The Santa Mug

by Patric Michael

  * * *

  “Maxie!” A man roughly the size of a Cincinnati linebacker grabbed Max and yanked him off his feet, swinging him around and laughing. “Where have you been, you little shit? I’ve missed you at these shindigs.” He set Max on his feet and planted a solid kiss on the top of his head.

  “Jeez, Elliot. Warn a guy first, will ya? If I’d have eaten already, you’d be wearing it right now.” Max scowled up at him, then his face broke into a sunny smile. “I missed you too.” He turned to introduce Darren. “Elliot, this is my bodyguard, Darren. Darren, my oldest brother, Elliot.”

  “Hey, yeah. I heard about you. Bunnies! Good one, man.” Elliot shook Darren’s hand, and Darren wondered briefly if his shoulder would dislocate.

  “Nice to meet you, Elliot. Thanks.”

  “Wow, Ma was right. He is polite.” Elliot turned to Max. “You should be guarding him. He’s gonna get eaten alive.” He winked at Darren and then turned toward the kitchen, shouting, “Hey Connie! Come see the baby. He’s all grown up now!”

  Carl, seated in a recliner and wearing his prosthetics, laughed softly. “Welcome to the family, Darren.”

  “But Max and I aren’t seeing each other!”

  “Doesn’t matter, son. Guilt by association.”

  The doorbell rang, and Max moved to answer it. Three kids burst through, swirling past like an incoming wave around a piling, shouting “Grandma! Grandpa!” at the tops of their lungs. Max held the door open for a man and a woman as Emily emerged from the kitchen. She held out her arms and all three, two boys and a girl, bombarded her tiny frame, laughing.

  “Hey Max. Long time no see.” The man clasped him in a one-armed guy hug that made Darren grin.

  “Hey, William. Happy Thanksgiving,” Max said.

  The woman greeted Max with considerably more enthusiasm. “Maxie!” She shrieked and leaped into his arms. “Oh, my God, how I’ve missed you!”

  Max laughed and swung her around. “I’ve missed you, too, Liz. How are you?”

  “I’m good, now that I see you. Where is he?”

  “Where’s who? There’s a herd of people scattered around,” Max said.

  “Your guy, Darren. Mom e-mailed my phone on the way over here.”

  Max rolled his eyes. “Ma and her e-mail, I swear. He’s not my guy, Sis. Just a friend I wanted to bring.” He turned and motioned to Darren standing behind him. “This is Elizabeth, the youngest of my older sisters.”

  Darren nodded and held out his hand. Elizabeth squealed and launched herself into his startled embrace, much as she had done to Max.

  “I don’t do handshakes, Mister. Not for any friend of my baby brother.”

  “It’s, um, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Mom was right,” she said to Max as she stepped out of the way to introduce her husband. “This is William. He’s the one responsible for that noisy brood over there.” She pointed to the children who still had Emily pinned.

  “William, it’s a pleasure,” Darren said.

  “Likewise,” William’s tone was anything but warm.

  “Hey, you three!” Carl roared, sitting forward in his chair and startling the entire room to momentary silence. “Are you going to come give me a hug, or do I have to come over there and get them myself?”

  Emily stood and shooed the grandkids toward Carl. The oldest of the three, a boy perhaps thirteen, immediately exclaimed. “Hey look! Grandpa’s got feet!”

  Elizabeth’s horrified “Jason!” was drowned out by Carl’s bark of laughter.

  “Yes, I do, boy, and that means I can kick your butt.” Carl made as if to get up, and the children scattered. The middle boy bumped into Darren and might have fallen if Darren hadn’t caught him and set him back on his feet.

  “Sorry,” the boy said, and he ran off.

  Darren straightened to find William frowning. “No harm. It’s all good.”

  “I suppose so. Thank you.” William turned and walked away, leaving Darren feeling like he’d just been punched in the stomach.

  6

  Darren retreated to the relative safety of the bedroom, telling Max he intended to finish dressing. Max had nodded absently, distracted by the conversation he was having with Elizabeth. Darren crossed the living room, pausing only long enough to check out the game playing on the widescreen TV before he ascended the stairs. He made a conscious effort not to bolt up two at a time.

