The Following Christmas Eve
Matt
“SHIT!” Mikah’s eyes went wide and frantic as he slid his hand between the couch cushions. There was a smear of flour on the sharp line of his cheekbone, and his black jeans were dotted with white handprints. He tugged hard at the neck of his loosely knit dark-gray sweater, a sure sign he was getting stressed. Now I knew why all of his sweaters and T-shirts were in such rough shape. “I can’t find it anywhere.” He shot me a pleading expression.
“This?” I held up his cell phone, which I found right where he left it, on the kitchen counter surrounded by a mess of recipe cards. I tried to hide my smirk but knew I’d failed when Mikah rolled his eyes.
“Oh, don’t be so proud of yourself.” He snapped the phone out of my hand. But almost immediately his expression relaxed, and his cheeks flushed an adorable shade of pink. “Sorry. Thank you. I really want everything to be right,” he murmured, pushing up onto the balls of his feet to brush his lips over mine. He tasted like orange and vanilla. I moaned into the heat of his mouth, my skin tingling with arousal. Even after a year together, everything about Mikah turned me on so fast, it was almost embarrassing. I couldn’t help but deepen the kiss, sliding my hands down to his slim hips and tugging him close. He gasped and licked into me, going pliant against my body for just a moment. “No! I don’t have time for this. Stop distracting me.” He grinned and swatted my ass before darting back to the kitchen, cell phone in hand.
I tried not to pout. “Baby, it doesn’t have to be perfect,” I reminded him for what felt like the hundredth time. “And you can let me help you, you know.”
“You already did the cookies. And these need to come out of the oven….” He glanced at the clock and scrambled for the oven mitts. “Three minutes ago. Fuck.”
Of course when he slid the panettone out of the oven and did some complicated inversion involving string and a cooling rack so the Christmas breads could cool upside down, they were perfect, golden-brown domes. The whole cabin smelled like citrus and warm butter with the ever-present resin undercurrent of pine. Moose snoozed by the fire, his big white belly rising and falling with his loud snores. Outside it was snowing, light flakes drifting slowly toward the already thick blanket of powder that had fallen overnight.
I smiled to myself at how much my house—hell, my whole existence—had changed since Moose knocked Mikah into the snow the year before. My cabin was no longer a meticulously tidy, lonely place. Mikah made sure of that. In August, after weeks of a simmering argument that had finally boiled over into our first actual fight, I’d finally convinced him to move out of the tiny studio he’d been renting in town and into my cabin full-time. When Mikah blew back into my life that January afternoon, we’d spent the first few days after his arrival holed up in bed. Then we’d spent the next few talking so much I’d been pretty sure I had used up my lifetime supply of words. I’d listened while Mikah panicked over applying for the job at Teton High School. He’d held my hand in his and murmured reassuring words as I admitted I was worried he might leave again. And we’d talked together for a long time about what we wanted an actual relationship to look like. Twined together in bed, we’d whispered into the dark the things we wanted for the future: adopting another dog, traveling to Italy, maybe even having a family someday. But Mikah explained that he wasn’t quite ready to live with me full-time yet, so he’d found a place to rent in Driggs. At first, I’d totally understood his need for space and his desire to take things slow. But by the time summer rolled around, he’d been spending so much time at my place anyway it seemed ridiculous for him to pay the rent on that dump of an apartment.
When he’d finally decided he was ready to move in, Mikah brought so many books, I’d only been half joking when I grumbled about having to build a whole second house to hold all of them. Now, though, the poetry books and classics and the surprisingly large collection of romance novels I’d built up over time were neatly arranged on the simple pine bookshelves I built to accommodate them. Most of the time, the kitchen counter was a mess of essays and worksheets that Mikah claimed were organized in a specific “system” but mostly seemed like an explosion of haphazard binder-clipped piles. He was forever leaving his shoes in the middle of the rug and abandoning half-full coffee cups on top of the dresser. He never hung his coat on the hook, always throwing it over the back of his favorite armchair. He had stuffed the bathroom medicine cabinet with so many face serums, moisturizers, and clay masks that I grimaced every time I opened the thing, thinking one of the expensive vials was going to crash to the tile floor. So I’d built a small shelf for the bathroom too.
