depths—to discover that they’re actually blue?
They’re so dark that it’s not something you notice automatically. They’re a deep, stormy shade, flecked with gold. They remind me of the river near home, especially in Autumn, the way the water reflects clouds, and gray stone, and drowned leaves.
“Oh, hey. You’re here,” he said, flashing a quick smile. “I’m Jake, by the way.” And he darted forward, hand extended out to me.
“Tony,” I replied as we shook.
“I just came back to grab my phone. I met some people; we’re gonna go eat. You wanna come?”
“Oh, uh…sure. Okay.” And just like that, I’d found my tribe. I’m not exactly a loner, but I’ve never known anyone who makes friends as quickly or easily as Jake.
And I know I’ve probably made him out to be a dick, but I’ve also known him to be kind and thoughtful, even generous. But usually when he expects something back.
When we got back to our room later that day, he noticed the way I winced when the door collided with my desk. He frowned at it for a moment, then took a swift, measuring look around and said, “This layout sucks. We should move things around. I bet it could be a lot more comfortable than it is.”
“I don’t know,” I replied doubtfully. It was a small room, awkwardly shaped, with too much furniture crammed into it. “Honestly, I think it’s a lost cause.”
“Oh, trust me,” he said, with a cocky smile. “It’s not. I’ve seen way worse than this. Besides, rearranging rooms is my superpower.” Then he cast a swift glance over me and upped the wattage on his smile. “One of them, anyway.”
There was an undeniable question in his gaze—an invitation to find out what those other skills were. I felt my cheeks grow warm. And yes, I knew he was coming on to me. But I’d also just spent the last several hours observing him being equally flirtatious with almost everyone around him—men and women. So, either he already had an insanely high body count, or he didn’t mean anything by it. I didn’t want to embarrass either of us by making assumptions. We still had to live together, after all. So, I opted for shrugging and saying nothing.
And we both let it drop and went on to become friends.
But then Christmas rolled around, and Jake had no plans, and suddenly I found myself saying, “Why don’t you come home with me? My parents would be happy to have you. There’s plenty of room. Plus, you owe it to yourself to experience a real Country Christmas at least once in your life, City Boy.”
“Oh, so you think it’ll compete with a New York City Christmas?” he teased. “Blocks and blocks of storefronts decked out in Christmas lights?”
“Absolutely. This is Texas, son. There is no competition.”
“What about LA? You ever hear of the Rose Parade? You ever stay up all night so you can see it live? I’m talking dozens of parade floats, completely covered in flowers. D’you know what five miles of roses smells like?”
“You ever hear about the International Dark Sky Communities? I’ll put Heartwood’s actual Christmas stars up against any light show you could name. And if you want sweet smells—ain’t nothing smells more Christmasy than twenty acres of pine and juniper. Just watch out for the cedar pollen though, cause that’s a bitch.”
“All right, you’ve convinced me,” he said, a big smile on his face. “If you’re sure your folks won’t mind?”
“Trust me,” I told him. “They’ll love you.” But I had no idea how much.
If he hadn’t come home with me that Christmas…maybe we never would have figured out that we were both hot for each other, or taken the next step and gotten involved. Maybe we could have just stayed friends.
There were times I’ve wished that were the case. Because, I miss our friendship almost more than anything.
I return from the kitchen just in time to hear my mother say, “Are you all right, Jake? You look so tired.”
“Long day,” he mumbles, sounding drained.
One look convinces me that he wasn’t lying about his energy levels not being tied to food consumption. He looks wrecked. “C’mon,” I tell him. “I’ll walk you back to your cabin. Make sure you have everything you need.”
“Tony, don’t you think—” Mama starts to say, but I cut her off with a swift shake of my head.
“No. I don’t. The cabin’ll be fine.”
And I don’t rightly know if it will be fine. Or if anything will be fine, ever again. But I also know that I can’t have him in my bed tonight. For oh so many reasons.
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay tonight?” I ask as we make our way back toward the cabins. I don’t know why I phrased it like that. What am I going to do if he says no?
“I dunno, do I?” he replies with a shrug. “Never done this before.” He has his hands jammed deep in his jacket pockets. His head’s back, looking up at the sky. “I’d forgotten how pretty it is here at night,” he says quietly. “Maybe being a ghost won’t be so bad after all, if I can have this to look at all the time.”
“Jake…” I start to protest, but his appearance startles me into momentary silence. He’s wearing a cattleman’s hat and a shearling jacket that I’m certain he didn’t have on a moment earlier. “Where did those clothes come from?”
