The Christmas Keeper (Laurel Holidays #6)

8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

O ne of the highlights of the courthouse party, other than the mayor sneezing so hard after a few too many pitchers of Coors that he toppled over backward and his wife had to come fetch him before Tanya, the sole reporter for our little hometown paper, could be summoned from the next county, was Kenan singing.

I’d heard him crooning a dozen or more times now, and every time it left me speechless. Why a man with such amazing talent was traveling the US busking and taking odd jobs was impossible for me to figure out. I thought to ask him numerous times, but that was his story to tell when he was ready, and so I never asked. Also, if I poked too much, he might decide to pack up and move on. Sure, he said he was happy here, but happiness quickly became unhappiness. Just ask Paulie.

“Hey, I was hoping to get a second alone with you,” Paula said, easing her backside around the bar as the rest of the courthouse employees were enraptured with Kenan singing “Blue Christmas” as good as the King. Was I biased? Hell yeah. Paula was decked out in a red sweater, black skirt, and tiny red Christmas balls dangling from her ears. She’d even tucked some tinsels in her silver hair for the occasion.

The song ended, everyone clapped, and a few folks tossed cash into Kenan’s guitar case. I pulled a pitcher of Molson for Avery and the gang from the Prothonotary’s office.

When I was done tucking the cash from Avery into the till, I wiped my hands on my apron and faced Paula.

“If you’re going to make a snide comment about Kenan’s religion, I would just as soon you not,” I said with a bit more veracity than was probably polite when dealing with a steady customer, but I’d had more than enough from my mother. I was not going to listen to any anti-Semitic dross from anyone else.

“I would never. Dear Lord, my brother-in-law is Jewish,” she replied after the shock had worn off.

“Oh. Sorry.”

She studied me for a moment, clearly working out if she should continue speaking to me or just go back to her table. She opted to keep talking.

“No, that’s fine. I’ve heard some stupid shit during my time as well. What I wanted to discuss with you…well, it’s a little delicate.” I tipped my head. She began to play with the small ball hanging from her right lobe, tugging at it nervously. A fissure of unease crawled up my spine. “Now, I don’t know how familiar you have gotten with Kenan. And that’s none of my business. We do see that he’s spending all of his time at your house, and again, that’s fine. You’re both grown men.”

Kenan broke into another song as she dawdled and pulled on her earring. “I’m not sure what it is you think you need to tell me. I know he’s a wandering soul, and I know he had an addiction to ketamine.” He’d not been shy about his past stints in rehab. The nights that he sang, he often prefaced this song or that song with his time battling back from his addiction. “I know he’s gay,” I tacked on just to be a snide son-of-a-bitch.

Her lips flattened. “That’s good. Good. Then he’s told you all about his time spent touring with Margo Morgaine and how they were at the Opry one night and he was so stoned he fell off the stage screaming about packs of wolves trying to eat Margo and him?”

Oh shit. No. That was all news to me. “Uhm…of course he told me,” I said, trying not to look as if she had hit me in the face with a pitcher of rocks.

“Oh good, phew! I mean, I assumed he must have. I mean, if you take away the scruff and cut his hair short, mostly everyone who knows a damn thing about country music could tell you that’s Lance Galloway. I assume Kenan is either his real name or he made it up when his career went into the shitter. But no matter what he is calling himself, there is no mistaking that voice.”

Lance Galloway. I’d never heard that name before. Then again, I didn’t do country. My sight flickered from Paula to Kenan. Lance. And there it lingered. Paula must’ve sensed I was preoccupied with the guitar man, so she stopped without saying another word. Perhaps she had also picked up that I’d been lying through my teeth. I’d never been one for deception. Say what you are feeling, Mom always said. She lived by that tenet and so did I, for the most part.

“I’d appreciate it if you kept this to yourself. Kenan is trying to build a new life for himself,” I said with some real bite.

“Oh, of course. My lips are sealed.” She pretended to zip her lips and scurried back to her table.

Shaken, I snuck back into the kitchen to take a minute or two to re-center. And search the internet for one Lance Galloway.

Yep. There he was in all his glory. My Kenan. Shorter hair, clean face, no earrings, smiling wide for the camera as he stood side-by-side with Margo Morgaine, the queen of modern country pop. And when I say side-by-side, I mean side-by-side , this is my man, this is my woman side-by-side. Jealousy flared so brightly I had to blink to clear the veil of green from my vision.

