by Alexa Land
“It’s not customary to tip them six hundred and twenty-seven dollars.”
“So, it’s a tip plus a Christmas bonus. Quick question: is hair coloring supposed to burn?”
He said, “You really need to wash that off right away. I’ll let myself out. Are you sure about the money, though?”
“Positive. Thanks for everything, Beck. I truly appreciate it.”
“I was happy to help. Call me if you need anything else.”
While he headed to the door, I made a B-line for the master bathroom. After I stripped, I stood in the shower for several minutes, while disgusting rivers of brown chemicals ran down my body. After I shampooed for the fifth, sixth, and seventh time that day, I got out of the shower, wrapped my hair in a towel and put on yet another clean outfit, since the last one had taken a big hit from the hair dye.
Finally, I positioned myself in front of a mirror and pulled the towel off my head. I stared at my reflection for a long moment before murmuring, “What did I do?”
The color itself wasn’t the problem. It was a deep, rich brown that actually looked pretty good on me. Also, I really didn’t miss the gray, especially in my beard. But I still felt foolish, like I was trying too hard and pretending to be something I wasn’t. Younger, specifically.
I stared at myself for a few more moments and decided the haircut was actually an improvement. It fell into place with just a few passes of my comb and made me look like I was actually participating in this century, as opposed to being stuck in the last one.
I could only wonder what Gianni’s reaction would be. He was the sweetest man alive, so I knew he’d find something positive to say. But what would he really think about my mini midlife crisis?
Rather than worrying about it, I decided my time would be better spent resurrecting the fucking pine tree, so I returned to the living room and scowled at its verdant carcass. While it was in that position, I took the opportunity to unplug and re-plug the lights. Since that did nothing at all, I decided the outlet in the center of the floor was probably wonky.
I made the decision to reposition the tree beside the fireplace, since running an extension cord across the room wasn’t going to cut it. The living room furniture was supposed to arrive tomorrow, so for now the room was wide open, and relocating the prodigious pine was no problem.
I got it upright again and spent some time wrestling with the stand. It consisted of a large, rounded water reservoir which was bolted to the bottom of the tree trunk, and a wide base. The idea was that the reservoir pivoted inside the base so you could arrange the tree just so, and then lock it in place with the press of a lever. In theory, that should have made it easy to straighten the tree. But every time I adjusted it and stepped back to take a look, it was leaning at a different angle.
Finally, I got it straight and locked the stand in place. Progress! Then I bent over to plug the lights into the wall socket. That was met with shooting pain in my lower back, and I swore vividly and dropped to the floor. Really? Hauling a ten-foot tree around didn’t cause me any problems, but bending over to plug in the lights did?
I tried sitting up, which triggered another sharp jolt of pain. Fantastic! Because this was exactly how I wanted to spend the weekend before Christmas: sprawled on the floor with a thrown-out back.
Another attempt at switching positions was met with pure agony, so I decided the best course of action was just to lie there for a while. What had I said earlier about the people on TV, the ones who couldn’t haul their arses up off the floor? Talk about karma.
My back didn’t hurt all that much as long as I remained immobile, so I spent some time staring at the high ceiling before making another attempt at getting up. The last thing I wanted was for Gianni to find me like that. But the pain was so sharp that I yelped and immediately returned to my prone position.
Great. Just great. And I’d left my phone in the bathroom, so I couldn’t even call anyone for help. I really had become one of those stranded geezers, just like in the adverts.
Zan: Chapter Three
Sometime later, I heard the faint whir of the automatic garage door opener and resigned myself to the fact that Gianni was going to find me splayed out like road kill. Just then, the pine swayed. My eyes went wide, and I muttered, “Don’t you do it, you pitchy bastard! I swear to God, if you topple over on me—”
It toppled over on me.
I swore as I tried to push the thing off me, but gave up after a few moments. Since I couldn’t sit up, I wasn’t able to get any leverage on it. All I could do was wait for my boyfriend to discover me.
Gianni appeared in the doorway about a minute later and exclaimed, “Oh my God Zan, are you alright?”
He rushed over and tossed the tree aside like it weighed nothing, and I said, “Welcome home, love. How did your critique go?”
“Never mind that. What happened?”
“I threw my back out, and the tree decided to add insult to injury by falling on me right before you walked in. That part didn’t hurt, in case you’re wondering. The branches provided cushioning.”
He bit his lip and made a herculean effort to keep a straight face. After a moment, he said, “You’re wearing black and white striped socks.”
“I put on socks because this marble floor’s damn cold.”
“Just your feet and legs were sticking out from under the tree.” A chuckle slipped from him, and he managed, “It was like that scene from The Wizard of Oz, after the house lands on the witch.”
When I started laughing, my boyfriend dropped onto the floor beside me and just lost it. He doubled over with laughter, and it was nearly a minute before he got it under control enough to say, “I’m sorry Zan, I shouldn’t laugh. It sucks that you hurt your back. Let’s try to get you up and into bed.”
I was stooped like a hunchback when he finally managed to haul me to my feet. He bent over to look at me and exclaimed, “You cut and colored your hair!”
“I did, yeah. Please don’t ask me why.”