“Same place this came from,” he says, lifting a hand that now holds a lit cigar. “Would you like one?”
“No. Aren’t you supposed to be conserving energy?” I snap at him. “You look like shit right now. You really think any of this is helping?”
“Well, that’s just rude.” He shoots me a wounded look that I don’t buy for a minute. “I was cold and…okay, look. I just got here, right? I can’t possibly have run through all my energy in less than one night. I figure Heaven’s gotta play fair, don’t you think so? And no one could expect me to accomplish all I have to do in under one night. That’s just not reasonable. So, just because I look—thanks for that, by the way—and feel like shit right now. I can’t be as far gone as all that. I’m here to help you get your Christmas Spirit back, that’s a tall order.”
“I guess so. Not that you would know anything about that. Besides, my Christmas spirit is just fine.”
“Sure, it is.”
“Plus, I thought we’d decided you’re here to answer my mother’s prayers—not mine.”
“Yeah, but she’s worried about you so…two birds, one stone.” He slants me a look. “And what did you mean when you said, ‘not that I would know about that’? Know about what?”
“Christmas spirit. Obviously.”
“Oh, bullshit. I know a lot. I’m full of the stuff.”
“You never had a clue,” I tell him. “In all the time we lived in New York, how often did you make room in your schedule for a stroll along Fifth Avenue, to look at the windows? Or to go ice skating at Rockefeller Center? You were always too busy.”
“Oh, no,” Jake says. He’s scowling now. “Don’t lay that on me. You were guilty of that, too. I remember. I suggested skating once and you said it was too cold. You also said you didn’t know how to skate, which is why I never brought it up again.”
“Of course, I can skate,” I tell him. “I said I didn’t know if you knew how. Big difference. For that matter, I still don’t know.”
“No difference. I was willing to try it, but you—”
“Oh, stop it, already,” I snarl at him, annoyed that he ignored my question—again. Annoyed by how much it bothers me. “Why are we arguing about this anyway?” Why do I care if he can fucking ice-skate?
“ If I knew you were that excited for a bunch of lights I’d have made the time. But I never got the impression that you were. Besides, if I was busy, it was because I was trying to make a better life for us. It wasn’t just about me. None of it was.”
“Yeah,” I scoff. “You keep telling yourself that.”
We’ve reached the cabin by then, and I’ve followed him up onto the small front porch out of habit. Jake glances up at the eaves and shakes his head. “No mistletoe? What kind of Christmas village is this?”
“Why do we need mistletoe?” I ask—and immediately recognize my error. “Scratch that. It’s not a question. We don’t need it.”
“Are you sure?” he teases, lifting the cigar between us and wagging it back and forth. “Because this could easily become something else. If you wanted it to. Just say the word…”
“No. Stop. I don’t.” I back away quickly, stumbling down the stairs. “Good night, Jake. I’ll see you in the morning.” And then, before I can stop myself, I add, “I will, won’t I?”
“Far as I know.” He shrugs and turns toward the door. “’Night, Tony.”
“And you’re sure you have everything you need?”
Jake pauses. Glancing at me over his shoulder, he hesitates. Then he smiles and answers, “Yeah, Tone. I’m sure,” right before he disappears into the dark cabin and closes the door behind him.
I’m left standing there in the cold. I don’t move for a long moment, just continue staring at the door, resisting the urge to climb those steps again. Eventually, I realize there’s a cold breeze behind me and it’s pushing me forward, like ghostly hands at my back.
“No,” I mutter as I turn away, and trudge back toward the house. “I can’t. I won’t.” But, in my heart of hearts, I really wish I could.
Jake
I wait, breathless, just inside the door, until I hear Tony walk away. Part of me was hoping he’d change his mind and come after me. Because part of me is an idiot.
Glancing around, I notice there’s no ashtray, so I dematerialize the cigar and start across the room, shedding clothes as I go. By the time I get to the bed, I’m down to just a pair of boxer briefs.
I sit on the bed, in the darkened room, and stare out the window at the sky. The night is so clear, so dark, the stars above are so bright. I find myself wondering what it would feel like to touch one?
And yes, yes, I know. Dead suns. Hundreds of millions of miles away. Not happening.
But that’s not how it feels. It feels like they’re living things, tiny and perfect. Like fireflies, easily within reach. But, then again, a lot of things don’t feel the way they are tonight. I don’t feel like I’m dead. I can’t believe Tony doesn’t care anymore. I can’t believe I’m going to end up a ghost—and possibly by morning. Because I was lying before. I can feel the clock ticking. Time’s close to running out.
