The Probability of Mistletoe

by E. J. Russell

  An alarmingly large number of Parker’s family milled about the living room, drinks of various colors and effervescence in their hands. The comfortable sofa and chairs had been pushed against the walls, and the rug was rolled up to bare the oak floor. Mr. Mulvaney’s old DJ rig was set up in front of the bay window.

  Okay, then. Dancing as well as music were on the agenda this evening. At least it wouldn’t be quite as frenetic as last night’s reunion. Who am I kidding? This is Parker’s family. Of course it will be as frenetic. Probably more.

  Keith could swear there were nearly as many people milling around the house as there were last night at the Golf Club. The difference was he liked all of these people—at least the ones he knew. In the last ten years, the Mulvaney clan had clearly acquired new members.

  As if to confirm his conclusion, three little kids, in graduating height from Keith’s hip-level down, galloped by, shrieking in what Keith hoped was glee. Had Parker’s middle sister Corinne married and procreated in the last decade? No. Parker said he only had two nieces. The rug rats must belong to one of the other adults in the room. Cousins? Friends? Random strangers who didn’t have any other holiday choices? Like me. Knowing the Mulvaneys, the answer was probably “all the above.”

  Keith sighed and edged toward the corner of the room where he could try to disappear next to the Christmas tree.

  “Keith!” Jen popped up in front of him and wrapped him in a hug. Her dark hair, swept up on top of her head, contained a few silver threads now. “I’m so happy to see you. Corinne.” She gestured to someone behind Keith’s back. “Come say hello to Keith.”

  “Hey, Keith.” Corinne, her resemblance to Jen as pronounced as ever, hugged him too. “Mandy told me you were here. She’s bringing you a drink, and then you absolutely must tell us all about what you’ve been doing for the last decade.”

  “That’s right.” Mandy handed him a cup of emerald-green punch. “Leave nothing out, because if you do, you know we’ll imagine the worst.”

  He grinned at them. He couldn’t help it—not only because he liked them, but because if they were this pleased to see him, it must mean Parker really wanted him there too.

  I can only hope.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  WHEN PARKER came down the stairs, searching the hallway and through the archway into the living room, at first he was afraid Keith hadn’t made it. It was past seven—barely—but Keith was always relentlessly punctual.

  Besides, that ginormous Lincoln stood at the curb, right behind Jen’s minivan. He patted his blazer pocket, reassured by the rustle of the two envelopes that held his nieces’ gifts. That was pure Keith. The Keith that Parker had missed so. The Keith I love.

  He detoured through the dining room, past the sideboard with its festive red-and-green runner piled with potluck offerings from the Mulvaney clan. Oh my God. At the end, behind Aunt Faye’s inevitable fruitcake, was a plate of Keith’s signature pumpkin bars. How the heck had he managed to make them while staying in a hotel?

  Parker paused next to them, inhaling the aromas of cinnamon and nutmeg and swiping just a smidgen of cream cheese frosting. Mmmm. Just as good as I remember. Keith had given him the recipe, but Parker never made it himself. These were a Keith thing—from the mathematically precise size of the squares to the generous icing. He was tempted to eat one—or maybe three—right this minute, but that could wait until he’d found Keith.

  He ducked through the crowd in the kitchen and peeked into the family room. As he could have predicted, Rae and Whitney were parked on the sofa in front of the Xbox, game controllers in their hands.

  “Hey, gals. Can you take a break for a sec?”

  “Does it have to be now, Uncle Parker?” Rae didn’t look away from the monitor. “We’re in the middle of a melee.”

  “I’ve got your Christmas presents here. You tell me.”

  “Presents?” Rae tossed her controller onto the coffee table.

  “Hey!” Whitney’s outraged shout was followed by a bloom of flame on the screen. “Nice one, Rae. You killed our whole party.”

  “Who cares? This game is stupid anyway. We’re only playing it because Grandpop won’t let us go online tonight.” She scrambled to her knees to face him over the back of the sofa, but her smile faded when she saw his empty hands. “Are the presents under the tree?”

  “Nope.” He pulled the envelopes out of his pocket with a flourish. “Here you go.”