I loved it. For the first time in the ten years since I’d built the place, the cabin felt lived in. Like home. Big abstract paintings by New York City artists Mikah’s mom knew hung on the walls alongside Abby’s portrait of Moose and a painting she’d done of Mikah and me for my birthday. I’d actually laughed out loud when I unwrapped it. As much as that kid loved making everything as colorful as possible, she’d been true to life, using only shades of black, white, brown, and gray to paint my boyfriend.
Mikah’s phone buzzed on the counter, and he scrambled to unlock the screen, almost dropping it in the process. “Oh God,” he yelped, “they’re on their way already. Shit.” His eyes darted from the Christmas tree, a big spruce we cut down together and decked out in colorful lights and the usual mess of Abby-made ornaments, to the arrangement of daisies, white roses, and pine springs I had set on the coffee table.
I knew he was nervous about his nonna and mom, who had both arrived the day before, seeing our place for the first time. To ease his mind, I had spent the morning making sure everything was spotless and cheerfully decorated. I’d even driven to the flower shop in Jackson that Naomi recommended instead of picking up a bouquet from the supermarket. The place looked as nice as it possibly could. And really, I was the one who should be nervous. I’d skyped with Mikah’s nonna a handful of times and had spoken on the phone with Mikah’s mom, or Luciana as she’d insisted I call her, on a few occasions too. But meeting them in person was different. Especially tonight. Blood rushed in my ears, and my hand went instinctively to my chest, squeezing quick and tight around the necklace. I was definitely the one who should be nervous.
Wrapping my arms around Mikah from behind, I held him tight against me, my face buried in his hair, until I felt him relax. Then I turned him around. “Sweetheart, you need to calm down.” I kissed his forehead and his eyes fluttered closed.
“I know. I know.” He sighed heavily. “They’re only going to be here for, like, five minutes anyway. I just want them to… get it, I guess. I want them to understand how happy I am or whatever. I’m pretty sure my mom thought I, like, had a mental breakdown when I decided to move out here. She would one hundred percent not know what to do with herself without delivery sushi. Starve, I guess.” Mikah’s smile was tense, defensive. His armor smile. I smoothed it away with my thumb, and a real grin replaced it.
At first, Mikah had wanted to host Christmas Eve dinner at our place, planning to cook the whole seafood meal himself for everyone in our tiny kitchen. He had not been happy when I pointed out that our two-seat breakfast bar wouldn’t exactly be the best place to serve a meal for a dozen people. Even if I moved all of the furniture out of the living room and into the barn, and even if we ate picnic-style on the floor, it would be cramped in our small cabin. And although I had big plans for adding on two bedrooms, an eating area, and a big patio, those would have to wait until I had a slightly clearer view of our future. Until after tonight.
“It’ll be all right.” I ruffled Mikah’s hair, and he scoffed, running his fingers through it to smooth the dark curls. “John and Katie have everything ready at their place. I talked to John, like, twenty minutes ago, okay? Everything is going to be fine.” I needed to convince myself of that too.
Mikah nodded but still looked worried, chewing on his lower lip. I knew he wasn’t happy about giving up control of the Christmas Eve dinner. Katie, wanting to be helpful, had offered to host everyone at their place. That also meant she would be doing the cooking, putting her own spin on the Italian meal. Mikah had agreed enthusiastically, but I suspected that the idea of a Christmas Eve without the baccalà and seafood salad was actually killing him.
At the sound of several car doors slamming outside, Mikah’s frantic energy reached levels I’d only seen after he interviewed for the teaching job at Teton High. His poor sweater would probably never recover. Moose, seeming to sense Mikah’s distress, and maybe a little of mine, hauled himself up from his post by the woodstove and butted Mikah’s hand with his snout. Glancing out the front windows, I saw Stefano’s gleaming black Mercedes and a white Audi SUV. Luca was leaning against his dad’s car, phone in hand. Elena caught my eye through the window and waved excitedly, her face almost completely hidden behind a huge red scarf. Next to her, a striking person with dark buzzed hair gazed calmly at the snow-cloaked landscape, seeming unperturbed by the gusts of icy wind. Stefano and Naomi both carried tote bags that I knew would be stuffed full of cookies, wine, and tasteful presents. Mikah’s nonna climbed out of the car, followed quickly by his mother. I swallowed hard.
