Bowl Full of Cherries (19 page)

“I know,” Crowley said, leaning his head very gently into Rell’s cupped hand. “Can we kiss again?”

“Yes,” Rell promised, making good on it instantly. Rell hugged Crowley to him, rubbing comforting circles against his back. He knew he was probably being distracted on purpose. Crowley didn’t want to talk about family or coming out anymore, and he knew he could shut Rell up with his lips. Just a few days together, and Rell was already completely at the mercy of the other. “God, I love kissing you.”

“Should we go back in the sanctuary?”

“Probably. Unless you want to get caught by a search party that may or may not include the pastor’s wife.”

“I—” Crowley inhaled, very slowly and quietly. “You’re right. Mom’s just a sad person,” Crowley said, his voice kind when he had every right to be raging against his mother. “She’s going to lose her son over it. I won’t ever stop loving her—I don’t think I could even if I wanted to. She’s my mother. But she’s got to reach out to me if she wants me in her life. I don’t know that she will.”

“If you could talk to her now, what would you say?”

“I can’t talk to her, Averell. That’s the point.”

“But if you could,” Rell whispered. “Look at me. What would you say?”

It was one of those cheesy thought experiments. The kind therapists made you do when your dad and mom got divorced and everyone was worried you couldn’t handle it. Role-playing. He didn’t know why he suggested it for Crowley now.

They really
should
get back into the sanctuary, but Crowley was looking at him, staring.

He licked his lips and said, very quietly. “Mom.” Crowley squeezed Rell’s hand unconsciously as he spoke. And then he lifted the phone, swiped, and poked with his thumb. He was calling her back.
Actually calling.

He stared hard at Rell and they laced their fingers together. He could hear the tiny sound of ringing, even with the phone pressed against Crowley’s face. Then there was a low hum of a voice, too even and melodic to be a live person. The answering machine.

“I know you’re there, Mom. I know you’re screening this call. I want you to know….” For a long moment, Rell wasn’t sure that Crowley was going to find his words, but after a deep controlling breath, he spoke. “I love you. I will
always
love you. Even if you don’t l-love me. I’m sorry that your heart is so… f-full of ugliness. I want you to know that I’m not going to stop… liking… guys, and I don’t think you’re right. I don’t think that being gay means God doesn’t love me. I don’t… well, I don’t think He operates like that. I love you, Mom. And I want to wish you a
very
Merry Christmas.”

They quietly walked back into the sanctuary together, just in time to grab candles from the basket being passed around. It was one of Rell’s favorite traditions, lighting his candle from the person next to him, watching as the whole sanctuary filled with the glow of a hundred candles. It never got old, studying the wax as it melted and spilled over the side of the candle, catching on the paper guard that kept him from getting burned. He made faces at Tyler in the glow of his light. Tyler made faces back at him, and Crowley held his hand.

“D
O
YOU
want to sleep with me?”

Crowley looked up at Rell and smiled. It was a gentle, sleepy smile. One of Rell’s new favorites. He wanted to see that smile all the time.

“I could be talked into it,” he said. “I-I don’t know what will happen if we get to the naked point, though. I don’t know if I’m ready. But we can—”

“Oh, I’m beat.” That wasn’t
completely
a lie. He was tired, but if Crowley wanted to get it on, Rell would be more than ready. “I just thought you might want to crawl up here and sleep in my arms. I’d like it if you would.”

Wordlessly, Crowley pushed himself off his trundle and onto Rell’s bed, leaning back into the space that Rell made for him. It felt so good to have Crowley in his arms. He held him tightly, kissed the back of his neck, and whispered, “Merry almost Christmas, Owly.”

I
N
THE
Fredericks household, breakfast had never been much of a thing. Sometimes his mother made Bisquick pancakes in the sandwich maker. When he was little, he and his sister complained loudly that they liked Grandma’s better—thin, sweet German pancakes—and their mother would roll her eyes and say it was Bisquick or nothing. They ate a lot of cereal, too. But a big smorgasbord of breakfast foods? That had never been something they shared.

Crowley smelled the Lang Christmas breakfast before he even opened his eyes. The savory smell of bacon frying in the pan and pancakes on the griddle. He groaned and rolled over so he faced Rell.

Rell’s cheeks were flushed, his mouth had parted just a little, and he looked peaceful. It made Crowley feel mischievous. He wanted to shake him or tickle him or kiss him awake. He tried to rein in the impulse and instead whispered, “I think there’s breakfast downstairs.”

Crowley was a grown man. He could dress and go downstairs and fix himself a plate. He didn’t need an escort. But for someone who had been at war with food as long as he had, it was nice that Rell now knew about his struggles. He imagined getting breakfast together and enjoying it like the rest of the world did.

Before Rell, the only other person in his life who knew about his love/hate relationship with food was Tyler. His roommate was strangely perceptive and tenaciously curious when he wanted to be.

“I smell bacon, Averell.”

Rell’s lips twitched, just a little, and he murmured as if sleep-talking, “Bacon….”

“You want to go downstairs and get some together?” Crowley tempted quietly.

“Sleeping now.”

“What if someone kissed you awake?”

An eye slowly peeled open; the smile widened. “You offering?”

C
HRISTMAS
BREAKFAST
,
it turned out, was an even bigger affair than Crowley could have imagined.

After sharing some delicious kisses, he and Rell got up and dressed in the age-old tradition of the Christmases of yore: they pulled on pajama pants and T-shirts. Downstairs, the kitchen and dining room were full of adults who wanted nothing more than their first cup of coffee. Mrs. Lang danced around, placing food on the table, buffet-style, and told Crowley and Rell that she’d been up since five.

“To make all of this?” Crowley asked, surprised.

