by Sarina Bowen
Oh Lord. Today is one of the few days this week that I’m not scheduled to drive out there. “Kyle could do it, Ma. It’ll take him twenty minutes.”
“But you always cut the Christmas tree,” she says. “And I never see you anymore. Your truck pulls up, and you do the chores, and then you leave before dinner. Rexie gets more time with you than I do.”
She’s right, of course. But why would I want to sit down at that table, where I don’t feel welcome, and I haven’t since I was a teen? Roderick’s eyes flick over to me and they look a little nervous. He’s the most observant person I’ve ever met, but somehow it never feels like an intrusion. I see you, his glance says.
“Ma, I’ll cut the tree. But I can’t stick around. There’s a bunch of things I need to do today to get ready for another busy week.”
“You’ll stand it up in the living room, right?” she presses.
“Sure, so long as Kyle is there to help me.”
“Okay,” she says, giving a sniff. “It’ll have to do.”
“Give me like an hour,” I tell her. After I disconnect the call, I text my brother to make sure he’s available for this little charade.
“Everything okay?” Roderick asks.
“Yeah, you know, just the parents. They’re exhausting.” He leans over to decorate another cookie, and it gives me an idea. “Hey, Roddy?”
“Yes?”
“I gotta go to my folks’ place for a couple hours.”
“Oh. Okay.” His shoulders droop. “I’ll put the roast in while you’re gone.”
“I was going to ask if you want to come with me. You wanted a Christmas tree, right?”
He straightens up immediately, setting the pastry bag down with a thunk. “Of course I want a tree.”
“Then drive out there with me. I’ll cut down two, and we’ll bring one home. We’ll need a stand, though,” I say, thinking this over. “And some lights.”
“Not a problem,” Rod says happily. “The drugstore has all that stuff. This is great! How big a tree do you think will fit in the living room? The ceiling is pretty high.”
“Whoa there, fella. Just because we have a twelve foot ceiling doesn’t mean we need a monster tree.”
“Where do you cut trees around here, anyway?”
“Oh, on our farm,” I say. “We have a couple rows of them planted, just for this.”
“And they won’t mind if one goes missing?” he asks, looking happy.
“They wouldn’t dare. Who do you think pruned those fuckers this summer? Get your coat.”
“It’s the next turn-off,” I say an hour later as I wind my truck up the hill toward my parents’ place. A light snow has begun to fall.
“Kind of a long drive from the high school,” Rod says.
“Yeah, but our land is zoned for Walden, which is a sending town.” That’s what we call a town that’s not big enough to have its own high school. “We had school choice. And all our cousins went to Colebury. So did my parents.”
“So it’s a tradition to drive twenty miles to school.”
“Pretty much. When I was in ninth grade, Kyle drove me. And of course my father had me take the driver’s test the week of my birthday.”
“Getting my license was like magic,” he says, leaning his head against the headrest. “I wanted freedom so fucking bad.”
“Same.”
Roderick is humming a Christmas carol and looking out the passenger window. “It’s pretty up here,” he says as the snowflakes fall slowly past us.
“Yeah.” But I feel suddenly reluctant to show him this place where I grew up. “It’s not like my aunt Ruth’s place, though. It’s not party central.”
“I’m just here to watch you chop down a tree with an ax.”
“If I use a hand saw, is that a dealbreaker?”
“Nope!” he says cheerfully. “Just flex for me while you’re doing it.”
It’s all fun and games until I pull up to find Kyle’s truck missing. “Oh, hell.”
“What’s the matter?”
“My brother was supposed to be here to help me get the Christmas tree in the stand. Looks like he flaked out on me.”
“I’ll help you,” Roddy says. “Unless you don’t want me to come inside.”
“No, it’s fine,” I say quickly. The truth is that I’d rather he didn’t witness the awkward way my family exists near each other. We’re like a constellation in the night sky—people associate the stars with one another, but those stars only look like a group. They’re really millions of light years apart.
And I don’t want to explain why I’m the reason everyone in this house is unhappy.
