Desperately Seeking Santa

by Eli Easton

  Jim guffawed and elbowed my arm, which nearly sent me sprawling. “That Gabe! He’s a card, George. Such a smart mouth.”

  “And that’s one reason why I’m happy,” Mack muttered in my ear, too low—I hoped—for Jim and George to catch.

  “Well, keep trying,” George told me with a wink. “You guys ready for the big blue yonder? Couldn’t have ordered a better day for flying.”

  It was true. The sky was blue and cloudless, and it was a balmy fifty degrees. The wind sock on the terminal hung limply, like my dick right about then. From mortal terror.

  Jim rubbed his hands together. “Hell, yeah. I’m looking forward to lunch at the Sea Biscuit Cafe. Wait ’til you try it, Gabe. It’s so good, even Mack goes off his diet.”

  “Eh, I don’t have any matches for a few weeks,” Mack said with a shrug. “I can cheat a little.” He studied my face and squeezed my shoulder. “What’s up? You look a little pale. You nervous about flying?”

  “Who me?” I barked a laugh. “I live for the gift of flight. This is literally nothing to me. Ha-ha!”

  Mack rolled his eyes. “We brought beer.”

  “Dios. Yes, please.”

  Mack knew me well. I was a light-weight, and even a little alcohol chilled me right out.

  “Don’t worry, Gabe. I flew in the Air Force, then commercially for ten years. I haven’t killed anyone yet!” George looked amused at my discomfort.

  “I’m totally fine,” I lied. “Let’s do this thing.”

  By fifteen minutes into the flight, it was fine. The ride was smooth, the beer was cold, and Mack’s hand in mine was warm and reassuring. Plus, he let me grip it as hard as I wanted without complaining. The flight took about two-and-a-half hours. Jim sat up in the cockpit with George while Mack and I were in the two remaining seats behind them. It was a very tight squeeze for Mack and Jim, but they took it in stride. The view out the windows was of brown winter fields, Green Bay, and Lake Michigan. George played Christmas music over the speaker system and passed around a tin of homemade Christmas cookies from his neighbor lady.

  The guys didn’t say much, but there was a warm comradery between them, a real sense of family. I was accepted as part of that as easily as a fish slips back into the sea. It had only been a week since the Elks Christmas dinner, the night Mack and I had consummated our relationship, physically and emotionally. We were so brand-new, it was a little scary. Like it might not be real. Like it had no solid foundation. Yet that wasn’t true. Mack was the foundation, and he wasn’t a flighty guy. He had let me in. This man who protected himself like the entirety of life was a wrestling match, and he had to guard his flank at all times, had surrendered and let me close to him. And he’d invited me to be part of his family’s Christmas tradition.

  I was pretty damned lucky.

  We landed at the Mackinac air strip, and Mack led us around to the front of a quaint white clapboard terminal to a waiting horse and buggy. George and Jim climbed in.

  I raised my eyebrows at Mack. “Going all out on the holiday vibe, aren’t you?”

  Mack shrugged. “There’re no cars on the island, and bikes don’t cut it in the winter. So it’s either this or snow mobiles.”

  “Awesome. You have to let me help pay for all this.”

  “Don’t worry about it. We’d be doing this anyway. Just glad you could be here.”

  “Me too.”

  We stared at each other for a long moment, standing near the wagon. Then Jim barked, “Stop with the mooning already and get your asses in here! I’m starving.”

  George and Jim laughed like it was hilarious as we got on board.

  Mack had been right. Mackinac Island was magical at Christmas. The little tourist area was lined with old-fashioned two-story shops. Fudge makers, ice cream parlors, and toy shops vied with more adult fare like clothing stores and pubs. With the cold and crisp air off the lake keeping things frosty and six inches of snow on every road, roof, and lamppost, it looked like a sugared confection. The sky was bright blue and the snowy white was blinding in the sharp sunlight. In the middle of the main drag was a big Christmas tree with multicolored lights and a star on top.

  We were dropped off near the tree, and Jim headed for the Sea Biscuit Cafe. “Food first, then we can do whatever you guys want!”

  Mack winked at me. “Rule number one in handling my dad: Never get between him and food.”

