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Right. Probably not the best thing to remind him of during our family time, after he just got relegated to feeling like less than a guest in his father’s home. But it’s true. Much as I want to build some kind of future with Saint, we’re his guests tonight.
Lucky for me, Saint swoops in to defuse the moment.
“Angel?” Saint pokes his head around the corner from the open kitchen area. He flashes his million-watt smile and my heart melts. This might not be home yet, but someday I could picture coming home to him and his smile and our family photos joining his austere art pieces on the walls. “I’m glad you’re back. Come on in and make yourselves at home. I was just thinking I’d reheat some of the cinnamon rolls from breakfast for the kids while we wait for dinner to finish cooking. Do you two prefer them frosted or plain?”
“Frosted, please,” Owen says, drawn toward the heavenly smells, despite what must have been a huge holiday feast at his grandmother’s house earlier. He’s definitely got a growth spurt coming.
“Iced.” Meg nods. She perks up too, following her brother down the hall. I bring up the rear and soon the four of us are congregating in Saint’s kitchen. Hard to believe I partook in a family brunch with Saint, Carl, and Nick right here just a few hours ago. The juxtaposition of my kids and me sharing our family dinner with Saint in the same seats where I joined my partner’s family tradition with Carl earlier almost sends me reeling again.
The kids and Saint exchange greetings. He asks them about dinner with their grandmother and cousins. I let their answers roll over me as if I wasn’t once a part of that family too. As if they didn’t just lose their strongest connection to it.
It’s a lot. And I can’t rush this. Not when the kids already have so much else going on. It all seems impossibly tangled. I just want Saint to hold me together because a part of me wants to run right back out his door rather than risk another heartbreak for my babies. Or myself.
While I’m struggling to control my emotions, Saint oohs and aahs over my kids’ descriptions of the gifts they got from their extended family. He ladles out four steaming mugs of mulled cider and sets two perfectly iced cinnamon rolls in front of my kids. Then he comes around the table and hugs me from behind, tipping my face toward him for a quick kiss.
“Hey, you with us, Angel?” Saint asks, giving my shoulder a squeeze.
“Hm? Yeah.” I force a smile past my worries.
“Owen asked if we have to wait until we go home to open presents,” Meg says, as if I should have heard the question the first time. I should have, but my thoughts are scattered and I’m having a hard time believing I can really have this; my kids sitting here smiling and talking to the man who makes me feel like I don’t have to carry the entire world on my shoulders all alone.
“Want to do presents now? The roast should be ready by the time we finish,” Saint offers, his hand still on my shoulder, steadying me.
“Let’s do presents.” I nod. “We brought everything over here because I figured you’ve been more than patient waiting to open yours, Owen.”
“I have. I definitely made the nice list.” He nods earnestly, already standing as he shoves the last bite of his cinnamon bun into his mouth. Owen eyes the outer crust of Meg’s that she left on her plate.
“Go for it, you bottomless pit.” Meg nudges her plate toward her brother. He gobbles down the last bite of her treat while she rolls her eyes and smiles affectionately at him.
I love watching them together. The two of them share a bond I’m only now starting to really form with Marcus. My big brother rarely had time for me. I was forever following him around as a kid. Desperate to connect with him in a home where some part of me always felt like an outsider. I am so proud of my kids and their close friendship.
“Presents?” Owen turns to me with his cheeks stuffed full of sweets like a chipmunk.
“Chew your food.” I bite back a laugh at how adorable my kid is as he carefully finishes what’s in his mouth as fast as he can. “Everything is under the tree. You can open the first one, since Meg got to open her big present early.”
I point toward the glowing tree in Saint’s living room. Its monochrome gold and white elegance is now broken up with our family memories. That’s almost enough to make this feel like we’ve found our way home. Almost.
“Score!” Owen fist pumps as he scurries over to the tree to check out his present haul. Meg follows at a more sedate—if no less eager—pace. Saint tugs me in against his side as we follow the kids to the tree. With the hasty decor we added from my place, Saint’s tree looks like it could be a fusion of our lives, and somehow, it just all works.
Watching the kids open and exclaim over the gifts that Saint bought for them, it’s like I’ve stepped forward in time to that dreamy future full of possibilities. A shared home that’s full of family and love. A partner by my side who adores my children as much as I do. Who supports me when I need to lean on him. I squeeze his hand and Saint gives me a nervous smile. He nuzzles into my neck.
“How am I doing?” Saint asks.
I snort, and then I realize he seriously needs me to reassure him for once. It’s amazing to be there for him, it helps me understand the fulfillment he claims to get from being there for me all the time. I kiss his cheek and squeeze his hand. “You’re doing perfect. They like you. Just keep being yourself.”
“Here, Pop, we got you something.” Meg thrusts a little gift bag into my hands. I pull out an apple shaped ornament that readsWorld’s Best Teacherin a chalky scrawl across a little slate rectangle tag. “Owen and I just wanted you to know that we’re proud of you and you’re going to be awesome in the classroom after break. Even though I’d probably die of embarrassment if you were teaching my classes. So thanks for getting assigned to the second graders.” My daughter winks at me.
I tear up, bursting with pride and joy and just everything. It’s overwhelming to hear that sort of praise, a glimmer of a future adult relationship with my kids where they start to see me as a whole person instead of just their parent. I want that, it’s a hollow ache for something I never got that I can give them. I want to have a lifelong relationship with my daughter where we are both proud of each other, because I am just bursting with pride for her and Owen. So much of what I do is about giving Meg and Owen the best in life, and this gift, acknowledging my accomplishments outside of them, feels incredible.
I hug both kids and add the apple to the tree with the other important milestone ornaments.
Owen has a ceramic tae kwon do shoe to commemorate his first competition last year. Meg has a ballerina from when she earned her laces. The pirate flag. My lion from going on T. A story of our greatest hits. I get a little choked up looking at it here in Saint’s home and imagining all our future milestones together, joining the rest among the branches. Someday his aro flag will hang next to my trans pride ornament. I want that.
Saint grins as he wades into the torn paper to help the kids distribute the remaining gifts. The kids laugh and stick bows to him. We end up tossing balled up wrapping paper at each other in an all out giggling indoor version of a snowball fight.
I didn’t think Owen and Meg could be this happy today after the news Trevor gave them. I’m under no illusions that it’s going to be simple adjusting to that change, but something about Saint makes it easy to believe that everything will work out fine. Somehow, he helped me give the kids a Christmas to remember for all the right reasons when today could have ended in tears. And I know I made the right call bringing them here tonight, sharing the three most important people in my life with each other.
Owen grabs the last two presents, both of them lumpy and patched together with too much tape to cover irregular shapes underneath. He hands one to me and one to Saint.