  Rae screwed up her face. “Gift cards? Really, Uncle Parker?” She turned to Whitney. “Guess I could have waited until after the melee. Sorry.” Whitney heaved a giant drama-queen sigh and slouched down among the cushions.

  “Guess again, hot shot.” He handed Rae her envelope and let Whitney’s flutter into her lap. “Open ’em.”

  “Okay.” Rae flopped onto her butt, her legs folded underneath her. “At least we know it won’t be socks or underwear.”

  Parker pressed one hand to his chest. “I would never give you underwear because that would be—”

  “Gross!” they all said in unison.

  While Whitney teased the flap on her envelope with one carefully manicured nail, Rae ripped hers open and yanked out the card. She frowned as she studied it. “What is—”

  “Oh my God!” Whitney sat up, clutching her card to her chest. “Rae, this is the URL for the company that developed Cluster Realms. There’s been tons of chatter about their new game, but it’s only in beta. Is this—”

  “Yep.” Parker tucked his hands in his pockets, bouncing once on his toes. “You two are now officially in the beta group.”

  They both squealed and hugged each other, then raced around the sofa to hug him. Whitney stepped back first. “How did you score this? Nobody can get these codes unless they know the developers.”

  “Or know someone who knows them.” Parker gave Rae another squeeze. Pretty soon, like Whitney, she’d be too cool to hug anyone for longer than two seconds, and it might just break his heart. “You can thank my pal Keith for that. He’s friends with the whole team.”

  The two girls shared a glance and broke into identical smirks. What was that about?

  “Soooo,” Rae said as she strolled back to drop onto the sofa. “Does that mean you and Keith are finally getting together?”

  “What? How do you know about Keith?” And about my love life. Ewww.

  Whitney rolled her eyes. “Come on, Uncle P. I remember him from when we were kids. And Mom always said you were really in love with him but were too stubborn to admit it.”

  Parker narrowed his eyes. “Oh, she did, did she?” He’d have a few choice words for Jen for discussing his private business with her teenage daughters, for crying out loud.

  “You know, Uncle Parker,” Rae said, with a sly glance from under her straight black bangs. “I think you should totally make your move on him. If you don’t do it for yourself, think of us.”

  “You?”

  “Yeah. We need a positive STEM role model in our lives.” She grinned at him, waving the card with its secret game code. “And Keith totally has the goods. He’s got my vote.”

  “I’ll remember that if I ever, you know, need relationship advice from a middle schooler.” But truthfully? He’s got my vote too. I think.

  He left the two of them plotting how to convince his father to let them log on to the computer upstairs to start their adventure. When he finally completed his circuit of the first floor and entered the living room from the hallway, Keith was standing next to the fireplace, surrounded by all three of Parker’s sisters.

  Parker’s first instinct was to rush to the rescue—nobody knew better than he did what it was like being triple-teamed by the Mulvaney sisters. But amazingly enough, Keith didn’t look like a cornered rabbit. In fact, he was relaxed and laughing—and holy crap, had his shoulders gotten broader since this morning? Unlikely—it had to be that gorgeous sweater. Yum.

  He advanced on the group by the fireplace because, dang it, it was finally his turn with Keith.<
br />
  “HI.”

  Keith turned at the sound of Parker’s voice and froze. In a blue-gray sweater the color of his eyes and a dark blazer, Parker stole Keith’s breath—and apparently his brain because his mind went blank. He doesn’t need a Macy’s clerk to put him together. On the other hand, Parker would look good in anything.

  Or nothing. Gah!

  “Hey,” Keith croaked, then cleared his throat. “You look… um… great.”

  “So do you. Love the sweater.” Parker waggled his eyebrows with a knowing smile. “Is it new?”

  Heat rushed to Keith’s cheeks until his face probably rivaled the sweater’s color. “Yeah.”

  Mandy stroked Keith’s arm. “It’s really soft too, Parker. Cashmere. You should feel it.”

  Parker fixed his sister with a Seriously? gaze. “Gosh, Mandy, do you really think you ought to leave Jason to Dad’s mercy? You should go help him out. Now.”