  “Got it,” I smirked.

  An unhappy Jim McDonall was something I never wanted to see. We all headed inside.

  The restaurant was crowded with what looked like a mix of tourists and locals. It was loud with festive chatter. After a long wait, we were shown to a big, curved booth in the back. They must have taken one look at Jim and Mack and decided we needed the largest space available.

  We were just finishing up our entrees when Jim plucked the dessert card out of the holder and studied it, moving it out to the length of his arms and squinting.

  “Where are your glasses, Pops?” Mack asked with a sigh.

  “Don’t need ’em,” Jim said, still squinting. “They’ve got pumpkin pie, George. And hot fudge sundaes. It’s Christmas, Mack. You should enjoy yourself.”

  I was sitting on the aisle side of the booth, with Mack next to me and Jim and George across from us. Mack put his arm over my shoulder and leaned in. “Maybe a bite or two. Gabe?”

  I’d just opened my mouth to answer when a guy walked by our table. His muttering fell into the space between our words like a bomb. “Fuckin’ faggots.”

  Fucking faggots.

  He was talking about us.

  The blood froze in my veins, and I forgot Mack’s question. I’d noticed the guy before. He was sitting with two of his friends in a booth across from ours. They looked like they were in their early twenties, dressed in jeans and sports team sweatshirts, and I’d noticed them watching us. I’d ignored them, but this—this pissed me off. For fuck’s sake. It was the first time Mack and I had gone anywhere together. And I was unsure how to act with him, knowing he wasn’t out. I’d been pretty thrilled when he’d put his arm around me a few times.

  Then some walking shitbag had to ruin it.

  Along with the anger came shame and fear. That was the thing about assholes. No matter how much you knew intellectually that they were just plain wrong, it still stung. Words like that were an assault, just like a physical slap from a stranger would be an assault. For a moment, I stared down at my plate, debating whether to say something, to acknowledge it, or to let it go.

  There was a gentle push, and Mack slid me off the end of the bench. I couldn’t figure out what he was doing at first. Like, was he trying to get rid of me? I stumbled to my feet, and then I realized—he’d moved me so he could get up. Jim was at the end of his side of the booth, and he stood too, slowly and with a palpable air of menace.

  I ended up against a wall as Mack and Jim took up point side-by-side in the aisle. They were an intimidating sight. But even more frightening than their size was the look on their faces. Mack’s was set in a dark glower that came right out of the Mountain’s playbook. He clenched his fists, drawing attention to their sheer power. And Jim? His cold eyes said he’d rip those guys limb from limb without a second thought.

  Everything went weirdly slo-mo. My gaze crawled from Mack and Jim, across the room, past a waitress who stood frozen with a tray of drinks, to the opposite booth where the three guys were sitting. All three were staring at Mack and Jim. One guy had a piece of pizza in his hand, dripping cheese onto the table. His mouth hung open. One guy was red-faced and wore an oh-shit expression. The third was staring up at Mack and Jim with wide, disbelieving eyes as if he couldn’t process what he was seeing.

  “Did you say something to us?” Mack said, in a growl so quiet, it wouldn’t have been audible except the entire restaurant had fallen silent.

  The blond guy who’d made the “faggot” remark didn’t answer. Then his friend with the drooping pizza kicked him.

  He jerked. “N-
no. I didn’t say anything.”

  “Something about ‘fucking faggots’? Pretty sure I heard that come out of your mouth.”

  “That’s what he said all right,” Jim agreed, his voice flat.

  There was something on Mack’s face that frightened me—a red flush to his skin, a flash point in his eyes. I didn’t want Mack to get in trouble, not over a bozo like that.

  “Mack, it doesn’t matter,” I said.

  I needn’t have bothered. The guy with the drooping pizza tossed it on his plate, threw money on the table, and shoved at the blond who was blocking his exit. That seemed to get the other two moving, because they also threw down some bills and grabbed their coats.

  With a muttered, “Sorry” from the blond guy, the three of them were out of the restaurant in sixty seconds flat.

  At a nearby table, an older woman clapped her hands and gave us an approving nod. The waitress shook her head and turned to serve her tray of drinks to a booth, and the rest of the place went back to their meals.

