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Not a single sign of grief in his gray eyes that I could see.
“Dad! Dad! They have hot chocolate!” India pointed at a stall adorned with twinkling fairy lights and staffed by teenagers dressed as elves. We headed toward it, ordered drinks, then sat on a wooden bench. The girls were whispering, and at the point I was about to carry out my fatherly duty to explain that whispering was rude, they synchronized, fixing their gaze on Arlo.
“Are you Daddy’s boyfriend?” Iris asked with a straightforwardness only a child could manage.
Arlo's smile didn't falter. “Yes, I am. If that is okay with you?”
They nodded, almost adult-like in their acceptance. But then India tilted her head, mischief in her eyes. “As Daddy’s boyfriend, what are you getting us for Christmas?”
I chuckled at their antics.
Arlo laughed. “That's a surprise.” He winked.
They grinned at him and ran off to the fake ice rink, which they refused to try, but they loved to watch the skaters.
Charlie was dozing on and off, and after much deliberation, we headed out to select a tree—not too big, not too small—perfect for us. Getting it home was an adventure, with the girls chattering non-stop, guessing Arlo's surprise gifts, while Charlie babbled in his waking moments, probably adding his own guesses.
We started decorating soon after we got home, the girls bringing out last year's handmade decorations. They had odd shapes, uneven glitter, and sparkles, but they were perfect hanging between strings of popcorn.
Then came the star, the honor of the night. I lifted India. Arlo lifted Iris in one arm—strong and sure—and then, Charlie in his other. Together, my daughters placed the star at the top, making sure that Charlie got to touch it as well.
As we settled, amidst the laughter of my children and by the lights, Arlo caught my eye. He mouthed “I love you,” across the room, over the heads of my mingled family.
My heart swelled, a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with twinkling lights. I mouthed “I love you” back, knowing those simple words carried the weight of all the moments like this I wanted to have.
He’d told me he didn’t think it was right to stay over, but then, somehow the girls assumed he was staying,same as Johan did with Mommy. I got him to stay, and I slept in his arms, tucked into his side, dozing to him playing with my hair, my hand on his belly, and woke to the girls jumping on us, plus Charlie yammering and burbling from his crib. The five of us spent Sunday together—a walk, lunch out, games in the afternoon—and a little after six, Paula and Johan picked them up. I hated when my girls left because it had been the perfect weekend, and somehow, the melancholy didn’t want to leave me, and I understood keenly how Arlo must have felt every time he said goodbye to his brothers.
Cocoa in hand, next to the tree and staring out of the window, I was lost in thought. There were moments like this, where the weight of certain thoughts grew heavy, pressing down on my shoulders. Zach missing kept gnawing at me, especially since Leo and Reid had no news, and Mel’s attempts to unravel the mystery of that damned email had led to nothing. I pushed down the frustration over my missing brother, reminding myself there were forces at work I couldn't control. Still, the lack of answers was disconcerting and, somehow, they were all wound up with the girls leaving, and as soon as I waved goodbye to India and Iris, my head hurt. This always happened, and I dealt with everything one emotion at a time, sure I would get my head straight at the end.
But it wasn’t just the girls going back with their mom. It was Zach. It was flashes of what Arlo and I had talked about last weekend, in particular about his brothers and how he missed them. My heart hurt for Arlo missing his brothers and with both of them possibly not making Christmas. I worked through the girls, then Zach, and then, I obsessed on cycling through solutions to Arlo and his brothers. Something I could maybe fix. I couldn’t leave San Diego, in case Zach came back, but Arlo could go to one brother and, then, on to the next. I’d miss him, but maybe I could make it work.
I waited until Arlo left for work in the morning, then started a new chat with Sutton and Trace.
Jax: Hi
There was nothing, and I busied myself with Charlie, then approving bids, and then, a couple of hours into my morning, it was Sutton who responded.
Sutton: Hi back. If this is about a Christmas present for Arlo, you can’t go wrong with cake ?? ??
Jax: I know about the cake, but this isn’t about a present. Can we talk face to face?
Charlie fussed in my arms as I walked the length of the yard, stopping by any bright and colorful flower, spotting a hummingbird, and explaining what it was with added raspberries to his cheek. I waited for Sutton to respond, wondered if Trace had even gotten the message, then my phone vibrated with an incoming call between me, Sutton,andTrace.
“What’s wrong?” Trace asked as soon as I answered. “Is Arlo okay?”
Shit. “I didn’t mean to worry you, everything is okay.”
Trace relaxed. “Okay then, so?—”
“If this is you calling to make sure we’re okay with you and Arlo, you have to know we are,” Sutton interrupted.
“It’s not that either.”
“Then…?” Sutton prompted.
“I want to talk to you about Christmas.”
“Wait, so thisisabout a present?” Sutton sounded confused.
