“So someone else was shouting‘Oh god, Jason. Don’t stop’?” His impersonation of me is a little offensive but I can’t deny it.
Jason just walks past us toward the stairs. As he crosses my path I glare and tell Dylan, “Don’t worry, I don’t think it’ll be a problem again.”
Jason’s eyes dart to me without turning his head then back to the stairs. What does that mean? Does he want it to happen again? Or is he just offended?
Fuck. Why does he have to be so confusing and annoying and…and…sexy?
December passes with the most snow I’ve ever seen in my life. Piled on every surface and obscuring the rest of the world behind a curtain of falling snow storming around us. It’s like living in a snowglobe that’s being shaken vigorously by a child. I can hardly see the barn through the haze from my place on the couch where I’m drinking my morning coffee. It’s Christmas morning. Similarly to Thanksgiving, we decided to shirk our responsibilities for a day of relaxation and Christmas traditions. A week ago, all three of us traipsed through the woods to find a Douglas fir to cut down for a Christmas tree. After shaking the snow off the tree on the front porch, we brought it inside where it fit perfectly in the corner of the living room with justenough room to top with an angel. Dylan told me the decorations are from their childhood. Their mom loved Christmas.
Dylan doesn’t talk about their dad much. And I don’t ask. But their mom sounds like she was a lovely woman.
Jason is already awake and in the garage working out. Dylan is still asleep. I used to sleep until the afternoon but over a month of getting up early has changed my internal clock. Most mornings I hate being awake this early. But this morning, it’s peaceful, serene, and fitting for the holiday season. I even seasoned my makeshift latte with cinnamon and nutmeg to add a little extra Christmas spirit to the morning.
For the sake of the holiday, I also grabbedA Christmas Carolfrom the shelf when I found it this morning while looking for a new book. There’s something so picturesque and timeless about sitting on the couch snuggled under a blanket while reading and sipping coffee. Like something the female main character of a Hallmark movie would do on Christmas Eve right before the love of her life knocks on her door for a passionate kiss that solidifies their relationship.
Not that I’m into any of that cheesy stuff.
Classic Christmas tales are way more my speed.
To my surprise, Dylan jaunts down the stairs not long after I’ve settled into the couch where I intend to spend my morning in such a chipper mood. He’s acting like a kid on Christmas morning, which kind of suits his golden retriever personality. I didn’t expect him to be up until one in the afternoon since we don’t have any work to do today.
“Gooooood morning,” his chipper voice gnaws at my pessimistic disposition.
“Merry Christmas,” I reply. “You’re in an awfully good mood.”
“Of course!” His exuberance is infectious. “It’s freaking Christmas! Best day of the year.”
I can’t help myself, I laugh at the joyful man before me in on-theme pajamas sporting candy canes of every size in red and green variations.
After Dylan pours his coffee and stirs it with a candy cane (very on brand for Dylan) he announces it’s time to break out his moms Christmas vinylrecords. The first one he plays is none other than a Bing Crosby Christmas album. His deep voice and lyrical music fills the space in no time with a full orchestra and tinkling bells.
“Was Christmas big in your house growing up?” I ask just as the door to the garage opens and Jason steps in. No matter how many times I see this sequence of events, I can never get over the sight of him shirtless, sweaty, and radiating testosterone as he wipes himself down and pours his second cup of coffee for the day.
“Oh yeah,” Dylan continues on as if the most delicious man I’ve ever seen didn’t just walk into the room. A man who made me come so hard a couple weeks ago and hasn’t touched me since. “Our mom decorated every square inch of our house just like this with homemade garlands and dried orange slices and ribbon. Anything she could make or already had. She’d cook all day but loved it cause we’d help her. And play these exact records the whole time. When we were little she’d get us to dance with her.”
“You didn’t dance with your mother as teenagers?” I ask as though it’s a personal offense with a hand clutching my nonexistent pearls.
“Of course we would,” Dylan said matter-of-factly. “She’s our mom. She just had to convince us with pumpkin pie.”
Dylan talks about their mom with such affection it’s adorable. Someone else in my position might feel envious of all the love he and Jason got from their mother, but I’m just in awe. I’m more jealous I never got to meet her.
“I one-hundred percent believe you dance, Dylan, but there’s no way you can convince me the grinch over there dances willingly. Let alone dances well.”
“Only for our mom,” Dylan answers for his brother with a wink toward Jason, the playfulness the two brothers share on occasion takes me so off guard. If it weren’t for the similar resemblance, you’d think they were only roommates sharing bills and a business.
I didn’t realize a challenge had been thrown down, but when the song changes to “Rockin Around the Christmas Tree”, Jason approaches me, sweaty bare chest and all, and yanks me off the couch where I was cocooning for the day. Before I have a chance to gain my footing, one of his large handspresses to my lower back, sealing our bodies together while the other takes my left hand and holds it out like we are about to waltz. But this isn’t a waltzing song. This tune requires frivolity, light-heartedness, and lots of movement. Jason sweeps me into a twirl around the room while I struggle to keep up with his pace. We’re making a circle around the couch as he corrals my two left feet into something that resembles a dance. If I didn’t know any better, you’d think I was dancing. I’m good with my feet when I’m playing sports, but anything faster than a gentle sway on the dance floor is out of my comfort zone.
Yet here I am, rocking around the proverbial Christmas tree with Jason Alder on Christmas morning. I never would have guessed this would be in my future. I shouldn’t even be here for this Christmas. It’s like Jason intervened with the universe’s plans and now I’m smiling and laughing at how silly I feel dancing around the living room with him. Even he starts to smile a bit. Try as he might to hide it, the left corner of Jason’s mouth pulls up ever so slightly to reveal a hint of a dimple. There have been very rare occasions where he graces us with a smile. It blinds me every time to see the contrast of his hardened features softening to a smile with something that one might call happiness.
It dawns on me that maybe he always looks unhappy because he is. Even in high school. All the years we’ve orbited around each other in our respective circles and somehow I’ve never seen him smile or look remotely entertained until I started living here.
Even prom night in the bathroom. He wasn’t happy, per se, he was determined. Horny, maybe. No smiling was involved.
I can’t help but wonder what his smile would look like at full force.
Jason releases me half way through the song by twirling me under his arm so I come face to face with Dylan who takes Jason’s position and we start to dance with the same gaiety. I can’t contain my laughter. This is just too wild. It feels sonormalbut also completely new and enthralling.
I’ve never had a Christmas with so much joy and it’s only eight in the morning.