  Mack and Jim folded themselves back into the booth. I remained with my back to the wall. There was a coatrack next to me, I noticed for the first time. A kid’s pink parka was practically in my face. Great. That didn’t look like I was cowering at all.

  Mack looked over at me for a beat, searching my face. “C’mere,” he said, patting the seat next to him. “Your fish is getting cold.”

  It was a ridiculous thing to say, and his smirk told me he knew that. I found my feet and went over to the booth, sat down heavily. Jim took a big drink of his soda, his eyes on Mack. Mack looked calmer, but he met his dad’s gaze with something like defiance.

  “I thought you guys didn’t believe in fighting,” I said, unable to help myself. “You told me that the first time I met you, Jim.” My voice was shaky. I was rattled.

  Jim’s gaze flickered to me. He shrugged and picked up his fork. “There’s only one thing I’d always fight for, Gabe. And that’s my family.”

  “We weren’t fighting,” Mack said calmly. “Just not letting that guy get away with some bullshit muttering. I knew he’d back down.”

  “But what if he hadn’t?” I insisted. My heart was still pounding hard. The idea of Mack getting hurt or—worse—hurting someone else and ending up in jail over it—was truly terrifying. Especially if being with me was what caused it to happen in the first place.

  Mack gave me a long look. “I’m not going to let some jerk-off disrespect you. Or us. But if it came down to it, I could have handled it. There were witnesses—” He waved his hand around the room. “I’d make the other guy throw the first punch. And I could get him in a hold, make him capitulate without hurting him.”

  “But that’s not who you are,” I said, unwilling to let it go. “You’re… you’re the guy who wants to build dams to save people.”

  “Gabe,” said Jim, leaning forward. “Mack’s smart. Okay? He ain’t gonna blow it like I did. You don’t need to worry about that. I know I’m always telling him not to fight, but you can’t be a pussy either. If we can shut up a few punks just by standing up and looking scary, then that’s a good deal right there.” He pointed his fork at Mack. “But Gabe’s right. No fucking fighting.”

  I could tell Mack was trying not to smile. “All right, Pops.”

  “And if you do, I like that thing about gettin’ ’em in a hold. Like that headlock move? That’s a good one. They can’t send you to prison for disabling a guy who’s attacking you. Now let’s fucking eat.”

  Somewhat mollified, I went back to my whitefish. As the tension faded, I thought about what had just happened. Despite my instinct to protect Mack, I was proud of what he’d done. When I think about a closeted guy, I think of someone who I have to be careful around, someone who is ultimately ashamed of me—of us. But we’d only been dating a few weeks, and Mack had just shown that he wasn’t ashamed at all, and he was willing to stand up for me if push came to shove.

  That was worth a lot. Maybe everything. I watched Mack finish his pork chop and decided I owed him a blowjob—just as soon as that was feasible.

  “What are you smiling about?” Mack asked me, looking bemused.

  “Not a thing,” I said, but my eyes told him a different story.

  From the heat that flared in his, he read the message loud and clear.

  When the waitress brought out our sundae, she said, “This is on the house. I’m sorry about those guys. And, um, thanks for not getting blood on the carpet.” She winked at Mack.

  “We wouldn’t have,” Mack said.

  “Hey, thank the owner for this,” Jim said. “That’s real nice of him. Dig in, Mack. Hot fudge is your favorite.”

  “It’s your favorite?” I asked.

  “Yeah, when I was four,” Mack said with a little eye roll.

  But he didn’t stop going in for his share till the sundae was gone. I could think of some interesting uses for that knowledge. I made a mental note to buy a jar of hot fudge.

  We walked along the main street afterward. George and Jim separated off, slipping furtively into a men’s shop. Mack and I kept meandering, looking at decorations. We walked close together, arms touching, and that was perfect. I liked the feeling of walking with Mack like that, of exploring a new place together. And the way Mack smiled down at me, as if he just couldn’t help himself, I thought he liked it too.

  We caught back up with George and Jim and the four of us walked down the wide cement pier where the ferries arrived. The water was mostly flat, with tiny whitecaps. There were small ledges of ice hanging out around the pilings and in the shadowy areas along the banks. The boats in the harbor were decorated with Christmas lights.

