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His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you might havesaidit was awesome, but your tone didn’t quite match. Would you like to try for a little more sincerity?” What was wrong with him? Kris was a great guy. Okay, noteveryonewas in agreement on that point, but that was just my parents. They were still getting used to the idea they had a queer son.
“Hey, I meant it. I’m happy for you. It’s about time you found someone. Is he coming over here tomorrow to spend the day with you?” Then he stilled. “Oh. He doesn’t need to. He’s already here.”
“He moved in last week.”
Santa pointed to the liquor cabinet. “May I? ItisChristmas Eve, after all.”
I moved swiftly to pour him a whiskey. He smiled when he saw the bottle, and just like that, he was the Santa I’d grown up with. “You remembered.”
I handed him the glass, then gestured to the couch. We sat. “Are you all done for tonight?”
He nodded. “I made certain I had time for you.” His gaze flickered over to where I’d replaced the photo. “How did you meet?”
“At a party. Ben’s house-warming party, actually.”
“Have your parents met him?”
“Sure. That photo was taken at their house at Thanksgiving.”
He sipped his whiskey. “Then it must be serious. I mean, if he’s moved in and all.” Santa put down his glass. “You know what? I just realized something. I’ve got another sack of presents that haven’t been delivered yet. I’d better go sort that out.”
“You only just got here.” My chest tightened.
“I know, but Idohave a job to do, right?”
“Well, are you coming back?” My heartbeat raced. Something feltwrong.
“I don’t think so. It might take me a while. But have a great day tomorrow, both of you.” And before I could stop him with another entreaty to stay a while longer, he was gone.
I stared at the glass of whiskey.He didn’t even finish it.
I was no expert, but his exit bore all the signs of Santa running away.
But why?
When I was thirty-five
2002
I poured myself a glass of whiskey, then debated pouring a second.
But will he be here?His visit the previous year had been even shorter than the one before.
Maybe he had finally tired of our conversations. If that were true, it would be a pity, because right then I needed my friend more than ever.
Can Santa’s magic heal a broken heart?
The clock stopped ticking, the noise of the traffic died, and I smiled.
“I went to your apartment. Someone else is living in it.”
“That would be because they bought it from me.” I pointed to the liquor cabinet. “Make yourself at home.”
Santa stood beside the tree. He glanced at it. “You trimmed this one, didn’t you?” His lips twitched.
God, it wassogood to see him.