“Mikah, this place is stunning. So simple.” Mikah’s mother pulled her son into what seemed to be a bone-crushing hug the moment he opened the door. Neither of them seemed to notice that they were blocking everyone else from coming inside. She let him go, still grasping his shoulders, then turned to look at me. I had been right when I’d guessed that Mikah and Elena took after their mom. But where Mikah and his sister were delicate and a little messy, she was intense and very polished. She was beautiful and petite, with glossy dark hair tumbling down her back and flawless makeup. Her deep red velvet coat, embroidered with an elaborate pattern of gold flowers, definitely looked like the kind of thing I should hang up in the closet, instead of flopping it on our bed with everyone else’s. “Matt,” she said in an accent that reminded me of old movies, all smooth and sophisticated, “piacere. It is lovely to meet you in person. My God—” She kissed my cheeks quickly before turning to Mikah. “—well done, caro. Che bello!”
The back of my neck got hot, and I rubbed at it. “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
“Luciana, please.” She patted my face.
“Mamma, keep moving. We’re freezing out here,” Elena’s voice called from the porch.
Then the cabin was bursting with motion: fierce hugs, fast kisses, shrugging out of coats, Moose desperately trying to greet everyone at once. I hung back. Mikah’s grandmother grabbed his hand, the two of them immediately falling into what sounded like a heated conversation in Italian, their voices rising and gestures growing in size as they drifted into the living room. She was about Mikah’s height, with a long silver braid, dressed in loose-fitting black pants and a floral blouse. Although she and Mikah glanced over at me a few times as they spoke, she clearly only had eyes for her grandson. I grinned, looking at the fire for a long moment. It was nice to know someone loved Mikah as much as I did.
“Okay, people. Introductions.” Elena clapped her hands together, two clipped, sharp sounds. I was only a little surprised when everyone fell silent. She shot me a wicked grin. “This is Matt, my brother’s supersexy farmer boyfriend who makes him insanely happy. He’s kind of shy, but he’s the sweetest.”
My ears throbbed and my scalp tingled. I lifted my hand in a silent greeting toward Mikah’s nonna and the person next to Elena. From across the room where he stood arm-in-arm with his grandmother, Mikah blew me a kiss. I relaxed a little.
“Sorry, Matt.” Elena winked at me dramatically, then turned to the person standing so close to her, the two seemed to be a mass of loose, flowing neutral clothing. “This is my partner, Jo. Just a quick pronoun thing, Jo uses they or them. Cool?” She nodded definitively at Mikah, who was looking between his sister and Jo with a fond, soft expression. Jo glanced at me, their expression a little wary. I inclined my head and smiled, hoping I seemed welcoming and not at all intimidating. “Great.” Elena gave Jo a quick kiss on the cheek. “Well, obviously the rest of us know each other so….”
“Okay, then, weirdo.” Mikah shook his head at his sister. “We have wine if anyone wants some, and Matt made some spiced cider.” I hurried to follow him into the kitchen, needing something to do with my hands. But soft fingers wrapped around my wrist, stopping me before I could help out with getting drinks.
“It looks good on you.” Mikah’s nonna patted my chest where the Trinacria necklace rested on top of the denim shirt Mikah had insisted was fancy enough for the evening.
“Thanks.” I had gone over all of the things I wanted to say to her in my head: thanking her for pushing Mikah to come back to me, telling her how much I loved her grandson, maybe even bringing up the question that had been turning itself over endlessly in my mind for the last few months. But my brain suddenly felt sluggish, and I couldn’t seem to make my mouth move.
She looked at me for a long moment; then a slow, soft smile spread over her face, like she somehow read my mind. “Thank you,” she spoke quietly, “for making my Mikah so happy.”
I swear my heart stopped. Slipping my hand into my pocket, I closed my fingers around the small pouch I’d tucked there while Mikah was swearing over the panettone dough.
Mikah
MATT was acting weird. Of course I knew he was nervous to actually meet my mom and nonna in person. And I knew he didn’t love crowds. But as he’d helped me pack up the panettone and gather up the gifts to bring over to John and Katie’s, he’d been almost stonily silent, not meeting my eye. And now as we all stomped through the knee-deep snow, shivering and chatting, Matt walked by himself with his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. Moose bounded behind him, popping up and down in the snow like a dolphin in water. It was already getting dark, and I looked up at the sky, the misty pink behind the mountains fading to deep purple. I tried to get Matt’s attention, since we usually made it a point to watch the sunset together, but his gaze was fixed firmly to the frozen earth. I tugged my coat tight around me against the chill.