I found a song, one of several, from his debut album. Album. The man had an album. Headlines about him and Margo, pictures of them touring, hugging, making money hand over fist. Not one mention of him being queer or Jewish or a drug addict. One of his biggest hits played as background noise while I stared at a past life Kenan had never mentioned. I felt that hard granite slowly starting to encase my heart. He’d lied to me just like Paulie…

“Man, people are so in the giving mood! I think I made over a hundred bucks just from this party and…” Whatever Kenan was saying dropped off as the lyrics from his breakout hit “Twice Broken Fool” filled the small kitchen. “Shit.”

The door swung closed behind him. I searched his face. He looked stricken.

“Nice of you to let me know about this other you,” I said, the words as icy cold as the winds swirling down Main Street, bringing some light snow to the area. Yay, a white Christmas. “It would have been nice to be informed, you know, for when someone came up to me and asked me how the hell I managed to get Lance Galloway to sing in my shitty little alehouse on the backside of nowhere.”

He placed the wad of ones, fives, and tens on the sandwich prep cooler. “I should have told you, I know, but it hardly seemed relevant.”

That one got me. I started to laugh, a dry, aching laugh. “Not relevant he says. You were a fucking superstar!”

“No, I was riding the coattails of an established older woman who took a shining to me.”

“Were you fucking her?” I asked with such venom the words burned my tongue. And I knew that I needed to rein in my hurt and fear of being torn asunder back again, but I just could not do it .

“I’m gay, Brann, remember?”

“Oh, well, you don’t look too gay in most of the images that I found.” I shoved my phone into his face, showing him a close up and personal montage of him and Margo kissing. He batted it aside.

Brann, by all that is holy, stop before you ruin this.

“She was a beard. And I was one for her.” He blew out a breath. “Look, we can get into this in depth, but first we have another hour of this party to tend to and—”

“Fuck them and their fucking holiday cheer fest.” I pushed around Kenan, our shoulders smacking, and stalked into the pub. The jukebox was playing an old Waylon song about Luckenbach, Texas. I wished everyone in this damn pub was there.

“Okay, party is over. Sorry. Sour lettuce was discovered in the kitchen. Everyone out.” I herded the forty or so people to the front door. “I’ll refund your money for the hour. Out you go. Merry whatever.”

Once the door was closed, I turned the lock into place and tapped my brow to the stout wood a few dozen times. Maybe if I hit my head hard enough, it would knock some sense into me while dislodging the irate, insecure asshole that was now running amok.

“That was rude,” Kenan called. The jukebox went quiet. I turned to find him standing behind the bar, his dark eyes unreadable. “Those people paid for this pub for a set time.”

“I’ll refund them. Their time will be better served being home with the kiddies instead of sitting here getting drunk, pinching Lois from Dog Licensing on the ass, and drooling over a man who was shagging a MILF to get his face on the Coming Soon posters outside the Grand Ole Opry.”

That one hit hard. I watched him wince.

Brann, you stupid fuck.

Kenan nodded slowly, walked over to a table, pulled out a seat, and glared at me until I stormed over to do the same. Then we both stood there, glowering, chairs out, no one sitting, for a good minute and a half before I flung myself down into the seat so hard it made my tailbone ache. Only then did Kenan sit.

“First off, Margo and I never had sex. She’s a lesbian. She’s in a committed relationship with her hairdresser, Eve. They’ve been a couple for ten years,” Kenan informed me flatly.

“Why is she hiding it?” I asked because I had nothing in reply that sounded intelligent after I got the lowdown on Ms. Margo Morgaine.

“Because it’s country and western, Brann.” He sighed and scrubbed at his face with his hands. When his fingers fell to the table, he looked at least five years older.

Look what you’ve done. You’ve torn the joy out of this man just like you did Paulie.

“There are gay singers who are out in that field,” I argued. Surely there had to be in this day and age.

“Yes, there are a few. I can count them on my hands and toes, but yes, a few. Margo and I were not ready to come out then. She still isn’t, and that’s fine. People are allowed to come out when they’re ready. And I wasn’t ready. Plus, I am a Jew. A gay Jew in a cowboy hat. Can you imagine how that would sell to all the rednecks?”