  At the end of the pier, the four of us stood looking at the impressive sight of the Mackinac Bridge.

  “When I first started coming here, about twenty years ago,” George said, “the bay would be iced over by Christmas, at least along the shoreline. And all the boats would be stored away in dry dock by now.”

  “Yeah?” I said. “That’s interesting. Fall was way late this year too. Everything’s changing.”

  Mack nodded. “It is.”

  I crossed my arms over my chest, trying to keep warm. The wind was cutting at the end of the pier. I was glad when Mack stepped behind me, wrapping me tight against his chest.

  “Sure enough. Everything’s always changing,” George put in. “Best you can do is hold on, accept what comes, and be the best person you can be in the face of it.” He looked at Jim and swallowed hard. “I want to say something. When you got out of prison, I was jealous. Mack, you’d become like a son to me, the only one I ever had, and I felt pretty low when your real dad came back and took over. But I decided to put my own feelings aside and help you get on your feet much as I could, Jim. And I thank God I did, because I still have my son, and now I’ve got a good friend too.”

  “George. It’s me who owes you, bein’ there for Mack like you were,” Jim began adamantly.

  George held up his hand. “I know. I just want to thank you both for helping me the way you have the past four years since I got sick. You’ve been my family, and I appreciate it; that’s all.”

  Neither Mack nor Jim said anything, but Mack let go of me to hug George, and Jim patted him on the back, looking a bit red in the face. Then we all looked at the water for a while until the threat of unmanly sobbing had abated. Mack wrapped his arms around me again, and I happily leaned back against that furnace of a chest.

  Jim cleared his throat. “So, Gabe, there’s a tradition we do every year. We say what we want to be doing a year from now. It’s like a—whaddya call it?”

  “Positive affirmation,” George supplied.

  “Right,” Jim said. “Like a power-of-the-mind thing. You say what’s gonna happen and maybe it will.”

  George brought four shot glasses from his pocket, and Jim took out a flask.

  “You don’t have to do it,” Mack told me.

  “No, I want to,” I said.

  Jim poured a bi
t of golden liquor into each glass, and George handed them around. Mack and I took ours, moving apart so we could all stand in a circle.

  “George, you go first,” Jim urged.

  “Okay. Well, mine is the same one it’s been for the past few years.” He closed his eyes and took a deep sigh. “Next year at Christmas, I’ll be feeling good and spending time with you guys for the holidays. Oh, and I’ll have a pretty woman on my arm. Why not shoot for the moon?”

  Jim chuckled. “That could work. Last year, if you remember, I said we’d be here with Mack and Mack’s boyfriend. See how smart I am?”

  Mack gave me a shy look. “Pops, you’ve been saying that for the past three years.”

  “And it finally worked, didn’t it? Okay, my turn.” Jim rubbed his lumpy face thoughtfully. “I think we won’t be here next year. I think, George, you, and me’ll be visiting Mack wherever he lives with his job next Christmas. He’ll be showing us his new neighborhood. And his job will be a damned good one too.” He looked at me. “Gabe, I hope you’ll be there. That’s entirely up to you, you know.”

  Mack didn’t say anything, just stared out at the water, chewing on his lip. I knew what Jim meant. Mack had waited this long to let a guy into his life. He would be there for me, the way he was for his dad and George, if I could just refrain from fucking it up.

  “I’ll go next,” I said. I slipped one gloved hand into Mack’s and held up my shot glass with the other. “Next year at Christmas… Mack and I will have our Wisconsin diplomas on our bathroom walls where we can stare at them while we take care of business.”

  Mack gave a sharp laugh.

  “…and we’ll both have great jobs. I’ll be with you guys next Christmas. However we work it out, I’ll be there.” I said it in a cocky way, with a tilt of my head. Because anything else would seem too cheesy. But God, I wanted that. I wanted to have a year with Mack under my belt, to know we were for keeps. But only time could make it so.

  Mack squeezed my hand, then tilted his big head back to look up at the sky. “Next year at Christmas, I predict… the world will not be in apocalyptic meltdown, yet.”