“It’s a Movado,” he interrupts, excitement oozing from his every word. “Do you like it?”
“I love it! But how much was this? It looks way too fancy for me.” I give a small, self-deprecating laugh.
“Julian,” Dad says. “That’s none of your business. And it’s nottoo fancyfor anyone. It’s a nice watch, and you deserve to wear it.”
I stare at the accessory, at the simple beauty of it, and at how it’s the nicest thing I’ve ever owned.
“Thank you,” I finally supply. “It’s great, Dad. Merry Christmas.”
He leans into me and gives me an awkward side hug.
“Now, get dressed. We have breakfast,” he instructs.
“Breakfast?”
“Yes, with the Chastains. Master Abraham told me last night that we can spend the day with them. Oscar is off with his family, and so is most of the other staff, aside from Barfred.”
I stare at him, dumbfounded. The Chastains want us to spend Christmas with them? I guess it is the nice thing to do, considering we live here and don’t have family to run off and see the way the other employees do. But I was really expecting to lie in bed all day.
“That feels like imposing, doesn’t it?” I ask, and Dad shrugs.
“Master Abraham seemed really excited about it. We don’t want to be rude. Now come on, everyone is meeting in the dining room.” My father gives me one last smile and slips out of the bedroom.
I notice for the first time that he’s dressed formally in his black slacks and crisp white button-up.
Following his instructions, I climb out of bed and ready myself. After fixing my hair in the small mirror hanging over my dresser, I put on a pair of grey slacks and a black crewneck sweater. It may not snow here, but it does get pretty cold.
I slip on my Converse, fasten the watch onto my left wrist, and then head for the bathroom, where I brush my teeth and check my hair one last time.
Once content with my appearance, I head out of the bathroom and to the dining room.
When I enter, I spot Abraham at the head of the table, with Atticus to his right and Theodora to his left. Next to Atticus is Abigail, and I find my seat next to her, as Dad sits across from me, leaving a chair between him and Theodora for Atlas, wherever he may be.
“Julie! Merry Christmas!” Abigail stands from her seat and wraps her arms around my neck, grinning widely.
“Merry Christmas, Missus Abigail,” I reply, chuckling at her tight grip.
“This will be so lovely,” Theodora says, “having everyone together for the holiday.”
“Indeed! I’m so happy you’re willing to join us, Jeremy, Julian.” Abraham smiles at my father and me, his face full of akind of simple joy only a doting father and loving husband can have.
“Thank you for having us, Master Abraham,” my father says politely.
“Yes, thank you,” I add dutifully.
“Where is Atlas?” Atticus asks, ignoring my father and me altogether, and a moment later, the door of the dining room opens. The temperature of the room rises.
“Oh, darling boy,” Theodora gasps, and I turn to follow her line of sight.
Holy shit.
Atlas slowly walks into the room, the air surrounding me heating up by several degrees as he heads toward his seat. And he’sstunning. Like an angel, or as Theodora would say, a darling boy.
Or, in remembrance of the first time I saw him and the stuffed animal I found in Abigail’s room, a pretty little bunny.
He is wearing a pair of white, wide-legged cotton pants and white dress shoes. His brown curls are neatly disarranged and falling over the tops of his ears and onto his forehead. A delicate blush litters his cheeks, and his hands fidget nervously at his navel.
And all of that is fine and well, beautiful even. But the main attraction is the top he is wearing. I don’t think it counts as a blouse; I don’t think it counts as any one thing.