“Are you telling me there are no Jews in country and western music?”

“No, there are plenty, but most aren’t queer on top of it. It was…” he ran a hand through his curls, “my agent suggested I keep that under the covers. Give the world a few years to get used to me, learn to love me, and then we could spring the Jewish bit on them.”

“And when did he think you should tell your fans you were gay?” I leaned back, folded my arms, and did my best to be as truculent and shut off as possible.

He shrugged. “He never really said, which meant he thought it should be hidden forever. And since he was also Margo’s agent, his advice for her was the same. But amazingly, we could be a fake couple for the world to hide our nasty little rainbow secret. Sure, people might titter about a woman in her forties hooking up with a guy in his twenties, but better that than having the good ole boys find out that Lance Galloway was a fag. And no, my agent never used that word, but it was always hovering in the air like a swarm of malignant mosquitoes.”

“You could have just done it anyway, come out,” I tossed out.

“Yeah, I could have, but I was twenty years old when Jack found me playing in a dive in rural Kentucky. He had been in the business for over thirty years and had Margo on his roster. I was so starstruck that he could have pitched me a contract where I made a dollar a night and I would have leapt at it. He took me under his wing and promised me that he would be at my side as we worked through the less than savory life situations I was burdened with.”

“Being Jewish and gay,” I said, suddenly disliking this Jack dude a lot.

He tapped his regal nose. “Exactly. So, I signed, and it was a good deal. He didn’t try to rip me off like other agents sometimes do. The only thing he asked us, and added to our contracts, was that we maintained a good, wholesome public image.”

“Sure and being queer and a Jew didn’t fit that wholesome image.”

“Well, the Jewish part was less a stumbling block than a man who liked to suck dick. But yeah, they were to be hidden. So Jack suggested we pitch the idea that Margo and I were an item. She’d been dating men for years in public, probably still is. I don’t keep up with what’s going on in Nashville anymore. I would have set myself on fire to please either one of them, and before long, I was opening for her on the road and pretending to be her lover. We never went further than a chaste kiss now and again to keep up the ruse and the fans happy. After the first few months of this lie, I started doing K now and again to keep me moving and to dull the pain of being something that I wasn’t. Seems I have a highly addictive personality because I was hooked and using that shit hard in no time. Somehow I managed to keep myself clean for shows, but as soon as I got off stage I had friends, and that term is used real lightly, who would show up to get high with me.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, feeling lower and lower the longer this tragic tale went on.

“You didn’t sniff shit into your nose. That was all on me. And Brann, it was euphoric. And then it wasn’t. I started falling into k-holes, where I would become totally unaware of the world around me. My heart would speed up, I’d grind my teeth so hard my jaw ached, and I’d get wobbly and fall over. Jack and Margo did what they could to keep me under control or lie to the press to say I drank too much because falling down backstage is okay if you’re drunk but condemned when you’re stoned.” I quirked an eyebrow. “Yeah, society is way more accepting of dudes being assholes soused on beer.” He grimaced. “No offense.”

“None taken.” I tried my best not to serve people until they blacked out. The mayor’s overindulgence tonight was above and beyond for me, but he’d only had one pitcher among five people, or so I knew. I wasn’t really here to babysit even though barkeeps ended up doing just that more than we would like.

“So yeah, shit was spiraling fast. My career was taking off, but my addiction was a monster that I had no control over. At the darkest point, which was the baddest night I have ever lived through, I was sniffing K every twenty minutes.” My eyes flared. He bobbed his head. “Yeah, it was really bad, but the worst was the night it all went to shit. Margo and I were invited to the Opry. Or I should say Margo got the invite, but they wanted us to play a new duet we’d recorded that was ripping up the charts. I was so nervous before we went on that I asked Margo’s makeup artist for a little K just to get me through the biggest night in my life. He was happy to share with me.