“Nothing better than making Christmas breakfast for my kiddos.”

“Now if only you’ll make me a new lemon meringue pie,” Rell lamented loudly.

Crowley wanted to lean in to him, hug him, and hold him while they waited, but he was painfully aware of the eyes on them. Instead he just smiled and said, “I really can make a pie for you.”

“I’m sure you can, Owl,” Rell said. And then loudly and obviously brown-nosing, he said, “But my mother makes the best pies in the world.”

“Let him make the pie, Rell,” Mrs. Lang said, setting down a platter full of bacon, sausage, and ham. “The garage is only half-cleaned and I’ve got a lot I have to do.”

“You
just
said that cooking for your family is the most important thing in the world.”

“What I said,” she replied, tweaking his nose playfully. “Is that I enjoy making Christmas breakfast. Now come help me set out the food. I’ve got five more dishes in the kitchen.”

There were biscuits and gravy and eggs, fat stacks of pancakes and waffles, plus fresh fruit with cream, and pitchers of orange and apple juice and a bottle of milk, plus the coffee pot, which percolated away each time someone drained it. And the whole thing was spread out on a candy cane tablecloth.

Katie sipped her coffee and bounced the redheaded baby on her hip. She smiled at Crowley when their eyes met. No ugly crying that he could see.

“You want to hold him again?” she asked, which, of course, meant
please hold this baby while I eat!
He took the cooing baby from her and walked with him into the living room.

As awesome as the kitchen was with its delicious, mingling smells, the living room was even better. At some point during the night, Santa had come in force. Crowley had always thought he and his sister Alice were spoiled, but it was nothing compared to the
mountain
of packages spilling out from underneath the tree. Big boxes and little boxes, odd-shaped packages, long, short, and everything in between. All wrapped in glittering gold and sparkling silver and deep red and green, each with a bow and a fancy tag that came up off the box.

Sondra was snapping away with her camera, squatted down, angling the lens up and capturing the opulence of the tree and all the gifts.

“Isn’t this sick?” she asked, but she was smiling as she said it. “And the cheese is under there. Somewhere.”

There were stockings hanging from hooks on the mantle of the fireplace, stuffed so fat they looked like they might explode in a mighty display of yuletide extravagance. The television was on mute,
It’s a Wonderful Life
playing in black and white.

Crowley sat down on the couch with the baby and watched as Andy, Charley, and Jack clamored over each other to be the first to the Christmas tree where—surprise! Huge haul! It was all they could do not to start ripping into the wrapping paper. They made a racket instead. Even Andy, who had so conspiratorially dispelled the myth of Santa, seemed younger than his ten years as he eagerly shoved presents aside, looking for his name.

Crowley looked up to see Rell coming into the living room after about the thirtieth shout of “Santa was here! Santa was here!” He carried a plate piled high with food. Crowley smiled at him and patted the open seat on the sofa.

“I see you’ve already opened your present, then?”

He looked down at the baby drooling on his shoulder.

“Yeah.” Crowley laughed softly. “But I’m wondering if I can find the gift receipt? This one doesn’t talk and I was really hoping for the talking model.”

Rell grinned.

“Look at all these presents!” Jack said, running up to Rell and tugging on his shirt.

“You guys better not be opening presents,” Jes said as she popped her head into the living room.

“Why don’t you just let them start?” Rell harassed his sister. She glowered.

“
No
!” she yell-whispered at him. “Do you know how much we—
how much Santa
—
spent
on that stuff? I intend to collect on every penny, and I’m going to do it with pictures and video.”

“And you’re not enjoying making them wait on purpose? Just a little? Making them suffer for it?”

She sniffed. “That’s just icing.” Then louder where the kids could hear, Jes said, “I’m serious, guys. Do. Not. Touch. Let me get my coffee and wake Daddy and then we’ll start.”

“You remember feeling this way?” Rell asked Crowley. “Buzzing so fast your head practically spun because of what might be waiting for you under the tree?”

“Sure,” Crowley agreed.

“What was the best present you ever got?”

Jack was staring up at the tree like he might try to climb it, and his sister toed packages out of the way, exploring without “touching,” per her mother’s rules.

Crowley laughed. “You know, it’s all a blur now. So many action figures and video games. I do remember one year I got this mechanical dog that was voice operated. It also could record sound. I tried to use it to spy on my sister’s sleepovers.”

Rell snorted. “Should have thought of that. Tyler and I used to sneak into Katie’s room and hide under the bed when she had her friends over.”

“Did that work?”

“Too well. Girls talk about the most boring crap ever.” He speared a piece of ham on his plate and chomped on it. “So then we’d spring out from under the bed and scare them and Katie had this one friend, and every time we’d make her pee a little.”

“That’s… kinda mean.”

“Oh yeah, it was.”

“You’ve always liked making mischief?”

“The world gets dull when there’s no mischief in it. Which, speaking of….” His grin was wicked as he told Jes’s kids, “Hey guys? You can go ahead and open one present each.” The words hadn’t even left his mouth before the kids were ripping into the colorful wrapped packages that may or may not have been for them. Paper went flying. In about five seconds, with her mom-ears, Jes had heard the ruckus and come running.

“What do you think you’re doing?” she exclaimed. She had a half-made plate in her hand and her finger out, wagging. Rell burst out laughing as they, in a jumble, began to explain that Uncle Rell told them it was okay. She smacked Rell hard in the back of the head just like their mother had done the night before and plopped down into the nearest chair.

“You know, one day I’m going to be able to just have breakfast. A nice, long, quiet breakfast. All to myself.”

“Yup, eighteen years from now. Mark your calendar,” Rell snorted.

“Dad!” she called at her husband, who was now in the line for coffee. “Get your ass in here, the kids are opening their presents!”