  Darren lay back on the bed, feeling confused and overwhelmed as he stared up at the little stars pasted to the ceiling.

  “Why aren’t you here with me?” he asked the stars, but they did not answer. Darren closed his eyes and tried to find the numbness that characterized his passage through the holidays, and if truth be told, most of his life over the last few years; but the sensation eluded him, chased away by the muffled voices and laughter downstairs.

  He wondered again what had possessed him to agree to come in the first place, even though he already knew the answer. Marlon had loved Christmas, loved the holidays in general, and he would be appalled that his love chose not to participate, despite his absence. Darren’s numbness was as much to block out Marlon’s imagined reproach as it was to keep the season itself at bay.

  Now, because of Max’s stupid, wonderful, timely offer, Darren was forced to crawl out from behind the rubble of broken memories and, if not celebrate, at least participate on behalf of the man who held him, laughing and shivering on the roof of their first apartment when the stars came out on clear winter nights.

  “Get ready, baby. Here they come,” Marlon had said as twilight deepened. “I bet I spot the first star of the night.” It was a game they played often, that Darren seldom won, until he discovered much later that the “first star” Marlon so often spotted was always the same, Venus. He had thought, like most city kids, that the first star appeared wherever it was darkest.

  “The stars don’t change, baby. They are eternal, just like us,” Marlon said, drawing Darren back against his chest as night fell, silent and cold, all around them.

  “I guess we weren’t so eternal after all, were we?” Darren asked the paper stars, and they still did not answer. “Who am I going to lean on now?”

  “You can lean on me, Darren.” Max spoke softly from the open doorway, and Darren jerked. He was unsure whether the look on Max’s face was wistfulness or caution.

  “If you want to, I mean,” Max added. “Whatever you need, let me help, okay?”

  “How long have you been standing there, Max?”

  “Not long.” Max closed the door as softly as he had opened it. “We talked about that once, Marlon and I, about how much you leaned on him.”

  “He was never my crutch.” Darren spoke hotly; affronted by the suggestion, yet deep inside he knew it was true. Hadn’t he just been thinking the same thing?

  “Marlon thought so. It worried him a little, I think. As long as he was with you, you’d go anywhere and do anything. When he was away, well, you never had the spontaneity with any of us that you did with him.”

  Darren started to refute the statement, deny that anyone other than Marlon could know him that well, and stopped. Obviously someone did.

  “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

  Max sat down on his own bed and sighed. “What would have been the point? When he was alive, he was all you needed and when he was gone….” Pain crossed Max’s face as his words trailed off. He stared down at his hands for a long moment and then raised his head. “You’ve always been a best friend to me, Darren. Let me be yours once in a while. If you ever need me, say so.” Max stood and snagged clean clothes from his suitcase. “Shower is across the hall and to the right. I’ll leave you clean towels,” he said as he left the room.

  Darren stared at the back of the door for a moment and closed his eyes, but even in the darkness behind his eyelids he saw the shadowed pain in Max’s face. Pain he had put there, somehow. “When did I become so selfish?” he asked, but the stars made no reply.

  T
he sound of running feet thundered down the hall outside. The high, piping laughter of children augmented and intensified the deep bass rumble. Darren braced himself, waiting for the door to crash open, but a sharp voice called from downstairs. “You lot leave them alone, or I’ll string you all by your ears!” The footsteps retreated, taking whispers and giggles with them. Darren waited, wondering if they would come back, and was surprised to feel a faint hope that they would. He looked up at the stars which were nothing more than chemicals on paper cut into fanciful shapes, yet they also represented the man he had lost, who would have adored them.

  “Baby, I think you spoiled me too much,” he said, and the stars listened.

  * * *

  Darren chose the kitchen as an alternative to the boisterous hoots and shouting that overwhelmed the living room. Most of the men were watching the game, and at any other time, he’d have been right in the thick of it, but for some reason, the implied camaraderie made him nervous.