  “Right, then.” Jen raised her empty glass. “We’ll just—”

  “Leave you two alone.” Corinne took both her sisters by an elbow and dragged them off through the crowd.

  Parker watched them disappear into the dining room, shaking his head. “Only my sisters would construe standing in the midst of a herd of Mulvaneys as ‘alone.’ They imagine they’re being subtle, you know.”

  “Oh.” Keith took the last gulp of his punch, but it didn’t help the dryness in his mouth.

  “I really do like the sweater.” Parker’s voice rose on the last word, as if it were a question.

  “I sense a ‘but’ coming.”

  “Why do you think you have to change for me? I hope that’s not the Parker you remember—someone who expected you to be different than you are. The Keith I knew wouldn’t have stood for that.”

  But the Keith you knew wasn’t good enough to kiss. “Sorry.” Keith dropped his gaze to his feet. He’d thought the gift of more than half the company—the company that was his soul—would say more than mere words. He’d never been good with words anyway. But Parker had brought up those other stupid gifts today, the ones they’d given each other when they had nothing but lunch money change. Maybe Parker didn’t need a big gesture. Maybe he needed a small one. Something he’d asked for that Keith failed to give.

  But what?

  “Hey, everyone. Remember this one?” Mandy resurfaced next to the DJ console, flapping an LP album cover over her head.

  “Be careful with that,” Mr. Mulvaney said. “It’s a classic.” When he rescued it from Mandy’s exuberance, Keith got a good look at it: Remote Control by The Tubes. An instant later the distinctive bass line of “Prime Time” began thumping out of the speakers.

  All at once the light bulb went on in Keith’s brain. Last night Parker told Keith exactly what he wanted, but Keith, overwhelmed by noise and people and Parker, ran away. Tonight, here where it mattered, in front of people he cared about as much as Parker did, he needed to get over himself. If he couldn’t find the balls to demonstrate the depth of his commitment, then he didn’t deserve to have Parker say yes.

  He set his empty cup on the mantel and turned to face Parker, his sweater suddenly too tight around his neck. “So. Want to dance?”

  Parker blinked at him. “Here? To ‘Prime Time’?”

  “Why not? This is the song you and Marlene danced to for the talent show in sophomore year. I was on the AV crew. I’ve… um… kind of kept a copy of the video since then.” Converting it across at least three different format changes as technology evolved, as a matter of fact.

  A smile quivered on Parker’s lips. “You did?”

  “Yeah. I’ve watched it. A lot. I… um… may have practiced it in my living room once or twice.” Or two thousand.

  “Is that so?” Parker tilted his head, a distinct challenge in his eyes. “So what are you waiting for, Keith?”

  Knowing Parker, that echo of the song’s lyrics was deliberate.

  “I guess I’m waiting for you. I always have been. Are you ready?”

  Parker nodded, a quick jerk of his chin. “This time for sure.” He held out his arms. “Will you lead, or shall I?”

  “You start.” He’d follow Parker anywhere. Might as well prove it.

  As Parker led him through the number, the other guests cleared the floor, giving them room. Given the state of his nerves, Keith expected to screw up at least a couple of times, but to his astonishment, he didn’t miss a step. Must have something to do with my partner.

  Parker must have been just as surprised because he laughed up at Keith. “You really must have practiced. I’m the rusty one here.”

  “Then let me lead?”

  “You’re on.”

  They swapped arm positions, and when Keith guided Parker through one of the trickier footwork sequences, Parker crowed, “You do remember.”

  “Of course. I remember everything about you. About us.” He pulled Parker into a close dance hold. “It doesn’t matter if you lead or if I lead. We’re a team. We always were. That’s why you’re the first one—the only one—I thought of when I decided to start this company.”

  “Yeah?” Parker sounded a little breathless. From the dance or from the same frissons running up Keith’s spine at their closeness. Please let it be the latter. “When did this occur to you?”

  “When did I decide to start the company?”

  “No. When did you decide we were a team?”

  “Oh. That.” Keith smiled, his belly fluttering at the look in Parker’s eyes, the husky note in his voice. “About fifteen minutes after we met back in ninth grade.”