With his help, I hobbled upstairs in slow motion and crawled into our bed. After Gianni brought me a heating pad and some ibuprofen, he asked, “Should we call a doctor?”
“There’s no point. I’ve thrown out my back before, and all they wanted to do was load me up with pain killers and muscle relaxants. Given my track record with prescription drugs, I’d prefer to just wait it out.” I positioned the heating pad behind my lower back while he adjusted my pillows, and then I said, “Thank you. This is a definite improvement.”
“I know there’s still a lot to do to get ready for Christmas, so tell me where I should start.”
“Please just stay with me until it’s time to head over to the ranch. Have you heard from your family yet?”
Gianni took off his shoes and jacket, and he slipped under the covers with me and draped his arm over my chest. “I talked to Dante earlier. He’s expecting us over there in about an hour, but I’ll call and let him know we can’t make it.”
I said, “You can’t miss out on seeing your family because of me. Go ahead and go. I’ll be fine.”
“I’m not leaving you all alone in this condition.”
“As long as I don’t move, I’m not really in pain.”
“Even so. I’d suggest inviting everyone over here, but I doubt you’re up for company.”
“Not only that, I don’t know where we’d put them. The sofa out on the patio can hold maybe five people, but after that we’re pretty short on seating until our furniture arrives tomorrow. That’s why it’s best that you go over there.”
Gianni studied me for a few moments before asking, “Do you look sad because you’re hurting, or is it something else?”
“I had such high hopes for a perfect Christmas with you and my son and his husband, and I feel it all slipping away. But maybe I’d been deluding myself. Giant trees, lavish gifts, and flashy ornaments were never going to make up for all the Christmases I missed with Christian while he was growing up.”
“
That wasn’t entirely your fault. Besides the fact that you were on the road all the time, his mom didn’t want you around.”
“I should have insisted on seeing him. Problem was, I agreed with his mother’s assessment of me and figured I’d do more harm than good as a parent.”
“Christian doesn’t resent you for those missed years. In fact, you two have a great relationship.”
“Our relationship is strong despite the type of dad I was, not because of it,” I said. “And you know how I followed up all those years I’d missed. When he moved in with me at age fifteen, he basically became the parent and took care of me. I thought the least I could do was give him one perfect Christmas after all of that.
“And then there’s you, Gianni. It’s our first Christmas in our new home. We never got to do a traditional celebration while we were living on the boat, and this was going to be my chance to make it special for you.”
“They were all special, Zan. Remember two years ago, when we were in Fiji and our Christmas tree was a pineapple wrapped in little white lights? That was so much fun! And I loved that gorgeous suite at the luxury hotel in Hawaii last year, where our Christmas tree was a potted palm. Those offbeat celebrations are some of my fondest memories.”
He caressed my cheek and added, “Plus, you always made sure we came home to spend part of the Christmas season with my family, no matter what. Ever since we’ve been together, I’ve gotten the best of both worlds: an amazing, totally original celebration with you, and a traditional Christmas with Nana, my brothers, and the rest of my family.”
I kissed him before saying, “Thank you for always being so positive and finding the bright side of every situation.”
“Well…not always.”
He looked away, and I asked, “Is something wrong?”
“I shouldn’t complain. You’re down for the count with a back injury, and my stuff’s trivial by comparison.”
“Did something happen during the critique?” His pained expression told me I’d guessed correctly. “Where do they get off, criticizing your writing? That group is supposed to be about building each other up, not tearing anyone down!”
“It’s not that. They actually had positive things to say about how I write, but I won’t be going back to that group.” Gianni glanced at me, and then he studied the fireplace across the room as he said, “They all know I’m bisexual and in a relationship with a man. They also know I’m writing a gay love story. They were alright with that in theory, but when it came to actually reading a love scene between two men, some of them had truly offensive things to say. One of them called it disgusting, and another said it was inappropriate. The group leader called it pornography, but the scene wasn’t graphic! My characters were being intimate, but they weren’t even having sex, unlike the hetero love scene one of the other writers shared. But apparently that was fine, because the couple was straight. I told them if they weren’t okay with reading about the love between two men, then they weren’t okay with me either, and I left.”
“I’m sorry, Gianni. I know that group meant a lot to you.”
“It did, and I thought some of them were my friends. I guess they were just being nice to my face though, while secretly judging my so-called ‘lifestyle’ behind my back.”
“I’ll find you a new writing group,” I told him. “We can put an ad in the paper and include in huge letters ‘LGBTQ-friendly only’. I’ll rent you a meeting place too, and—”
Gianni silenced me with a kiss, and then he grinned and said, “I love you Zan, and I appreciate the fact that you want to fix things for me, but I’ve got this. Actually, I think I’m done with writers’ groups for now. But if I decide to try again later, I’ll ask Beck if he can introduce me to some aspiring writers on the island who are either LGBTQ or allies. He seems to know almost everyone on Catalina.”
“Good idea. That’s who cut my hair for me today, by the way, but only I can be held responsible for the dye job. He also brought me new ornaments after the tree fell over the first time and smashed most of the delicate Italian ones to bits. My point is, he’s great at getting things done, and I’m sure he can find you a group when you’re ready.”