  As he stepped into the kitchen, by no means the smallest room in the house, he was immediately assaulted by heat, aromas, and women.

  “Darren! Where have you been hiding? I was hoping we’d get a chance to talk. Can I get you anything?”

  The woman was small, and if Darren remembered correctly, she was the wife of that huge bruiser who was even now rattling the house with his animated stomping whenever the game on TV got exciting.

  “I’m sorry….” Darren trailed off, letting the lapse prompt her for her name.

  “Connie,” she said. “We haven’t been formally introduced.”

  “With Elliot, right?” Darren smiled at the memory of Max’s delight when the big man accosted him. He held out his hand for her to shake. “It’s a pleasure.”

  “Gorilla in a three-piece suit. Yup. That’s him.” Connie grinned. “Mom was right about you.”

  Darren laughed. “Yeah, I’ve been hearing that a lot lately. Can I help with anything?” He looked around the kitchen inquiringly.

  “Absolutely not. This is women’s work.” Connie suddenly blushed as she realized what she had said.

  “Women and bachelors who don’t call for take-out very often,” Darren agreed.

  “Good save.” Another woman, a good deal less petite but still pretty, said as she crossed to their side of the kitchen. “I heard that comment you made this morning, as did my daughter.”

  Darren looked abashed. “Then you must be Carrie. I do apologize for that. I was just trying to buy enough time to get dressed without anyone else coming in for a visit.”

  Carrie smiled. “Don’t apologize on my account. Monica was sure this little trip was going to be ‘a total bore’, as she put it, but she’s been on the phone all morning with her friends talking about it, and that means she’s out of my hair for a while.”

  Darren groaned. “I suppose she has a lot of friends, right?”

  “Count on it.” Carrie’s eyes danced, and Darren understood she was teasing, hopefully. “But never mind that. Tell us about you and Maxie. The brat has kept himself scarce ever since he moved out. How long have you two been dating?”

  “Whoa, wait.” Darren held his hands up, palm out. “We aren’t together. Max and I are just good friends.”

  “Oh, that’s a shame. You two make such a cute couple.” Carrie looked intently at Darren, who fidgeted uncomfortably. “Don’t you think he’s cute?”

  “Well, sure. I mean yeah, he’s a handsome guy.”

  “And so are you. You two really would make a cute couple, and I see how he looks at you.”

  Darren laughed. “Thanks, but honestly, we’re just good friends.”

  “Does Max know that?”

  “Sure,” Darren replied easily. “He’s the one that said I was here as his bodyguard, not his date.” He grinned at the startled expression on Carrie’s face.

  “Why would he need a bodyguard?” Carrie turned to her mother. “Mom? What did you say to him?”

  Emily turned away from the pot she had been stirring. “I didn’t say a word.” She turned back to the stove and began stirring again. “I’m also not the one playing Yentl, either.”

  Connie and the other women laughed at the affronted look on Carrie’s face. “Oh boy, does she have you pegged.”

  Emily relinquished her pot again and turned to Darren. “Don’t pay her any mind, dear. She’s always been like that. Even when she was little, her dolls always had to be in pairs.”

  “I think it’s great how everybody keeps such a close eye on him,” Darren said. “He has a wonderful family.” He paused until Carrie looked up. “Although, I have to admit, there are more of you than I thought.”

  For the second time, Carrie looked startled. Then she began to laugh. “Oh my God. Mom, he’s adorable. Can we keep him?”

  7

  Darren let the crisp November air and the hint of snow scrub at the pain he felt. He had walked several blocks while trying to push away memories of holidays at his house, before he came out and before all hell broke loose. As sweet as Max’s sisters were, they reminded him all too clearly of what he had lost when his own family had rejected him so completely. Marlon had been the one to remind him over and over that he had a new family now, one that would always accept him, but Marlon wasn’t here anymore, and that loss was more cutting than the snow laden air that painted his cheeks red. When he returned, Darren discovered Max sitting on the wide porch swing, staring out at the leaden gray afternoon.

  “Hey,” Darren said as he sat down. “What’s up?”

