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Nat King Cole was singing about the little
town of Bethlehem.
And David didn’t want to be here anymore.
He wanted to go home.
He wanted to curl up in his bed, the blankets over his head.
More than anything, he wanted it to be March 21, 2012, and he wanted it to be on the phone with her, and before she’d hang up, he’d say, hey, sweetheart, and maybe she’d grumble a little at being called that, but he’d say it anyway, and he’d say, I love you, Alice, I love you, I love you, I love you, and she would probably laugh at him, calling him an old fuddy-duddy, and that he was being silly, but David wouldn’t care. Goddammit, he wouldn’t care. That was what he wanted more than anything in the world. Just to have one more day. Just a little more time.
He stood quickly, knees knocking against the table.
“I have to go,” he said, voice flat.
“No,” Phillip said. “David, can you just sit down—”
People were staring at them now, even Matteo, who was probably regretting hitting on the crazy old guy right now, but David couldn’t find the strength to care. His vision was tunneling, and he needed to get out of here, out of the low lights, the Christmas music singing out overhead, reminding him that he’d sat alone in the dark on the couch on Christmas Day, the TV on in the background, staring off into nothing for hours, his phone turned off. The day had passed by in a blur, and then David had moved onto the next and the next and the next until Phillip had said I want to see you.
He should have said no.
He let himself have one last look at Phillip, I love you more than you could possibly know lodged in his throat, sticky and cloying and unable to get out. He almost tripped over the table leg, but ended up only stumbling before catching himself. People were still staring. They probably thought he was drunk, and he didn’t care. He would never see them again. There were no more staycations after this. He’d never come back here.
He was moving before he even finished the thought.
The hostess, God bless her young and precious heart, had his coat and scarf and umbrella waiting for him, as if she knew he needed to get out as quickly as possible. He grunted at her as he clutched his coat against his chest, trying to get his key fob out, ignoring Phillip saying his name somewhere behind him.
He was in the lobby, shoes squeaking against the floor. The woman with the shaved head smiled at him and asked a question he didn’t quite get, so he just kept on without stopping. The doors slid opened, and cold air slammed into him even as he heard someone chasing after him.
He was in the rain and it was startling how cold it was against his skin. He was soaked as easy as one, two, three, his breath a cloud around his face as he exhaled sharply. He blinked away the water, trying to remember where the fuck he had parked, and he just wanted to go home to his shitty apartment that wasn’t a home, it wasn’t a home, it wasn’t—
“David!”
He didn’t stop.
“David, goddammit!”
There. There was the SUV. He was almost—
“David! David. She was my fucking daughter too!”
And David Greengrass stopped.
Closed his eyes.
Took in a shaky breath.
She’d come in like a hurricane, hadn’t she? David had met Phillip in 1992, and God, they’d just loved each other more than life itself. Maybe David had gotten there first, and quicker than anyone thought, but by the time their friends had given birth to the prettiest little girl in the world the next year, David and Phillip had already been talking about moving in together. They’d been at the hospital when little Alice Marie Hughes had come into the world, all wet and slimy, crying furiously. Ronny and Keesha had been exhausted, but proud. They were so goddamn proud, and when Ronny had clasped him on the arm, a cigar in his mouth, asking if David and Phillip would be her godparents, David had nodded, eyes wide, fingers trembling, Phillip at his side.
“In case you can’t tell by the look on his face,” Phillip had said fondly, “we’d love to.”
Yeah, they’d loved it. They’d loved it so much. Which is why, when Ronny and Keesha had died in a car accident (drunk driver ran a red light, didn’t get a scratch on him, and wasn’t that just the way things worked out?) they’d found out wills had been drafted, naming David and Phillip as who they wanted Alice to go to should anything happen to them.
It was… dangerous. The AIDS crisis was still in the back of everyone’s mind, but then Keesha’s mother had come forward, wide and intimidating as any person David had ever met and said that she couldn’t take care of Alice, not like David and Phillip could. She was living off her pension and had diabetes. Ronny’s parents were dead. No one else was there to care for her.
And maybe they’d hidden Phillip for the longest time, not disclosing their relationship. Maybe David was the only person listed as Alice’s parent, but that was okay. They’d come to that decision together, and when she was two, she came home with them, to their little house that already had a room set aside just for her whenever she came to stay the night, all pinks and princesses and unicorns.
He’d watched her that first night for hours as she slept, sure that if he looked away, she’d disappear as if she’d never been there at all.
