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“That’s what Nathan said,” Michael tells him with a nod.
Stanford looks up at Nathan. “You knew that?”
“Of course,” Nathan says. “You…” He clears his throat, and I reach up to cover his hand with mine. “You used to bring chocolate chip cookies to the owner's box to share with me during games.”
My heart squeezes. He didn’t tell us that when he said he wanted to stop by the bakery for cookies.
Stanford nods slowly, his eyes focused on the wall past Michael, as if lost in thought. “You didn’t like any of the food we offered at the concession stands or that we catered into the owner’s box,” he said.
Nathan clears his throat again. “That’s right.”
I want to hug them both. I love that they’re sharing this memory, and that Nathan is seeing Stanford remember something sweet about his childhood.
Crew chuckles. “You didn’t like pizza and hot dogs? Even as a kid?”
I look up. Nathan is actually smiling. “I didn’t.”
Michael addresses Stanford. “What did Nathan eat as a kid? When he was eight or nine? Please tell me he at least liked peanut butter and jelly.”
Stanford nods his head. “Yes. And no.” He leans closer to Michael. “But he only likes freshly made peanut butter, not store-bought. That’s the fault of the cook we had when he was about six. She made it from scratch and insisted it was the best way, and he believed her. And he only likes jams because that sounds fancier. He also only likes it on biscuits or croissants.”
“Oh for…” Nathan mutters.
I’m pressing my lips together, trying not to laugh.
Crew isn’t even trying to pretend not to laugh. He laughs out loud. “Why am I not surprised you were pretentious even as a kid?”
“That was a long time ago,” Nathan protests. “I was influenced by a lot of books and movies. And I’ve…loosened up.”
But even he hesitates to say that about himself, and again, Crew laughs.
“Just last year, you would only eat orange marmalade,” Stanford says, chuckling with Crew.
I look from him to Nathan. Nathan is looking at his grandfather with a mix of affection and sadness. I’m guessing that wasn’t just last year.
Stanford is starting to slip a bit. All of the excitement of having us all here and finding out it’s Christmas is maybe confusing him a bit.
“I had an orange marmalade period too,” Michael says.
I look over at him. “Really?”
“Paddington,” he says. He looks up at Nathan. “Right?”
“Right,” Nathan replies, his voice a little gruff.
Oh, I love my nerdy bookworm boyfriend so much. Not just that he’s read so much and fondly remembers details from childhood books, but that he can use those details to support Nathan.
“I also begged my parents to let me try Turkish delight and egg creams because of books,” Michael tells Stanford. He shakes his head. “Was disappointed every time.”
Stanford chuckles, but Nathan says, “I lovedThe Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. And I finally found great Turkish delight in New York City after trying it several times because of Narnia.” He clears his throat again, and I reach up to squeeze his hand. “I’ll take you to that shop sometime,” he tells Michael, squeezing me back.
Michael grins at him. “Can’t wait. And if you’ve ever found a good cream cheese and liverwurst sandwich, I’d love to know.”
Nathan shudders. “I quit trying after one of those.” Now he finally chuckles himself. “No matter how much I lovedA Wrinkle in Time, I just couldn’t agree with Meg on that one.”
“Cynthia can make anything taste good,” Stanford says. “Even liverwurst.”
“Who’s Cynthia?” Crew asks.
