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“You sure? You seem distracted.” Angel follows me as I wend my way across the room.
“A little. Sorry. Look, there’s your brother. Can we catch up later?”
“Sure, Saint. I need to talk with Grace anyway.” Angel doesn’t quite storm off in a huff, but they don’t seem happy either.
Carl keeps looking over at Nick. Ah. So it isn’t me who he wants to rescue him. Well, I can still help nudge that along. I change course. Marcus is standing near Nick and Grace now. I cringe internally when I notice Angel is also closing in on the little group.
Well, if Nick needs a push to make Carl happy, that’s one job I can be the right man for. Then I can make it up to Angel without giving them the wrong idea about what we are to each other.
“Seems like Carl is looking for you.” I nudge Nick’s elbow without pretext. He gives me a bemused smile, then excuses himself to go rescue Carl from his sister’s interrogation. Mission accomplished.
I lurk at the edge of the conversation between Grace and Angel, like a creeper. Something about tutoring Grace’s daughter. Angel would be good at that. If their obligations didn’t already have them spread paper-thin. I bite back my objections. It’s not up to me to micromanage their life choices. Friends support each other.
Angel seems engaged in their conversation with Marcus and Grace and soon the three of them are in full-on parent mode, talking about their kids. From the snippets I overhear, I’m not sure if Grace and Angel are reminiscing about their kids as babies or trying to terrify Marcus. Either way, I don’t envy what his near future has in store with his firstborn due in the spring.
Either way, it only drives home how woefully unprepared I am to be what Angel needs in a partner. How many zucchinis are you allowed to have, anyway? And can you fuck them?
Agh. Questions that I probably shouldn’t text to Meg. She’d probably laugh at the first one. The second one is absolutely not for her eyes, though. Even if she’s all but spelled out that she knows what’s between me and her pop.
It’s probably weird that despite enjoying my talks with Meg and Owen when we’ve interacted, the abstract idea of having a formal role in their lives sends me into a panic. Becoming a parent does not compute, but being friendly to my friend’s snarky teenager and earnest pre-teen is easy. Could that be enough?
I dance with Angel again, and this time we don’t talk. We just sway to soft holiday crooning until Eliza cuts the sound system to gather everyone together for the ornament swap. My time to shine. I wait eagerly as we get organized, and everyone who brought an ornament draws a numbered Christmas ball from an oversized Santa hat. Eliza goes all out for this stuff.
I get number three, so I probably won’t end up going home with whatever I unwrap. Since everyone has the choice to keep what they pick from the tree or trade it for whichever already opened ornament they want, trades are common.
Angel gets twenty-five. The last choice means they’ll get their pick of all the ornaments, perfect. They deserve something nice. On my turn, I pluck a candy-cane striped gift bag from the ornament tree and pull out a generic porcelain angel.
It’s cheap quality and probably mass-produced and I normally wouldn’t give it a second glance, except the long dark hair and inquisitive expression remind me of my Angel. I want to keep it. Hold it in my heart and remember the gorgeous person throwing me glances from across the circle forever, even if I can’t see how we can work long term.
I hold my breath every time someone glances my way, but round after round passes and no one takes away my angel. The ornament I brought—a locally hand-crafted felt gnome with a rainbow hat and a tiny Christmas tree slung over his shoulder—causes a stir when Carl picks it to open.
“My mom made that!” Nick crows excitedly.
“And I brought it!” I lift my cup of punch in triumph. “That’s the winning ornament, mark my words.”
“We’ll see about that. Mine is going to give you a run for your money,” Marcus teases as he salutes me with his drink.
“This still isn’t a competition, Saint,” Carl says with a groan that can’t hide his bemused smile.
“Then explain how I’ve won it five years running,” I shoot back. “Last year with Oliver was a fluke that doesn’t count.”
“He has a point, Carl.” Eliza has a long history as a shit-stirrer. “Saint always brings the most coveted ornament.”
“You’re impossible.” Carl sips his punch, but Nick tugs him to sit in his lap.
“He’s also right. Give it.” Gail makes grabby hands as she trades the pretty silver bell she just opened for the gnome. Carl pouts, not wanting to give it up, but he relents in the end.
“The rules are the rules,” Eliza chides him.
“I told you it’s a winner,” I joke, raising my glass to Carl. I keep my little porcelain angel tucked quietly out of sight so as not to draw any would-be ornament trader’s attention.
Sure enough, the adorable gnome I contributed to the game makes his way around the circle, getting chosen half a dozen times in as many rounds. My reign as the champion ornament picker is secure for another year. Excellent.
And then Angel takes down the last ornament, a jolly little Santa who resembles one of the gaudy numbered balls we used to determine turn order.
They smirk at me, stroking their chin as they play up pondering the choice. “Hm, I’m thinking I should take that angel from Saint. That seems fitting. An angel for Angel and Saint Nick for a Saint.”
“In that case, you should give it to Nick,” Carl pipes in, noticing my reflexive grip tightening on my angel and trying to shield me from having to surrender it. From the perplexed look on his face, he has no idea why I’m so attached to the plain little thing. Normally, I’d have done everything in my power to encourage someone to trade it away from me. But not this time.
