by Mari Donne
Chris found himself shuffling back with his hands in his pockets again. But then Ben asked him to help by grinding the potatoes, and he got too busy to be self-conscious.
When Chris started to set the table, Dan took his hand, then dragged him back into the bedroom for a moment. “I’m sorry about this. I had no idea—”
“That’s pretty obvious.” Chris looked around the room. “Uh, I don’t know if they’ve been in here yet, but you might want to toss some things into your duffel before they settle in for the night.”
Dan followed his gaze, saw the package of condoms and tube of lube on the bedside table, then made a distressed sound that was almost a squeal. “And the sheets! I hope I have clean sheets!”
Ben called from the kitchen for someone to watch the fish while he finished the latkes, so Chris left Dan to rush around and remove all traces of the sexual activity his parents knew they were engaging in anyway.
Chris had a feeling Rachel, at least, wouldn’t bat an eye at anything she found in the bedroom. But he’d be embarrassed knowing she’d seen it, and so would Dan.
After dinner was over, Rachel and Ben sat together on the couch. Chris took the single wing chair. Dan perched on the arm of the chair so the two of them could look at the newest baby pictures on Rachel’s tablet. Chris was relieved to see Arielle was now neither blue nor yellow, and only slightly red. Rachel assured him by the time the baby was a week old, even the redness would fade to a more normal complexion.
When Dan returned the tablet, Rachel handed him an envelope with his name on it. He grimaced. “I’m a little old for Hanukkah gelt, don’t you think?” But he opened it, then frowned at the check inside.
“It’s for plane fare back home over Christmas and New Year’s,” said Ben. “When you’ll have off work, thanks to our gentile-normative culture.”
“I’m sure I can get a flight for less than this.” Dan started to hand back the check, but both his parents shook their heads firmly.
“When you’ll both have time off.” Rachel turned to face Chris. “Dan told us you weren’t going to your family this year, so we want you to come and meet ours.”
“Our daughter’s married to a boy from a Christian family, so there’ll be a tree and gifts,” added Ben, as if such a bribe was needed.
Chris thought of the void that was his Christmas plans. He thought of how much he wanted to become a permanent part of Dan’s life. But he said, “That’s great of you. Really great. But I don’t think you realize…Dan and I only met a week ago.”
“On the first night of Hanukkah. He told us.” Ben waved his hand dismissively. “That doesn’t matter. I met Rachel at a bar mitzvah and was in love before the dancing was over. I’d say Hanukkah’s more romantic.”
Rachel cast him a wicked grin, frighteningly similar to one of Dan’s most flirtatious glances. “At least it wasn’t a bris.”
Not sure what to make of all this, Chris couldn’t help asking, “What’s a bris?” He paled when Dan told him.
“You’re frightening the man away,” Ben scolded. He leaned forward. “I know you and Dan are just getting together. Maybe this thing between you will last, or maybe it won’t.” His voice was quiet, soothing now, as if Chris were a frightened puppy needing reassurance. “We’re not doing this to pressure you. We’re doing it because we know Dan was lonely and a bit homesick a week ago, but you changed that. You entered into a celebration that isn’t your own to please him, and it sounds like you went above and beyond. Making latkes and such.”
Chris hoped the “such” Dan had described didn’t include any revelations about strip dreidel games. “I enjoyed it,” he choked out.
“Then allow us to return the favor. We don’t want you to be alone on your holiday.”
How could he say no to that?
Later, while Dan was introducing his parents to the linen closet and other amenities of the apartment, and tossing a change of clothes for himself into a bag, Chris went to the window and stared at the menorah. Each of the little holders was filled tonight, and although small, the candles made a brave flame.
Maybe he and Dan were just two strangers who’d reached for each other out of loneliness, needing the pleasure of waking up beside a warm body as the chill of winter approached, wanting the rush of good sex after a long hiatus.