I park the car over by the tool shed. “Bundle up. We have to walk all the way over there.” I point across the meadow.
“No problemo.” Roderick puts on his gloves and hops out.
I get a saw out of the shed. As we’re crossing the meadow, the farmhouse door opens and shuts. I hear a happy bark. Rexie streaks across the field, ears flying.
“Hey, boy!” I greet him by kneeling down, so he can do his best to push me over and lick my face. “Hey! Who’s a good boy.”
“Aw!” Rod says, clapping his hands together. “Isn’t that adorable? Your dog and I have similar instincts when it comes to you.”
I laugh even as my face heats. “You’re not allergic to dogs, are you?”
“No, why?”
“I’ve been toying with the idea of bringing him home with me. But my dad wants to keep him, even though he’s my dog.”
“Ouch.”
“If I didn’t work two jobs, I’d’ve already kidnapped him.” I scratch Rexie behind the ears. “My hours are long, though. Maybe Dad is right.” Although I suspect he’s keeping Rex out of pure stubbornness.
“Is that your Christmas-tree farm?” Rod asks, pointing at a row of nicely shaped Douglas firs.
“That’s the spot. Show me the tree you like best. It will only take me a couple minutes to cut it. Carrying it back to the truck is the hard part.” We can’t bale it up like they do at a store.
“Excellent,” Roddy says, rubbing his hands together. “This is like lumberjack porn, but real.”
“Lumberjack porn is not a thing,” I argue. “Nobody would watch that.”
“I’d watch the hell out of it,” he says simply. “I have a lumberjack kink, apparently.”
He’s ridiculous. But I still like hearing it.
“Well, this one is taller,” Rod says, pacing around the tree at the end of a row. “But that one has the more perfect shape.”
“God, just pick one,” I grumble. I’ve already cut a tree for my parents and carried it across the meadow. We could have been done here fifteen minutes ago, but I didn’t account for Roderick’s over-analysis of Christmas-tree size and shape.
“You’re an artist,” he says, scandalized. “This kind of thing should matter to you.”
“Trees aren’t supposed to be perfect,” I argue. “They grow the way they grow, and they don’t care what you think. Pick a favorite?”
Rod does one more circle around one of the trees. “This one,” he says. “I have chosen.”
“Hallelujah.” I drop to my knees, set the saw blade against the trunk, and start cutting.
“Oh baby,” he says. “Work it. Work it.”
I snort. “Want a turn? The pine sap smells good.”
“Nah, I’ll just lick it off you later.”
I have to stop sawing, because I’m laughing so hard.
Christmas has its moments. Who knew?
Roderick
When Kieran and I are alone together, he’s loose and easy, and he talks more. He talks a lot, actually; he’s much more open than he used to be. But the minute we approach his family’s farmhouse with the tree, I can almost see the tent flaps go down. He stands the tree up and gives it a little shake, and his face is all business.
The door opens to reveal a middle-aged woman with Kieran’s pretty eyes. “That’s gorgeous!” she says.
“Thank you, honey.”
“Sure,” Kieran grunts. “Mom, this is Roderick. My roommate.”
“Hi, Roderick! So you’re the roommate!”
“Yup,” I say, bobbing my head nervously. “I’m the roommate. In the downstairs room. We have separate bathrooms.” I clamp my lips together, trying to shut up, but Kieran’s discomfort is contagious.
“Come in, come in!” she says, oblivious. “I made hot cocoa.”
“Nice. Thank you, Mrs. Shipley.” I follow Kieran inside. His arms are full of Christmas tree.
“Call me Sally!” she says brightly.
This stings a little, if I’m honest. It’s my daydream to love a man who will introduce me to his mother. Not as his roommate, but as his partner.
I’d better stop falling for guys who won’t do that. You’d think I’d learn.
The Shipley abode is another classic New England farmhouse with white clapboards and those electric candles in the windows. The floors are hardwood, and there’s a fire in the fireplace.
