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“You know, Saint Nick? Or Father Christmas, if you prefer.” Eliza winks at me.
“I’m sure Nick’s never heard that joke before.” I roll my eyes at her. “And some of us don’t call our partnersdaddy, you perv.”
I lock eyes with Saint as I scan the crowd, looking for an escape. He’s talking with Angel—Marcus’s tagalong baby sibling has grown up since we moved home from the city. Their starry-eyed crush over Saint hasn’t dimmed in the slightest, judging from their possessive hand caressing his biceps as they flirt. My bestie quirks an eyebrow at me, darting his gaze between me and Eliza as though offering a rescue.
I shrug and angle myself back toward Nick. I want him to be the one to rescue me, but that’s unfair when Saint’s the one who knows me and my family’s quirks. And I don’t need a rescue. It would just be nice. Wasn’t that the whole point of bringing a fake date tonight? To keep my family from meddling too much, no matter how well-meaning they are.
“And some of us do, you prude.” The worn moniker is more abrasive than usual, but Eliza is too focused on waving across the room at her wife and blowing her a kiss to notice. It’s not like I didn’t know that about their relationship. It might just have killed Eliza to try not calling her wifedaddyin front of the rest of us for any length of time. Especially in the early days of their saccharine sweet relationship. It’s none of my business to comment on their pet names for each other.
It’s just that Gail and Eliza calling me a prude is another way I’ve always felt like an outsider with my sisters when we discuss relationships. They’re so open about what they like and I just…haven’t found the words to tell them I’m not a prude.
I just don’t care that much about sex so it’s always been weird to me how much they do care. How much they assume that since I’m a gay dude, I must be even more into sex than they are, because of course that’s just the way things are.
“I’m not a prude. Some things are just private.” I give a token protest, that at least takes the focus off of what’s between me and Nick.
I wish I was the one standing in the corner with him, observing the room from the edges of the crowd of assembled guests. He smiles and offers me a cute little wave when our eyes lock. I know my entire face lights up at the happiness flowing through my veins like champagne bubbles when his focus is on me. That gorgeous, kind, successful man who dropped everything to care for his aging mother wants to be here with me. I must be doing something right. Even if it’s not real and it can’t last.
“See? That’s exactly what I’m talking about!” Eliza snaps her fingers and points inches from my face, like I’ve just proven her point somehow.
“What?” I turn toward her, bewildered. Across the room Saint disengages from Angel and makes his smiling way toward Nick and my sister-in-law.
“I don’t think I’ve seen you smiling this much since you brought Saint home as your hubby. Happy looks good on you, Carl.”
I open my mouth to refute that, but she’s probably right. I’ve been pining. Not for Saint, or what we tried to build together. That was never going to work when we were both trying to build something completely at odds with itself. The friendship we’ve nurtured since then fulfills us both, but I’ve still wanted the sort of partnership Nick has been playing at with me.
A boyfriend who will hold my hand at a party like this. Who grins as we arrive proudly wearing our matching holiday sweaters covered in cross stitch dinosaurs in Santa hats trimming a tree. A partner who will smile and kiss me when I bring over our drinks. And whose idea of a romantic Christmas present requires more thought than lounging naked under the tree with a bow around his dick.
“Thanks, Eliza.” I swallow down the impulse to tell her it’s not real. Confess that I asked Nick to be my fake date because of the pressure of anticipating this conversation. Not to mention all the future conversations it will spawn when she disseminates what I told her to our entire family.
My sister notices the dip in my mood. Her eyes narrow and her lips purse on some new accusation or question or something. Except a warm arm wraps around me and pulls me into Nick’s side. He kisses my temple.
“Everything alright over here, babe?” Nick asks as I press his drink into his hands, then take a sip of mine to steady my nerves and buy time before I have to answer. Saint catches my eye and winks as he chats with Grace. Grace gestures at the smaller tree in the entryway that’s covered in gift-wrapped ornaments for the swap later. Saint is probably bragging about how he’s going to ‘win’ the swap. He’s so infuriatingly sweet sometimes.
My heart swells with affection at the support from both men. Saint for taking the time to find out what I needed and giving it to me and Nick for being there for me.
“Yeah. I was just telling Eliza how we met.”
Nick grins. “Carl came to my mom’s booth at the Christmas Market to help Saint buy an ornament for the party tonight and then I spilled Carl’s cocoa.”
“And you offered to replace it.” I break in grinning fondly at the memory of that first perfect date that inspired our plan to pretend.
“And you only agreed when I promised to drink it with you.”
“So we went skating around the big tree and closed down the rink.”
“And ended the night with a perfect goodnight kiss.” Nick is gazing into my eyes like he did right before that first wonderful kiss. All the anticipation and hope brimming to the surface with promises of a future we can’t have.
“Aw, you two are adorable. Sounds like the sort of first date story you tell your grandkids, bro.” Eliza watches the two of us alternate telling the story with hearts in her eyes. Her excited hug almost makes me spill my drink and I feel hollow for lying to her. And because she’s right. If it was real it would make for wonderful family lore. She’s so genuinely happy for me it aches.
The moment breaks when Nick’s phone rings. He dismisses the call, but whoever it is calls back again. And again. And then sends a text that has the blood draining from Nick’s face.
“I, uh, have to take this. Work emergency.” He kisses my cheek, sets down his half-finished cup of punch, and heads toward the entryway as he dials. He shrugs on his coat and goes out onto Eliza’s front porch to make the call. I watch him pacing on the phone through her front windows.
I’m numb when Nick comes back inside and murmurs into my ear that he needs to head back to Toronto tonight. He spends the rest of the party distracted. As we do the ugly sweater contest and ornament swap, he keeps texting work colleagues. He’s so caught up in shooting antsy glances at the door that the magic is gone.
I hate to do it, but I need to escape. Saint is our ride home, so as soon as he declares victory despite leaving the swap with a plain ceramic angel ornament that’s totally not his style, I ask if he minds leaving early. He volunteered to be Nick’s and my designated driver. Turns out we didn’t need the precaution. Nick got the call from work early enough that he hasn’t actually touch a drop of Grace’s famous butter rum, Marcus’s spiked farm fresh mulled cider, or Mom’s eggnog. He’s stone cold sober and already a million miles away as we leave before Santa brings out gifts for all the kids in attendance.
Nick doesn’t even bother to come inside as planned back at my place. He says he’s sorry, but he has to go. He’ll be in touch when he can. And then he waves as he backs toward the curb where he left his car and drives away. Weird how the world blurs as his taillights disappear from sight.