“I hit the stage so out of it that I couldn’t recall the lyrics. I ended up falling into Margo, then off the stage, lost control of my bodily functions, and my blood pressure rocketed. Needless to say, after that performance in front of a sold out audience packed with press, I was quietly whisked away to rehab. The first one. Out in thirty, back two months later, out in thirty, back using, then fell into another k-hole that nearly killed me. That last stint stuck. My fans did not. My agent did not. And Margo, well, she was never really my girlfriend, but she was a friend, or so I had thought, but even she had to move on from the wreck that was Lance Galloway. I don’t hold it against her, even if she was my friend. Sometimes you have to distance yourself from toxicity. So yeah, that’s my story.”

He was picking at his fingernails, a nervous trait I had never seen before. Heart breaking, I reached over the sticky table to place my hands over his. Sad, dark eyes raised from his jagged hangnails.

“That’s one hell of a story. I think you’re brave and strong, and I am so fucking sorry for being such a bent-up asshole.” He wiggled his fingers between mine, his gaze dewy. “I just…” I exhaled so hard I got dizzy. “When Paula told me who you were—”

“Kenan is who I am. That’s the real me. Lance was a name Jack made up since my real name sounded a little too foreign for the fans.”

“I think Jack has no clue about the fans. I cannot imagine a group of people who worship Dolly Parton would turn on you simply for being queer and Jewish.” He gave me a tart ‘come on, Brann’ look. “Okay, sure, some would, yes. But overall, I bet most of the fans would be fine with a gay singer who lit eight candles instead of a tree every December. I know I’m head over heels for him.”

His lips twitched at the corners. “Well, that’s not even on my radar. The fans, the tours, or the friends who ply you with drugs just to ensure they stay on your good side. I gave away a lot of money when I was using, spent a lot too. So much so that I walked out of rehab with nothing but my first guitar, my clothes, and a map of the United States in my back pocket. No set goals, no family to come get me, just my six-string and my voice. Oh, and a parting severance check from Jack that bought me a used car. But hey, that was enough. And I did okay. Busking is good money if you’re in the city.”

“How did you end up in Elmira? I mean, if you’re looking to do well busking rural anywhere probably will just get you the John J. Rambo treatment from the cops.”

He chuckled. “I feel that. I’ve been run out of dozens of small towns. I ended up here after my car broke down along Route 17, and I walked to the airport after seeing the signs. I kind of stupidly thought it would be bigger…”

“Guess you learned.”

“Yeah, I did. I managed to get a job cleaning bathrooms at a glass factory and got a new battery for my car. But then I was broke again, so I tried my hand at busking. And then you walked into my life.”

“You poor bastard. You’d have been much better off if you had told me to go play in traffic. I’m a real problem child. Just ask my mother.”

“I need you to believe me when I say I am here because I want to be here. I plan to be here for as long as you can stand me being under foot. I like it here, I like you, and the people are nice. Kind and generous. Accepting of me, of us . You don’t find that everywhere. I am sorry for not telling you about Lance.” He brought our linked hands to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “It’s odd, but I kind of think of Lance as this whole other person. Someone who was in my past, who did some stupid shit, got knocked down from a glittery pedestal, and now is a faint memory that some country fan may think of now and again and ask their sig other whatever happened to him. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, sure. You’ve moved past that guy. I mean, he is still you, obviously.”

“Mm, totally still me. That’s my addict. He’s always with me. And sometimes when things are tough, I talk to him. I’ll tell him to fuck off, that I got this life shit, and I’m handling it.”

“You so are. And if I ever, ever make you so angry that you feel the need to use—”

“You won’t. Just because you have moments of uncertainty about us?” I nodded. He smiled at me so sweetly that I almost wept. “We all have our little voices, those inner saboteurs, that like to act out on occasion. Mine will get real sulky when things are super rough, just so you know.”

“And mine will lash out like a harpy when he feels he’s been lied to. Trust me, I know you didn’t lie. You just didn’t tell me everything, and while it was a big thing, you are entitled to keep things about your past to yourself. We’ve only been doing this thing for a few weeks.”

“A few wonderful weeks. And no, that was a bad way to handle that part of my past. I should have come clean right after you gave me a place to sleep. And now that I know how much you hate surprises—”

My phone rang. Rang. Not pinged. Mom. “Speaking of unwanted surprises.”

She was calling to see if we had left yet and I would bet my damn pub on it. I released Kenan’s hands, dug my cell out, and passed it to him. He drew back as if I were handing him a scorpion.