And maybe Hanukkah was only a minor festival on the Jewish calendar. But Chris knew he’d hold it close in his heart, as he’d come to hold Dan. Those little candles had brought them together over the past eight days. Maybe a great miracle hadn’t happened here. But Chris would settle for a small one.
Epilogue
A little over a year later
Hanukkah had arrived well after Thanksgiving. This year the celebration would end just as its eighth day bled into Christmas Eve. The back-to-back holidays suited a clan that celebrated two religious traditions.
Dan was sitting between his grandmother and his uncle, watching Chris and Arielle play with a stacking toy. His niece was dressed in one of those overly elaborate, frilly dresses that seemed to be required for little girls on special occasions. A blue-and-white headband held back the wisps of her black hair. She was small for her age and looked like a tiny sprite next to Chris’s bulk, but she scowled up at him when he tried to help with a task she felt she could do herself.
“Sharon’s going to have a hard time with that one.” His grandmother shook her head. “She’s got a strong will.”
“So does Sharon.” Dan smiled wryly, remembering many childhood battles with his sister.
“Which is why they’ll have a hard time. Chris is very patient with her. He looks good in that shirt too. Did you pick it out?”
Dan rolled his eyes, but he had bought the blue shirt, which distinguished itself from most of the clothes in the big man’s previous wardrobe by actually suiting him and fitting properly. Fortunately, Chris hated shopping for everything except groceries and was perfectly happy to cede that chore to Dan.
“I like him.”
“Chris?” Dan turned to her. “I’m glad. Because I’d never have met him if it wasn’t for you.”
That finally dragged her attention away from her great-grandchild. “What do you mean?”
“When you sent me the menorah and cookies last year, the postman delivered the package to his condo by mistake. Chris came over to ask if it was mine, and that’s when we met.”
Her sharp, dark eyes glinted with humor. “If that boy lived within five miles of you, he’d have found a way to meet you, Daniel. More than five miles. His eyes were made to look at you.” She turned back to watch Chris and Arielle again. “He’s been writing, your mother says.”
“Don’t tease him about it. He started with a blog about cooking, but now he’s writing stories. He lets me read some of them.” Dan shifted as he realized someone else was listening.
“He’s a nice young man. Respectful.” Uncle Aaron side-eyed Dan as he pulled up a chair. “Unlike some others in the family.”
Dan reminded himself it was a good thing Chris and his uncle got along, unexpected as that was. But maybe he shouldn’t have been so surprised. Uncle Aaron was full of stories, and there weren't many things Chris loved more.
He knew Uncle Aaron dreamed of converting Chris, and that wasn't going to happen. Because it wasn’t faith Chris was looking for. It was love and family, and he had that already.
“He likes his new job too.” Dan would do his best to keep the subject off Judaism in general and conversion in particular. “And his boss and I have convinced him to sign up for some library science courses.”
When Dan realized the company he worked for was about to fold, he’d found a job closer to his family. He agonized over asking Chris to quit his job, but Chris had put his hands on Dan’s shoulders and smiled directly into his eyes. In a firm, deep voice, he’d said, “Whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I will lodge.”
Dan knew those words, of course. They were from the Book of Ruth, and he’d hea
rd them before in various translations. But this time, they’d made him cry.
He needn’t have worried the move would be hard on Chris, who had found a job in a library. He was hired for his tech skills, but what better surroundings could there be for someone who loved books as much as he did? He always smiled when he came home in the evenings, but these days he looked happy when he headed out to work in the mornings as well. Dan took a lot of pleasure in knowing he’d helped bring about that change, however inadvertently.
His uncle nudged him in the ribs. “You need to get your courage up. You’re twisting yourself into knots like you always do. Go.”
But Dan was only nervous because he was looking for the right words. He knew he wouldn’t lose his nerve. He never did these days. The knowledge that Chris would be there for him, solid and calm, kept his emotions from spinning out of control. And the one time Chris needed him because he’d had a bad case of the flu, well, there had just been too much to do that week to panic.
Either Chris was there for him, or he needed to be there for Chris. Those two options left no room for anything else.