So why would I waste the little I have left on a jacket and hat and another cigar? Because I was cold, that’s why. Because if I’m winking out of existence this evening, I want to go in style and wring every last bit of pleasure from the experience on my way out the door. Like a kiss beneath the mistletoe. A kiss that didn’t happen, that probably won’t ever happen now.
“I look like shit,” I growl, remembering Tony’s words—no wonder he wasn’t tempted. “Thanks a lot, babe. And, no, by the way, since you asked; I don’t have everything I need. I don’t have anything I need!”
I lie on my side, punch the pillow a couple of times until it’s just the way I like it, then go back to staring at the stars. Because there’s nothing else to do.
You know that saying about how you’ll have ‘time enough to sleep when you’re dead’? It’s a total farce. In my experience, there’s no sleep at all beyond the grave. Which makes sense when you think about it. Lacking an actual body, why would I need to sleep?
So instead, I lie awake, prey to my own sorry thoughts. Which, of course, end up circling back to Tony. “No Christmas spirit, my ass,” I grumble remembering all the details that Tony conveniently forgot. From wrapping presents to emptying stockings, and everything in between. Kisses in the snow. Dancing beneath enormous crystal chandeliers. Pulling on Christmas sweaters to go caroling. I remember waking up together on Christmas morning, and falling asleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, in the early hours of New Year’s Day.
There were also snowball fights in Bryant Park, snow angels on Central Park’s Great Lawn. The x-rated snowman we erected—pun intended—that one year when we finally got enough snow to make it possible. Oh! And what about that one time that we did go to see the Christmas Tree Lighting Ceremony at Rockefeller Center? Or the hot chocolate we stopped for on the way home? Not the frozen hot chocolate that everyone knows about—the one large enough for two people to share.
That would have been romantic too, right? It’s not just me who thinks so?
But these were good, as well. Made with bougie chocolate ganache and flavored liqueurs—Fireball for Tony, Peppermint Schnapps for me—topped with mounds of whipped cream and foam and extra-large, extra-fluffy, handmade marshmallows.
“How can it all be over? And how dare he not remember any of it?”
I’m feeling sorry for myself, so it takes a moment that the room is growing lighter.
“Shit,” I mutter, scrambling to sit up and put my back to the headboard, watching as a glowing, golden orb takes shape near the foot of the bed, growing and growing, ’til it’s the size of a man. Then the orb dissolves into glittery golden sparks of light that shoot off in every direction, revealing the angel, still wearing the silly white robe. His arms are crossed and he’s glaring at me. I guess I’m in trouble.
“Nice entrance,” I grudgingly admit. “Let me guess. You’re here to tell me I failed—right?”
“No,” he says, sounding irritated. “I’m here with a reprieve, a warning, a slight alteration to the plan…oh, and an apology.” His mouth puckers at that last part, as though he’s been sucking on lemons.
“Okay,” I say feeling confused, but somewhat hopeful. And unexpectedly distracted. The thin material of his robe is stretched tight across his chest and upper arms, drawing my attention to his pecs and biceps. They’re nice. Not as nice as Tony’s, but still worthy of notice. But…did he say reprieve? That sounds good. “Go on. Don’t keep me in suspense.”
“First of all, Congratulations. You managed to burn through nearly your entire store of celestial energy in record time. The Powers That Be were very impressed—not in a good way.”
“Well, I’ve always been an overachiever.”
“Spare me the jokes. So, because they determined the cause for this was that you were not adequately briefed—thanks for that—and, even more importantly, because you expended most of that energy in a selfless manner and for the benefit of someone else, they’ve decided to give you a one-time do-over.”
“A do-over?”
“All the energy you expended is being replenished—even what you squandered on that ridiculous bike. But this is a one-time-only event. Now that you have a better idea how all of this works, you’re on your own. You won’t get a third chance. So don’t waste this opportunity.”
“Okay but wait,” I say, feeling a momentary sense of panic. “Are you saying they’re gonna undo everything I did?” How do I explain that to Tony? Or to Pops? “Can we make some kind of deal?”
“No. And…also no. You don’t get to make deals, Jake. You get to accept the deal that’s being offered to you and say thank you very much.”
“Not sure I’m feeling that grateful.”