It’s not cozy, though. And not particularly comfortable. It’s the kind of house with old-fashioned furniture and doilies on the tables. The kitchen table is in a claustrophobic little nook. When I look around at the furnishings, I’m struck by how different it is from our house on the Colebury green. Kieran chose a deep, comfortable couch for our living room, modern print pillows, and a plush rug.
Interesting.
Kieran carries the tree through to the living room, where a stern-faced man is sitting in a hardbacked chair. “Hello,” he says in a low voice to me. “Kieran, thanks for cutting the tree.” He winces, as if it pains him to say this. Or maybe he’s just generally in pain.
“No problem,” my man says quickly. “Roderick, if you could line this up at the base, I’ll jam it down on the spikes.”
“Sure.” I drop to my knees and align the tree’s trunk with the stand’s metal ring. “Okay, go for it.”
There’s a very dirty joke I could make right now about jamming his log down through my ring. And I wonder why men don’t introduce me to their moms.
“How’s that, Dad? Straight?” Kieran asks.
His mother jumps in. “Two inches toward the window. Good. Now another two inches toward the door.”
After a few minutes of fussing, I tighten the screws onto the trunk, while Kieran holds the top in the right spot.
“How’s the desk job?” his father asks.
“Fine,” Kieran says. “But the hours are long. Partly because of the holidays.”
“And partly because they’re jerks,” I mutter, turning the last screw.
“I don’t know about that job,” Kieran’s dad opines from his chair. “Long drive for low pay. You got two dead-end jobs. Can’t make a career out of a coffee-shop job.”
“Dad,” Kieran gasps. “Leave it alone.”
Luckily, I’m able to gulp back my bark of laughter in time. Because of course I’m trying to build a career from a coffee-shop job. And that goal is at the tippy-top of my list. Well, that and seeing Phish in concert.
When I stand up, my fingers are sticky with pine pitch. “Come, come!” Sally Shipley guides me to the kitchen. “Here’s the lava soap. It will get that right off.”
I accept this fussing, and also a little cup of weak cocoa and a bland cookie. Kieran wasn’t kidding when he said his mom wasn’t great in the kitchen. Cocoa is supposed to be dark and sinful. Or maybe that’s just me.
Kieran drinks his propped against the counter, unable to hide the fact that he’s counting the minutes until he can leave. His dog rises up onto his hind legs to beg from him. “No cookies for you,” he says, scratching the dog between the ears.
I would totally give that dog a cookie, but he only has eyes for Kieran.
The kitchen door flies open, and Kyle steps through. “Hey! Sorry! I went to the pharmacy for Dad.”
Kieran frowns but doesn’t say anything.
“Can I help you put the tree up?” He takes off his coat.
“We did it already,” I say. “It was no problem.”
Kyle spins and notices me on the kitchen chair. His face creases in confusion. “Okay, thanks. I’ll take care of the lights.”
“Good plan,” Kieran mumbles. “We have to take off.”
“Already?” Kyle yelps. “It’s your day off. You could stick around. We could watch a movie.”
“I can’t,” Kieran says, setting down his empty cup. “Got a lot of errands to do. And another tree to set up at home.”
“So just stay for lunch. Rexie would love it.”
Oh, ouch. Kyle fights dirty.
“Nah. Maybe next time,” Kieran says unconvincingly. “Gotta roll.” He flips on the sink and rinses his cup.
I take the hint and drain the rest of my cocoa.
Sally Shipley bustles in and repeats the offer of lunch. Kieran declines just as quickly, but she follows us out the back door anyway. “Kieran? There’s something I need to ask you.”
He turns around, a wary look on his face. “Sure, Ma. What is it?”
“It’s about the cows. Your brother has this big idea. He wants to do some angus crosses next year.”
“Yeah, cool. Why not?” Kieran draws his keys out of his pocket.
“Your father hates the idea,” she says. “Highlands are our breed. That’s the way we’ve always done things.”
“So? Is the way we do things always so great?”
Sally’s mouth forms a hard line. Like she’s trying really hard not to say anything. They just stare at each other for a moment, as if continuing some age-old argument through mental jiu-jitsu. “Just talk to Kyle,” she says eventually. “Tell him it’s not a good time.”