  He spun Parker out and back, then into the final dip. As the song faded out, applause broke out from the guests lining the walls.

  Parker’s eyes sparkled, and he was laughing breathlessly as Keith pulled him to his feet. “Forget the stock options. That was the kind of Christmas present I expect from you.”

  Caught up in Parker’s gaze and the thrill of holding him close, it took Keith a moment to realize the surrounding crowd was chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

  He glanced around wildly at the mass of grinning faces whose gazes were focused… above his head? He looked up. A giant ball of mistletoe hung from the ceiling fan directly overhead. He pulled Parker toward the hall, stumbling a bit as they got to the doorway.

  “Sorry. That wasn’t deliberate. I hope you—”

  “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

  What the—Keith tilted his head back. Damn it! Another mistletoe bough. He stepped aside, tugging Parker along with him as he scanned the room.

  “Parker.”

  “Yes?”

  “There’s… um… a lot of mistletoe around.”

  “You only just now noticing that?”

  “I was distracted.” By being in the Mulvaneys’ house again, by the Mulvaneys themselves, by worries over Parker’s reaction to the proposal, by Parker. But he must be the most fricking oblivious person on the planet to have missed that every possible horizontal surface above head height was adorned with at least one—and sometimes more—mistletoe boughs. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen this much mistletoe per cubic foot in my life. How the hell are we supposed to avoid it?”

  “I don’t think we can. Given how much I hung around the place, statistically, we’ll end up under some sooner or later.”

  Wait… Parker hung the mistletoe? Deliberately? Keith’s heart was suddenly floating free in his chest. “I think you’re confusing statistics with probability.”

  Parker stepped closer. “Why don’t you explain, then?”

  “Probability is theoretical—the likelihood of one specific outcome among all possible outcomes.” Keith pulled at the neck of his sweater. “In an… an unbiased experiment with two possible outcomes, like flipping a coin, odds are that you’ll get heads about 50 percent of the time and tails about 50 percent.”

  “So what’s the probability of mistletoe?”

  “The same, I guess. I mean, when two people stand under the mistletoe, you’ve got two pos
sible outcomes—either they kiss or they don’t.”

  “I don’t agree.”

  Keith backed up until he bumped against the doorframe. God, Parker was so close now, close enough to kiss, but I can’t make the same mistake again. “You don’t?”

  “Nope. In mistletoe probability, the two people in question are bound to be biased. Maybe they hate each other. Maybe they’re friends. Maybe they’ve never seen each other before. Maybe….” Parker swallowed convulsively, his Adam’s apple sliding beneath the smooth skin of his throat, and Keith wanted to follow it with his lips. “Maybe they’ve just found each other again. Maybe they regret another mistletoe outcome in their past.”

  His heart caromed around his chest. “Are we—that is, do you? Regret the last time?”

  Parker nodded. “So much. I can’t even tell you. But we’re here again.” He glanced up at the mistletoe bough, two steps behind them. “Maybe we should give the experiment another go. I mean, how valid is a statistical population with only one member?”

  Keith was surprised into a laugh. “Listen to you. Talking like a scientist.”

  “Scientist nothing. I’m a marketing and PR specialist. Statistics are my life.” He stepped back until the mistletoe was directly over his head. “This is my gift to you. The kiss that got away.”

  “Parker. Do you—”

  “I read the proposal.” Parker’s voice was somber and he wasn’t smiling. “It’s good. Excellent, in fact.”

  “Yeah?” Keith inched forward. “Do you really think so?”

  “I do. But I have to refuse.”

  Keith’s heart crashed to the ground. “Oh.”

  “I want 50 percent or nothing. If we’re going to be partners, we’re going to be equal partners.”

  “We… we are? You mean it?” Keith grabbed Parker’s hands. “Look, I know it’s a leap, that we haven’t seen each other for a long time, and anything could happen. So don’t feel like you owe me anything more than—I mean, you don’t owe me anything.” I can at least give him the truth, stomach-churning terror be damned. “You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted in my life this way. I mean permanently. You should know that before you make a decision. Maybe that’s too much of a burden, or it’ll make things awkward or you don’t feel anything more than friendship or—”