“What do you want me to do with this?” he asked as he gingerly lifted my phone from my palm.

“Tell her we’ll be at the restaurant on time.” He gaped. “You can do it. That Southern drawl of yours will make her melt like ice cream on a hot sidewalk. Just like it did her son.”

I stole a kiss, timid after all the deep shit we’d just gone through the past thirty minutes, but one filled with promise.

“You still want me to stay with you?” His question was a raspy whisper.

“I would like nothing better. Now talk to the female version of me. I need to clean the kitchen and if I sit here staring into your eyes much longer, we’ll be upstairs on the couch fucking like warthogs.” He raised one sleek eyebrow. My dick twitched. “On second thought, tell her we’ll be a little late.”

He politely told my mother something had come up the kitchen sink, and we’d hopefully still be there on time, but if not to go ahead and order drinks and appetizers and we’d be along in short order.

We raced up to my office, dove onto the old sofa, and proceeded to get very naked and very warthoggish.

***

Dinner with the fam was an odd affair.

I suspected that Nora, who was now seated beside her handsome behemoth of a husband and glowing brighter than the candles on the table, had an inkling that what had come up to make Kenan and I late had nothing to do with a sink backup and everything to do with two men being hog wild about each other. To her credit, she did not tease us about our goofy smiles or the way Kenan’s hair was beyond wild. That was on me.

The parental units noted nothing other than we were late. Dad was fine with it, as he always dragged his feet, but Mom…well, Mom was quite pointed about how being late was a sign of inconsideration. She did give us a sharp look when we finally arrived at the same time as the appetizers. The restaurant was hopping so a slow kitchen had worked in our favor.

“So, this is so nice,” Nora gushed as she looked around the table. “It has been like ages since we all were together for Christmas.” Her eyes rounded. “Oh crap, I’m sorry. For the holidays. I didn’t mean to exclude you, Kenan.”

He smiled and waved off her worry just as a server arrived with some nibbles. “No, please, it’s fine. I love Christmas. It’s such a joyous time of year, everyone is cheery and filled with goodwill for their fellow man. Also, the tips are great!”

Dad nodded, then passed the dish of asparagus wrapped in prosciutto to Antoine. “I remember when I tended bar during the holidays back in my college days, tips were always double. I used all my savings and a fat night of tips to buy my darling wife an engagement ring for our third Christmas together.”

Mom gave him a look of sheer adoration. I stared, rudely, as I could not recall ever seeing my mother gaze so lovingly at anyone.

“It was a tiny little diamond chip. You would have needed a magnifying glass to find it, but she didn’t seem to mind. She said yes and here we are thirty-three years later with two grown children, a new son-in-law, a grandbaby on the way, and our son’s new boyfriend to welcome into the fold.”

I nearly choked on my asparagus. “Dad, Kenan isn’t my—”

“That’s so kind. Thank you for being so cordial,” Kenan said before giving me a quick glance. I nodded, chewed, and let the misstep slide. Maybe Kenan was onto something. Maybe I didn’t have to call out every little flub my folks made. Big ones, yes for sure, but tiny errors such as calling him my boyfriend when we were…well, I wasn’t sure what you would call us. Lovers fit well. We sure did love to love on each other. Anything past that, though, I didn’t want to try to pin down. Living in the present was hard, especially for someone like me who got anxious if things weren’t laid out neatly far in advance. “I’m thrilled to be part of this wonderful family. I’ve fallen out with my parents, so this is quite lovely.”

Mom’s head snapped up from cutting her asparagus. A small fire in a huge hearth snapped and popped behind her.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope they didn’t turn against you when you came out.” She pointed at me with her fork. “When Brann came out, we were totally fine with him being gay. I think we went out and bought a rainbow flag for our front porch the very next day.”

That was true. They had taken it pretty damn well, considering my mother was a firm believer in the tenets of the Catholic church. To a point. She was not happy about the way women and queers were treated and was quite vocal about it. Father Leon had gotten more than one earful over the years.

“That was a large part of our issues, yes, but they couldn’t handle my drug use,” Kenan said as he buttered a warm bun. My mother and father both stopped slicing asparagus. Nora and Antoine shared looks with me.