  Max made as if to reach for him, but he folded his hands in his lap instead. “I’m sorry, Darren. Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine, why?” Darren was genuinely puzzled by Max’s behavior.

  “They don’t know. My sisters, I mean. I never told them about what happened with your family.”

  “No reason you should have,” Darren said. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Ma said you had a look on your face when you left. I asked her what happened, and she told me about the girls teasing you.” Max brushed at the snow that had accumulated on the porch railing. “Elliot was right. I should be your bodyguard.”

  “Max, it’s all right. Like you said, they didn’t know, and besides, it doesn’t bother me all that much anyway.” Even as Darren said it, both men knew it was a lie.

  “Nonsense,” Max said, and he slid closer. He put an arm around Darren’s shoulder, and to his surprise, Darren leaned in after only a moment’s hesitation, folding himself against Max’s chest.

  “What’ll the neighbors think?” Darren said after a moment of silence.

  “They all have e-mail,” Max said absently.

  “What?”

  “E-mail. No doubt Ma will have e-mailed everyone on the street, and all but a few will be ready to throw rice if we set foot on the sidewalk.”

  Darren tried to straighten, but Max held him firm.

  “Please tell me you’re joking.”

  “Only a little,” Max admitted. “Seriously, the neighbors won’t care in the least. Now, sit still and let me warm you up. You’re just about frozen.”

  “Me? You’re the one with wet hair.” Darren reached up and pushed a stray lock out of his face. The warmth beneath his palm startled him.

  Max tilted his face to meet Darren’s caress. He laid his free hand over Darren’s and turned his head to kiss Darren’s palm. Darren’s breath caught, and Max opened his eyes, startled by what he had done. “Ah, fuck, Darren. I’m sorry.”

  Darren straightened again, and this time Max let him. He tried to pull away, but Darren caught the back of Max’s neck and held him. “You started this,” he said and leaned in. He kissed Max on the lips. Tenderly, almost chastely, except for the brief swipe of his tongue.

  “Max.” He spoke as if he were trying out the sound for the first time; then he leaned in and kissed the owner of that name again.

  Max felt himself go weak, and Darren held him easily, clasping the back of his neck as he pre
ssed their bodies closer together. Their kiss became more urgent as long-held barriers began to crumble. Max moaned softly and wrapped his arms around Darren, pulling at his warmth and demanding still more. Darren opened for him and was immediately assailed by the crisp jolt of their tongues meeting, two lances of warmth shielded by each other’s lips from the cold air and making introductions to unexpected pleasures as they twined and writhed. Darren sucked in breath for both of them and took Max completely, giving him ample time to explore every recess and curve of his mouth before turning the tables and forcing his way back.

  Max drew back to catch his breath. “Darren, I—”

  “Shh. Don’t say anything yet, please.” Darren kissed him again, briefly, and then began to explore the hollow beneath Max’s jaw, the dimple behind his ear, and his neck, prospecting like a blind man, with the tip of his tongue as a cane. When he reached the hollow at the base of Max’s neck he bit tentatively and was rewarded with a softly inarticulate cry as Max jolted and locked his arms around Darren’s body.

  The front door burst open, and several of the kids spilled out, laughing and chasing each other. One of the oldest, a girl, squealed and halted in her tracks. Her hands flew up and covered her mouth and her eyes were wide. The rest stopped and stared curiously at the two men huddled together on the porch swing.

  “Oh, my God, I’ve got to call Evie!” the oldest declared, and she bolted back into the house.

  “Let me guess,” Darren said as he straightened. “Monica, right?”

  “Mouth of the South,” Max agreed.

  “Grandma says to tell you dinner is almost ready if we saw you, but we aren’t ’posed to bother you ’cause you’re having a ’scussion.”

  “Thanks, Sammy. Tell Grandma we’ll be right there, okay?” Max nodded toward the door, and Sammy, followed by the rest of the kids, darted back inside.

  “Max, there’s just one thing I need to know.” Darren sounded unsure of himself and perhaps a little wary. He stood and held his hand out for Max.