His mother said he’d finally grown up. When he retorted that falling in love was really responsible, she’d replied, unanswerably, that learning to maintain an adult relationship was a good way to grow up.
But if there was no panic, there were definite butterflies in Dan’s stomach. He got up, then went to join his lover.
CHRIS PICKED ARIELLE up so she could see the candles. “Hot,” he warned, as every adult did when they let her get anywhere near the menorah. “Don’t touch.” Arielle ignored him, reaching her pudgy hand out to the flames, and he stepped back. Toddlers, he noted, found fire as hypnotic as adults did. Well, it was amazing, mundane and magical at the same time. It wasn’t alive, but you couldn’t think of it as dead. It consumed, but gave the illusion it could create as well. It certainly transformed. He held the baby close, enjoying the feel of her tiny arm around his neck. She turned her head, then planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
“She’ll be big enough to help light them next year.” Dan came up to stand next to him. He rubbed Arielle’s back gently. “If someone holds her hand.”
Not me. Chris was comfortable playing with the baby now that she was old enough to toddle around and could say a few words, but she was so tiny he worried constantly she’d be hurt. He didn’t know how parents ever slept knowing they had responsibility for such fragile little creatures. So when she stretched out her hand again, he took a second overcautious step back.
The traditional menorah with its gracefully arching branches was larger than the one he and Dan had used last year. They’d left that one at home tonight. It sat in their front window, the row of bronze dancers appearing not in the least intimidated by the huge tree standing beside them. On their coffee table lay the enamel dreidel Chris had given Dan the previous year. And last night, when they’d been alone, they’d taken out the more serviceable wooden one and enjoyed a very special game of dreidel, after which they’d played with some of the toys they’d bought each other as holiday presents. Now that they were exclusive, Dan was able to use the scented oil instead of lube.
Best of all, the tree, menorah, and dreidels all lived very far from those ugly condos on Prince Albert Circle. Chris had sublet the one he’d moved into the previous dreary autumn, so he’d been able to leave it in the spring of this year. It had only made sense to save on the rent, because they spent almost every night together anyway. So many of his things had found their way over to Dan’s that almost all they’d had to do to confirm their cohabitation status was sell off the pieces of Chris’s furniture they didn't need.
By the time Dan’s lease had run out the following autumn, they’d been ready to move. They were still renting, but now they shared a small house that needed lots of work but had plenty of character. There’d even been talk of buying it on contract.
Chris had stocked the kitchen; Dan had done everything else, including investing in new bookcases. He said Chris’s books deserved them. Chris expected his battered collection to look out of place, but it seemed comfortable there. At home.
He was familiar now with the several family residences in this area. They visited often. Here at Dan’s parents’ house, all the decorations were Hanukkah themed, but Sharon’s place was as eclectic as Dan and Chris’s. Sharon’s in-laws went completely overboard for Christmas, lighting up their home inside and out. The previous weekend, they’d announced they were going to Midnight Mass on the eve and holding a champagne breakfast on the day. Chris and Dan were still trying to figure out how to skip the first and make the most of the second.
Chris wondered what his parents were doing this year. His mother hadn’t been chatty, possibly because he hadn’t been able to hold back a laugh when she’d called to complain that he wasn’t coming home. Now that he lived too far away to make Sunday dinners twice a month, she didn’t see him often enough. He was welcome on Christmas, she said. She’d tell his uncle not to say anything about the sinfulness of his lifestyle, provided, of course, that he came alone. His father had gotten on the line to confirm that, an astonishing move from a man who almost never talked on the phone.
No deal. Chris was starting to realize that by issuing an ultimatum, he’d gained the upper hand. If they wanted to see him, they had to meet Dan. Sooner or later, his parents would agree. They’d already talked of coming to visit, staying at a hotel to avoid polluting themselves by sleeping under the same roof as a homosexual couple. But Chris knew that once they saw the house with its comfortable furniture, bright but tasteful decor, and absence of bondage equipment, their prejudices would ease a bit more.