“Merry Christmas, everybody!” Katie called from the open front door, soft yellow light spilling onto the freshly fallen snow. She’d gone all out on the decorations this year: outlining the house’s trim in colored lights, bordering the walkway with sparkly candy canes, and dotting the front yard with illuminated white wicker deer even though the real-life versions were in no short supply. Abby appeared at Katie’s side, seeming a little shy as a huge throng of mostly strange people descended on her home. The two of them wore matching Christmas sweaters, bright green with a subtle pine tree pattern. Matt had told me about John’s collection of garish holiday sweaters, and I couldn’t wait to see what Katie’s mother had knitted for him this year.
I hurried through the introductions again as we shed our coats and winter boots in the entryway. The sound of Elf, Abby’s absolute favorite Christmas movie, filtered in from the den. She had made Matt and I watch it at least ten times over the last few weeks. The smell of Katie’s house surrounded me, a comforting mix of cinnamon candles and the familiar whisper of the rose perfume she always wore. The air was also heavy with the scent of garlic and oregano, and I grinned at how seriously she’d committed to the task of preparing an Italian Christmas meal.
Getting to know Katie had been an unexpected bright spot in my radically transformed new life in the Teton Valley. She was fierce and wonderful. After helping me through the process of transferring my teaching certification to Idaho, I had a strong suspicion that she’d pulled some strings to guarantee I got the job teaching ninth-grade English at Teton High School. And once the school year had started, she’d proven herself to be an amazing coworker and a strong ally. Although I had no interest in being closeted at work, I’d been a little anxious about how teachers and students, not to mention parents, would feel about this new gay outsider at their school. Katie had encouraged me to simply mention my leadership role with my last school’s gay-straight alliance in my introductory letter to families at the outset of the year. For the most part, my sexuality was a nonissue. When one parent caused a small fuss about the school hiring a gay teacher, Katie helped me start a brand-new LGBTQ club. I was certain that the transition to rural life would not have been as easy without Katie’s endless supply of positivity and pragmatism.
Although John and Katie’s kitchen wasn’t very big, we all ended up gravitating to the space, with the exception of Luca and John, who made a hasty retreat to the garage. My mom and Naomi were chatting pleasantly about some juice cleanse they’d both done, while Abby asked my nonna dozens of questions about Italy. Jo and Elena were embroiled in a political debate with my father. Thankfully, though, no one seemed to have gotten aggravated yet. And Matt stood with his back against the refrigerator, his jaw tight, staring fixedly at the Christmas tree in the living room. What was going on with him?
“Baby, are you okay?” I crossed the kitchen and stepped between his feet.
Matt jerked, like he’d been so zoned out, he forgot we were all there. “Yup. Fine. Sorry.”
I wrinkled my eyebrows and looked at him closely. Matt’s tendency to go taciturn when something was bothering him was something we were working on. He kept a lot inside, whereas I needed to talk through every little issue for hours on end. I had never seen him so visibly tense. Did he not like my mom? She could be kind of a big personality. Maybe she’d said something weird to him. “Are you sure?” Grabbing his shoulders, I kissed the tip of his nose.
He smirked. “I’m fine. Really. Just hungry.”
I turned to Katie, who was pulling what looked like a third pan of lasagna out of the oven. The concrete countertop was lined with pan after foil-covered pan of stuffed shells, baked ziti, lasagna, and something she’d called meatball casserole. I couldn’t wait to see the look on Luca’s face when we sat down to eat. He was notoriously pretentious about food, once mentioning offhandedly he didn’t go to restaurants in LA that “most people” could get into. Whatever the hell that meant.
Fortunately, Luca was polite as we all crowded into mismatched chairs around John and Katie’s gigantic dining table. Katie, of course, had gone all out on the decorations here too. The table was draped with a red-and-green plaid tablecloth and adorned with glass jars of glittery ornaments. The dinner plates were Christmas-themed too, depicting snowmen engaged in a variety of cheerful winter pursuits. I smiled at the memory of building a snowman with Abby and John last week, once my Christmas break had started and I’d needed a break from grading the mountain of creative essays on The House on Mango Street that I deeply regretted assigning. Abby had, naturally, decided that the snowman would look better if we decorated it with rocks, and the final result had, honestly, looked pretty terrifying. When Matt got back from the market and saw the thing, he had actually seemed a little freaked-out by it.