“That’s their loss,” I said just as bowls of lentil soup arrived and were placed in front of us. A small band—one man on guitar, one on keyboards, and a young woman in a silver dress—began playing in the corner. Soft holiday tunes filled the eatery.

“It certainly is. God will not judge you unkindly when you kneel before him for judgment, Kenan. Addiction is a crushing sickness to carry. My grandfather was an alcoholic, so I know the torment that one suffers with that is not of their doing. Some people are just born with an addictive personality, just like some people are born gay.”

Who the hell was this woman?! “Did aliens land and swap out your wife with a pod person?” I asked my father. Antoine, who was a pretty quiet man, laughed out loud and then blushed deep red as Nora giggled openly. Kenan hid his snickers behind his cloth napkin. Dad reached over to pat my mother’s thigh. Mom pointed her butter knife at me just as she used to when we were at the dinner table and I would get sassy.

“ Brann Michael ,” she warned halfheartedly.

“How does one tell if one’s wife is a pod person?” Dad asked to the side, loud enough for everyone at the table to hear. We all laughed.

“See, this is where my children get their cheekiness from,” Mom said with a pointed look at my father that turned into a soft look. “I’m the soft-spoken one. Do not let them tell you differently.” She poked her fork at Kenan and Antoine, who both nodded along. Smart men. It wasn’t wise to get your mother-in-law mad at you. Not that she was Kenan’s…nope, nope, nope. Not going to wade in the worry of the unknown. Terms were not important. Kenan and I were happy right now.

Our meals went well amazingly, the food was delicious, and my mother was actually charming. I sat back several times during the evening to try to suss out how she could be this nice now, but a few hours earlier she was all over the place about Kenan. So, when my dad, Kenan, Nora, and Antoine went to the band to ask if they took requests, I leaned in close to my mom, who was enjoying a cup of coffee after her cheesecake.

“Okay, so why are you being so nice to Kenan now, but when you met him, when you saw the menorah, you were such a bitch.” Her eyebrows knotted. “Well, the term fits.”

“I personally do not think it fits,” she fired back, lowering her coffee cup to its saucer. “And I do not like the insinuation that I disliked the boy because he’s Jewish. That is simply untrue, and frankly, it’s hurtful.”

“Mom, you about shit yourself when you met him.”

“Yes, I did, because I didn’t know about him. What did you expect? I show up at your door and there’s a strange man larking around with underwear on his head. Then you announce, as bold as brass buttons, that he’s your employee whom you’re sleeping with, and that he’s Jewish. All in that tone of yours that just dares a person to be anything but happy as peach pie.”

I sat back, properly chastened, but still curious. “Fine, yeah, I may have bitten before I even barked, but you certainly acted like you disliked his faith.”

She huffed. “Brann, for goodness sake, if I were going to dislike anything about the young man, it would be his choice of headgear. He seems to be a nice man, kind, polite, and quite handsome in his way. You’re happy when you’re around him, something that we’ve not seen since Pecker Head Paulie hurt you so deeply.”

“I cannot believe I’m hearing the words pecker head come out of your mouth,” I said as she smiled just the smallest bit.

“Well, he was. The truth is not always pleasant as we know. You and I tend to say what’s on our minds. Many would say being blunt is a good thing, while many would say it’s bad. We lack compassion, or empathy, or whatever it’s called when you blow smoke up someone’s skirt. I may speak too quickly. Perhaps I should temper my tongue as your father and sister reminded me after you left, but you know that I am always honest with people, even when it’s uncomfortable to do so. So, no, I did not hold Kenan’s faith or his time battling addiction against him. What upset me most was that you didn’t tell us that you had found a new man and that he would be here. Are we so reprehensible that you couldn’t bring yourself to even pass along something this big?”

“No, of course not, I just…” And there I skidded to a stall. “I’m not sure how long this thing with Kenan will last is all. I’m trying not to put my cart in front of the horse as Dad likes to say.”

“Ah, so you’re hedging. That does seem wise given how your last breakup nearly drove you into a mental hospital.”

“I wasn’t that bad.” She shot me a flat look. “Okay, yes, I was in bad shape, but Paulie had hurt me badly.”

“I know he did, but you do tend to over-commit your whole self. You need to stop making your relationship your everything. You’re a bright, hardworking man. Take pride in your other accomplishments. Also, since we’re having this little talk, I must say that I’m worried that you’re having sex with your employee. That could turn around to bite you on your ass when things go wrong.”