Maybe he should invite his parents for Passover.
Or not. Best to deal with one prejudice at a time.
In the meantime, he had this. His gaze swept the room. Dan’s grandmother sat nearby, using her tablet to film the scene so she could send video to her cousin in Australia. She cooed, “And that’s Danny’s boyfriend, Chris. He’s a darling, and such a good cook! You can see how good he is with children. Arielle loves him, don’t you, Arielle?”
Hearing her name, Arielle let loose some babble that could have referred to Chris, the man in the moon, or the state of her diaper. Chris smiled, trying not to look too embarrassed.
“Sorry.” Dan didn’t look sorry. His eyes were shining, full of admiration and love. That still amazed Chris. He was a big, lumbering man, ordinary in everything but looks, where he dropped below the norm. He couldn’t understand why Dan saw him differently.
Arielle chose that moment to cough and spit up something Chris didn’t want to identify on his shoulder. Sharon rushed forward to claim her child, talking about teething and grandparents who let babies have too many treats. Dan led him down the hall to find a bathroom.
“I can manage on my own,” Chris pointed out, wondering why they were in the guest room’s private bath instead of the one off the hall.
“I know.” Dan finished mopping up his shirt, then stepped back. “I’ve been looking for an excuse to get you alone.”
“I’m all for being alone with you just about anywhere, but your parents’ house with your entire family a few feet away…” His voice trailed off as Dan led him by the hand into the bedroom, then dropped down on one knee.
“I’ve wanted to do this for months.” Dan’s voice was muffled. None of the lamps were on, and the only light filtered in from the bathroom. Chris wanted to see his face, read his emotions, but he was rooted to the spot. “But I decided to do it here, now, because marriage is about family, creating it, and adding to it. That’s why there are ceremonies, right? So that everyone can see what you mean to each other and acknowledge it.” He glanced up, eyes gleaming in the dim light as he held out a small box. “Also, Sharon helped me pick these out today, and I couldn’t wait.”
“You were doing really well with the poetic element until then.” Chris’s voice was choked.
“I know. I’m not as good with that a
s you are.” Dan stood. “But I love you. Marry me. Please.”
Chris pulled Dan close, then whispered in his ear. “Remember that first day when you opened the door and smiled at me? I’ve told you before, the moment you let me inside, I was yours. Of course I’ll marry you.”
He couldn’t see the rings clearly until Dan led him into the living room and raised their hands, and even then his vision was hazy. They were simple bands with some etching he couldn’t make out.
The family’s reaction distracted him. Apparently he was the only one who hadn’t known Dan was planning to propose tonight.
Chris lost track of how many times he was kissed or hugged, and he thought the others did too, because he was sure several of them did so more than once. But they all settled down eventually, if that phrase could be used to describe half a dozen people talking excitedly about wedding plans. And the discussion mostly involved the others trying to make Dan and Chris’s plans for them.
Good luck with that. Chris smiled noncommittally and left the responses to Dan, who was more than capable of standing up to family pressure. He repressed a chuckle as Dan effortlessly dodged his uncle’s questions about what kind of ceremony they’d have.
Chris liked Dan’s family, including Uncle Aaron. They didn’t share a faith, but they did share a love of stories and tradition. Come to think of it, getting married under a canopy and breaking a glass were attractive traditions too. Dan would probably object, though. Whatever Dan wanted would be fine with Chris.
Stepping away from the babble, Chris found himself standing in front of the menorah again. The candles had almost burned down, and Rachel came forward to blow them out. Tomorrow she would put it in storage until next year.
Dan’s little menorah had a permanent home in the bottom drawer of the desk Chris kept in their second bedroom. Dan had been surprised last year when Chris wouldn’t let him pack it away with the other holiday decorations. But Chris liked keeping it where he could take it out from time to time. He’d trace a thick finger over the dancing figures, and sometimes he’d whisper a thank-you to them. They’d set his own private miracle in motion on the day they’d landed on the wrong doorstep, and he offered them his eternal gratitude.