I helped Katie fill wineglasses and pour water while everyone else served themselves buffet-style in the kitchen.
“Why is Matt acting so weird?” I whispered to Katie, casting a quick glance at my boyfriend’s broad retreating back.
She bit her lip and shrugged but wouldn’t meet my eye. “He seems fine to me.”
“He so does not. I mean I know he’s not, like, Mr. Talkative or anything. But he’s barely said two words since my family got here. I was really excited for him to meet my nonna. But he’s being kind of unfriendly, don’t you think?”
Katie’s mouth twitched, and she started aggressively smoothing the already perfectly smooth tablecloth. Okay, so now she was acting weird too. “Mikah, he’s just—” She paused. “I wouldn’t worry about it, all right?” Her voice simmered with suppressed mirth.
Holy fucking shit. There was no way. Was Matt going to propose to me on Christmas Eve? This Christmas Eve? Tonight? My brain kicked into overdrive, exploring the possibility, then quickly shutting it down in an endless loop, until Matt came back into the dining room with two plates of food. One was heaped with meatballs, garlic bread, and at least four kinds of pasta. The other bore one small slice of lasagna and a big pile of salad. Matt had finally learned that not everyone ate enormous portions like he did. Then again, not everyone spent their waking hours hauling heavy things around and working the land.
I couldn’t stop my knee from bouncing as I slid into my chair next to Matt. I took a big gulp of wine and looked around the table. Did everyone else know? John, who was indeed wearing a truly awful Christmas sweater with three gingerbread men in the middle of his chest, was already wolfing down his food. Luca was sipping the wine with a dubious expression on his face. Elena and Jo were still arguing politics with my dad, and Abby seemed to have found a new favorite person in my nonna. I caught my grandmother’s eye and flicked my gaze to Matt. She smiled serenely and returned her attention to Abby.
Once everyone was settled with their food, my dad lightly tapped his wineglass with his knife and gave a brief toast. Thankfully, he stuck exclusively to English as he spoke about our families coming together and the beauty of love. I tried not to get weepy. Then John stood, and in a thick, gruff voice, thanked everyone for coming. He fixed me with a long look as he thanked me for making his little brother the second happiest man in the world. Matt put his hand over mine on the table, and I buried my face in his shoulder. I could have stayed like that all night, my cheek pressed against the rough denim of his shirt, breathing his smell, like comfort and home. But my brother’s voice made me sit up straight.
“Mikah, I don’t want to put a damper on the evening or anything, but I do want to take a quick second to apologize to you. And to Matt.” Both of our faces must have registered confusion because Luca looked between us and laughed. He sounded kind of nervous. “Honestly, when you moved out here, I thought you’d lost it, bro. I figured this whole thing was destined to crash and burn and we’d have to help you get your shi—um, stuff together all over again.”
I gaped at my brother. Wow, Luca, tell me what you really think. Matt squeezed my hand and smirked at me.
“But seeing you guys together, it’s clear that this works. So I’m sorry for always being so overprotective and for not trusting you. You guys basically made my jaded ass believe in love. So, Merry Christmas.” He scrubbed a hand over his face and sat back down, looking uncharacteristically embarrassed.
“Such a nice speech, Luca.” Elena’s voice dripped with sarcasm as she shook her head fondly.
“And don’t cuss in front of my kid.” Katie winked, but Luca looked even more uncomfortable.
As everyone settled back into eating and chatting, I wanted to crawl out of my skin. The meal was a blur of conversations I couldn’t follow and hyperawareness of the man next to me. Anytime Matt shifted in his seat, my heart leapt to my throat and I was convinced he was about to get down on one knee. While I was sure the lasagna was delicious, I barely registered the taste. By the time I robotically stood to help Katie and John clear the plates, I’d about worn myself out.
“Mikah, don’t you dare start on those dishes. Let’s leave ’em for later,” Katie said as I followed her into the kitchen. “Cut up your fruit bread and make some coffee. Then I want you to sit and relax. Just lookin’ at you is stressing me out.”