Gianni ran a strand of my hair between his fingers and said, “I know you told me not to ask why you did this, but I’m really curious.”
I answered honestly. “I cut my hair because I was tired of it, but I colored it because I was feeling old and unattractive.”
“How could you feel that way? You’re absolutely beautiful, and you’re not old, Zan! Not even close.”
“I know there are things older than I am. The giant California redwoods, for example. And the pyramids. Probably some other stuff, too.” Gianni grinned, and I grew serious and admitted, “I didn’t like what I saw when I looked in the mirror, but this is worse. At least the gray hair was honest. Now look at me. What’s more pathetic than a has-been pop star trying to pretend he’s still in his prime?”
He embraced me and murmured, “Even after all these years together, your insecurity still catches me off guard sometimes.”
“I’m a bigger mess than usual, and I think some of it comes down to the fact that it’s nearly Christmas. We’re bombarded with messages that we’re supposed to be happy and everything should be lovely and joyous. But in reality, we’re under all sorts of pressure to decorate and socialize and find glorious, thoughtful gifts that tell the recipients just what they mean to us. As if anything wrapped up in colored paper could begin to express my feelings for you, Gianni. I gave it a shot, though.”
“I hope you didn’t get me more than that Vespa.”
“Of course I did. As if there’s a chance in hell that I’d let a Christmas go by without going completely overboard! I started shopping for you six months ago.”
Gianni caressed my cheek and said, “You’re the kindest, most generous man I’ve ever known. But I don’t need stuff, Zan. All I need is you.”
“You’ve already got me, for better or worse. Seems it’s ‘for worse’ at the moment.”
He kissed me tenderly and told me, “It’s never that.”
The expression I’d used reminded me of my earlier conversation with Beck, and after a moment, I said, “I have a question for you, and I’m not quite sure how to ask it.”
“I suppose you just say the words.”
“Alright. So, what I’m wondering is, are you still happy with our…arrangement?”
“What arrangement?”
“That’s definitely not the right word. What I mean is, early on you and I decided we didn’t need the ring and the minister and all of that to make a lifetime commitment to one another. I guess I’m wondering if you’ve ever rethought that. Also, I realize now is a horrid time to bring this up. As if you’d be thinking, ‘oh yeah, I really want to marry this man’ in the wake of the utter disaster I’ve been today.”
He seemed surprised. “You’re talking about marriage? I thought we’d already agreed we didn’t need the piece of paper to commit to each other forever.”
“So, do you still feel that way?”
Gianni asked, “Do you?”
“I’m asking what you think about it.”
He sat up and looked at me. “Do you want to get married?”
“I’ll do whatever makes you happy, Gianni. If you’d like to carry on as we have been, I’m all for it. But if you’ve given it some thought over the last three years and decided that maybe you’d like the ceremony and the whole package after all, then I just want you to know I’m open to revisiting the subject.”
He looked perplexed. “How should I interpret ‘open to revisiting the subject’? Because that doesn’t actually tell me what you want.”
“I just want you, Gianni. Always.”
“As your husband or your boyfriend?”
“As whatever you want.”
He frowned a little. “That’s both sweet and frustrating. Why won’t you just tell me if you want to get married?”
“I guess that�
�s because I’m happy either way, so I’m leaving it up to you.”
“But it’s not up to me, it’s up to us.” After a pause, Gianni suggested, “Maybe we should wait until after the holidays to discuss this. It’s important, and right now we’re both under a lot of stress.” He was just being nice by saying ‘we’. I was the one who was cracking under the pressure of trying to make Christmas perfect, and we both knew it.
He was probably right about waiting though, so I said, “That’s an excellent idea.” I really wondered how that eventual conversation would go.
Zan: Chapter Four
The next day, Gianni deposited the last of the grocery sacks on the kitchen counter and told me, “You really don’t have to do this, Zan. We can order take-out, or just make sandwiches or something.”
I pivoted toward him in my rolling office chair and said, “It’s Christmas Eve, and I want to make it special. Christian and his husband and friends are spending all day traveling here from San Francisco. The least I can do is have a nice meal waiting for them when they arrive.”
“Well, it’s too much to cook for twenty members of my family, so I’ll ask them to make other plans.”
He started to reach for his phone, but I said, “Don’t worry, Gianni. I’ve got it all under control. I’ve been collecting recipes for weeks and have the entire menu planned out. It’s all on the tablet you gave me. And dinner’s not until eight o’clock tonight, so I have plenty of time.”
“But your back’s out.”
“That’s the beauty of the office chair.” I spun in a circle and grinned at him. “It doesn’t hurt as long as I’m sitting down, and with this I can roll all around the kitchen and get the job done.”
“I still think I should cancel my plans with my family and help you.”
“Oh no, that’s definitely not happening. You already missed all day yesterday with them because you wanted to babysit me. While I really appreciate that, I’m going to feel horrible if I make you miss any more time with your family.”
“But what about the tree? The boxes of ornaments that Beck brought from town are still sitting there, and I know you’re not up to decorating with your sore back. Also, our living room furniture is going to be delivered sometime this afternoon, and I should be here for that.”