I scowled. “When. Nice. So you’re predicting a fail already.”

“Brann, for goodness sake, stop being so annoying. I’m not predicting anything. I barely know the young man, but surely you must see he does carry some extensive baggage. He’s an ex-addict and a wandering soul. I’m concerned that you will attach yourself to him—”

“Like a leech?”

She frowned deeply. The band shifted to an old Christmas tune sung by Perry Como way back when or so the lead singer told us. The dancers moved more slowly. Where the rest of the family had disappeared to, I didn’t know, but I was now wishing they would come back so I could leave.

“Please stop that. I did not say anything about a leech, for goodness sake, Brann. Do you honestly think that my opinion of you is so low?” Now she looked hurt. God dammit. I shook my head, scanning the restaurant for the others. They were at the bar. Nora was peeking at us around Antoine. When I caught her, she jerked back to let her beefy husband block my view. Cool. So this was a set-up mom and son talk. My sister was so getting coal in her stocking. “I can’t hear your brains rattle. Please answer me.”

“No, I don’t honestly think you feel I’m a leech. Maybe I feel that way about myself and I just like to project it to others so I can hide in my cabin forever without the danger of being thrown over a cliff by someone I love.”

Mom blinked. I slowed my breathing by exhaling slowly.

“My that was quite the honest answer. I’m glad for it. It shows me that you’re coming to terms with your shortcomings.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t take offense. We all have faults. I’m too direct. Your father is too easy. Your sister is always trying to make life perfect, even though she knows full well that life is never perfect or easy, and you build walls that a bull elephant couldn’t knock down. Antoine, well, he’s a bit too Canadian at times, and Kenan—”

“Wait, roll that bus back. What the hell is too Canadian?”

This I had to hear.

“You know. Polite. Kind. Courteous.”

“Oh yeah, those are terrible qualities.”

“I never said they were terrible, just…annoying. How can one person be so damn mannerly?” She sighed as if that were a mighty weight. I couldn’t help but snicker.

“I won’t need you to list Kenan’s shortcomings. All it would do is make me defensive,” I tossed out.

She studied me closely, her long nails now tapping on the side of her coffee cup. “You like him a great deal, don’t you?”

“I do, yes.”

“Hmm, I thought so. The way you look at him says a lot. Brann, I just want you to be careful with your heart. This man, though he does seem earnest and quite charming, does work for you.”

“Mom, please…”

She huffed out a short breath. “Fine, make your bed and lie in it.”

“I plan to do just that.” We sat there watching each other while “Happy Holidays” filled the air.

“I would have appreciated knowing, though. Do you know I spent the afternoon scouring every small shop on Main Street for a gift for Kenan?”

“Did you know I didn’t have time to even do that and so your gifts are probably being stolen off your front porch as we speak?”

“That’s your sister’s fault. She was gung-ho about flying in to surprise you. She misses you, Brann, we all do. I hope Kenan can help you see that there is more to life than work and darts.”

I picked up a spoon just for something to do with my hands. “He’s doing a lot of good things for me.” I tapped the handle on the table as the band broke into a smooth rendition of “Merry Christmas, Darling” that got a few more couples out of their seats to dance in front of the small stage. “So, what did you get him?”

“You’ll see tomorrow. I don’t trust you not to tell him. Remember that Christmas when you saw me wrapping the denim jacket that Nora had asked for and you ran to tell her?”

I chuckled. “Yeah, I’m not good with secrets. Or lies.”

“No, you are not, but neither am I. Oh, here they are.” Dad and Kenan arrived at our table. “Did you get your requests in?” Mom asked as Dad bent down to kiss her cheek.

“We did. Would you like to dance, milady?” Dad asked with a regal bow. Mom giggled like a teen, rose, and let my father lead her out to sway next to Nora and Antoine.

Kenan extended his hand to me. I glanced up into eyes as warm and sweet as the lava cake I’d just eaten.

I slid my fingers over his. We made our way around tables, some people giving us nods and smiles, a few glancing away. I let him lead. It seemed fitting since he was guiding me from a dark place into a world of glitter, candles, and renewed faith in the possibility of love and trust.