Once everyone was settled in the den, sipping coffee and enjoying dessert, I relaxed. Clearly, I had been wrong about the Christmas proposal thing. Honestly, although we had talked about getting engaged, I doubted Matt would be comfortable doing something so personal in front of an audience. Maybe he was tense about being around so many people. He seemed pretty relaxed now, though, his arm slung easily around me. John had turned on an Elvis Christmas album, the rich, smooth voice achingly familiar. Aside from the low music, the living room was quiet. Everyone was sleepy and satisfied. Abby sat at the base of the Christmas tree, gazing up at the twinkly lights and mismatched ornaments. I snuggled into Matt’s side where we sat on the floor in front of the woodstove. Bathed in the wash of pinkish-gold firelight, everything was soft and perfect. Like a good dream. I grinned to myself, remembering how I’d assumed nothing would be better than last Christmas with Matt. How I’d been so sure I would look back on that night and feel nothing but sweet sorrow. Now, the memories of playing the piano for him, exchanging gifts in front of the fire, snuggling on our couch filled me with so much joy I almost couldn’t contain it.
In all of my worrying and second-guessing over what would ultimately bring me happiness, I never would have guessed that I could find such profound joy in the simple, quotidian details. But it was the small things with Matt that made life feel easy and safe. The way Matt, always rising before the sun, moved through the cabin in the dark to make coffee and bring it to me in bed. The way he always pressed a kiss to my hair before heading out to the field. The way I’d complained once about the cafeteria food at school and the next morning I found a bagged lunch waiting for me in the fridge. The way we just fit. I trusted Matt, trusted our life together.
The brush of Matt’s lips on my temple startled me from my drowsy, contented thoughts. I was burrowed into his warmth, eyelids heavy. Shit, had I been falling asleep? And why was everyone staring at me?
“Mikah?” Matt’s lips quirked up. “You awake, baby?”
“Oh, sorry. Yeah. I was um…. Sorry. What’s up?” I rubbed my eyes.
Matt grabbed the back of his neck and looked at me for a long moment. Then he rose to his feet in a smooth motion, fumbling around in his pocket. My stomach flipped. His blue eyes were still locked on my face as he sank down to one knee, his gaze once again level with mine. Holy shit.
“Are you proposing to me right now?” My voice was high with incredulity. All of the breath seemed to have rushed out of my body.
“Um, yup.” His hands, so big and rugged, came to rest on my shoulders.
I swallowed hard and tried to etch every detail of the moment in my brain: the tiny cut on Matt’s chin where he’d nicked himself shaving this morning, the silver wash of moonlight on the snow outside—the way Matt was looking at me like I was everything he wanted. “Well, go ahead, then….”
He shook his head and scrubbed a hand over his face, clearly amused and a little flustered. His cheeks and ears flushed pink. “You know what I want to ask you.”
“Dude, you have to actually say it,” John supplied from his spot in the armchair.
I laughed shakily, but my eyes filled with tears, blurring Matt’s face and the glow of the Christmas tree behind it. Happiness burned bright inside me.
“Okay, okay,” Matt grumbled, “Mikah, I love you. You make me happier than I ever hoped I would be. I never thought I would find someone who makes my life so… good. And I want us to spend the rest of it together.” His voice dropped low, and he cleared his throat. There were tears in his eyes too. “Do you want to get married?”
I nodded convulsively, but no words would come. Matt opened his palm, revealing two simple gold wedding bands. Clearly he’d been holding them tight. His rough hand showed small circular indentations where he’d been gripping the rings. They were perfect. He was perfect. I tipped forward so fast my head spun a little, and pressed my lips to his, savoring his steadfast heat. “I love you so much,” I breathed into the tiny sliver of air between our faces. “And, of course, I really fucking want to marry you.”
Although I’d barely whispered the words, everyone in the living room erupted into cheers of congratulations. Distantly, I was aware of our families: the pop of a champagne cork, Katie muttering about how we all swore like sailors, a swirl of excited chatter about when and where we would have the wedding. Matt rose to stand, bringing me up with him and drawing me in close. I was exactly where I wanted to be, safe and warm in the arms of the man I loved. I was home. And I could stay there forever.