“No,” Kieran says forcefully. And everyone is surprised. Even Kieran. “Dad wants Kyle to step up around here. We all do. And when he does, his idea gets shot down.”
“That’s not just an idea,” his mother hisses. “Changing our whole breeding program?”
“So he could do a few of them, not the whole herd.” Kieran shrugs. “But it won’t be me who talks to him. If you and Dad and Kyle need to make a decision, you can all sit down and discuss it like grownups.”
“But Kyle listens to you,” she tries.
“This is not my job. It’s literally his job. I can’t be your go-between.”
“I see.” She folds her arms across her chest. “Fine. Drive safe.”
“I will,” he says gently. “See you soon.”
She looks down at her shoes. “I meant to tell you—we’re going to your aunt Ruth’s for Christmas. She’s invited us all. I’m sure you won’t mind that plan.”
“Not at all,” he says. “Sounds fun.”
“Nice to meet you, Roderick,” she says, recovering her polite face.
“My pleasure.” I give her a small wave.
And then we’re out of there. Kieran is silent until we’re back in the truck and the engine is running. “Fuck,” he says, blowing out a breath. “I’m sorry my father said that thing about dead-end jobs.”
“Oh, I don’t give a crap,” I promise him. “I don’t need your dad’s permission to like my job.”
“I know.” He sighs. “But why can’t people just keep their traps shut?”
“He’s stuck in that chair, counting down to his next pain pill. He can’t do his own job, and he feels super irrelevant.”
“Damn.” Kieran glances at me as he puts the truck into drive. “Accurate. All of it.”
“I’m sorry I was such a goofball talking to your mom. I couldn’t shut up about the whole roommates thing.”
He shrugs. “You were fine. My parents aren’t paying attention, anyway. Nobody in that house ever listens.”
Except you, I privately add. Kieran listens more than he talks. And that house feels full of minefields. I don’t know why, but it’s clearly weighing on him. “Your brother didn’t bail on you after all,” I point out. “So that’s something.”
“Yeah. True.”
&nbs
p; “He misses you. Not quite as much as the dog, but…”
Kieran chuckles.
“By the way, Audrey invited me over on Christmas. Is it okay if I come?”
“Sure,” he says, perking up. “Of course you can come. Christmas at their place is much more fun than Christmas here.” He jerks a thumb over his shoulder. “It’s a big party.”
“Cool.” We wind down the dirt driveway toward the main road. And I try to think Christmassy thoughts again. Audrey is making ham, with a million side dishes. I offered to make a Bûche du Noël, which is a Christmas cake shaped and frosted to look like a yule log.
Kieran and I can go there together. Except not really together, and that’s going to eat at me. Even though I understand that Kieran is still just figuring out his sexuality. And I wouldn’t ever pressure someone to come out.
The holidays always bring this stuff into high relief. When I was with Brian, he’d fly home to his parents’ place in Georgia without me. And I’d stay home alone, or go to the movies with a few LGBT friends that I saw a little less often every passing year.
I love the holidays, but they make me broody. And here I am with a fresh Christmas tree in the back of Kieran’s truck, that he cut down just for me. Why can’t I just enjoy it?
Kieran
Two days before Christmas, I have to go to Burlington on our day off. The art school dean wants to give me an interview and a portfolio review before they decide on my application.
So I’m scowling in front of my closet, wondering what the hell a guy wears to something like that. And wondering if I own it.
“Is something wrong?” Roderick asks, entering the room. “You just made a grumpy noise.”
I pluck a white shirt out of the closet. “Is this my nicest button down? You don’t think I’m supposed to wear a tie do you?”
“No tie,” he says lightly, taking the shirt from my hand and holding it up to the light. “This one is fine. But it isn’t the one I’d choose.”
I take a step back from the closet and close my eyes, like a man condemned. “This is why I was just going to audit a class or two. I never asked to be interviewed, for fuck’s sake. Or to submit a portfolio.”