“Well, you should. Because everything you’ve already materialized stays. The bike stays. Your father-in-law remains healthy. You even get to keep these…clothes.” His gaze takes in the jacket and hat and he shakes his head. “So that’s the reprieve and the warning—don’t screw up again.”
“You’re not sounding very angelic,” I point out, feeling cocky in my relief. “But okay. I hear you. What’s next?”
“There have been some alterations to our agreement.”
“What? No. You can’t change a contract once it’s in effect. That’s bullshit.”
Angel dude rolls his eyes. “Relax. This is all for your benefit. Apparently, I failed to take your ties here into account. It didn’t occur to me that you might attempt to stay here beyond a reasonable time allotment. Or to reintegrate yourself with your family and attempt to live an alternate lifetime in this undead state. That isn’t allowed. It would cause untold damage to the space time continuum.”
“Is that a real thing?” I’m startled into asking.
“Semantics. It’s real enough. The point is you’re not Picard, this isn’t Kataan, and you don’t get to drag things out for years.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I tell him, distracted by the fact that I’m feeling so much better than I did only a moment earlier. Strong. Buoyant. As though I’m gradually filling up with inner light.
The angel shrugs. “Just as well. It might contain spoilers. But, in any case, you have until midnight Christmas Eve to complete your mission—that’s all the time you get.”
“Midnight where? What time zone are we talking about?”
“Here. Where you are. Central Time Zone.”
“What if I go back to New York?”
“Then you lose an hour! Why? Is that something you’re planning on doing?”
“No, just making sure I have the whole picture.” I pause then add, “This time,” just to watch his lips pucker up again. “So, what happens then?”
“That depends on you. If you succeed, you get your wings and ascend to Heaven—and, full disclosure, so do I.”
“You? Isn’t this supposed to be about me?”
“Why, of course, Jake,” he says in sarcastically soothing tones. “Didn’t we already agree that everything is always about you?”
“Snarky.”
“What you do affects countless others. Just like everyone else. If you succeed in this assignment, you’ll benefit a lot of people. If you fail, you cause them harm. So let’s not do that m’kay?”
“Back up a sec. How many people did you say I gotta be worried about hurting?”
“I didn’t. And who can say? It’s like ripples in a pond. You affect some people, they affect others, and so on, and so forth. Ad infinitum.”
“And how will you be affected?”
Lifting a hand to shoulder height, he uses his thumb to gesture toward his back. “Do you see any wings here?”
“No, but you told me you don’t necessarily look like this?”
“I don’t. But I still don’t have my wings yet.”
“Why—?”
“Because, unfortunately, my assignment is to guide you to complete your assignment. Ironic, isn’t it? If you win, we both win. But if you screw up because of me…well that’s what I need to apologize for. Apparently. So, I’m sorry.”
“No worries,” I tell him, waving his apology away. It wasn’t really his fault anyway.
“Thank you.”
“So, by Christmas Eve—” I break off as another thought occurs to me. “Hey wait. I need to get clear on something. What exactly do I gotta do? We thought I was here for Tony, but now it turns out his Mom’s the one I’m here to help.”
The angel shakes his head. “No, it’s always been Tony. Still is. His mom’s just an unforeseen complication. But ultimately, I think what she’s going to want is for her son to be happy. So, if you help him, you help her. Ripples, remember?”
“What happens if I fail?”
“That’s the other big change. If, at midnight, Christmas Eve, you have not achieved your objective, but you still possess a sufficient amount of energy, you’ll be returned to Limbo.”
“What? No!”
“Which, I know is not what you want to hear, but it’s still better than the third possibility. Because if, on the other hand, you run through this store of energy, you’ll end up as a ghost—just like in the original scenario.” Unexpectedly, the angel surges forward. He grabs hold of my hand and begs, “Please don’t let that happen to you, Jake. I already regret pressuring you into taking this assignment; please don’t make it worse.”
“You didn’t pressure me,” I say. “Or you did, but it didn’t matter. I wanted to do it.” But I still can’t resist getting in one, final dig. “But, uh…speaking of which. I got no wings, you got no wings. Are you sure we’re not in the same boat?”
“Not the same boat,” he snaps as he pulls away and straightens to his full height. “Not even close.”
The orb forms in reverse, glittery sparks flying back in to snap into place all around him, and then abruptly, he and the orb and the light are gone, sucked down into nothingness.
I scooch back down on the bed, stretch out on my back with my fingers interlaced behind my head, and start to plan.
Because I’ve got a lot to do and Christmas Eve is not that far away.