“He said if we’re not invited, he’s not going either. I heard Rafael in the background saying, ‘what the fuck?’”
“Wow! I really don’t want to see Uncle David anyway. He told me my mother would roll over in her grave if she knew what I was doing. He meant living with you and being gay.”
“You didn’t tell me that before.” Brogan cuddled Archie in his arms. “I’m so sorry. You know that’s not true.”
“I know, but it makes me wonder.”
Chapter Three
Brogan
Brogan was curled upon the couch next to Archie, the glow of the Christmas tree casting soft shadows across the room. The ornaments shimmered in the low light, and for once, everything felt still. Peaceful. Molly and Pasha were lying in front of the warm fireplace, the fire crackling. Then the doorbell rang.
Archie got up first, and Brogan followed. Standing on the porch were Andrew and Rafael, bundled up and grinning, holding two large pizzas and a twelve-pack of beer like they were delivering salvation.
“We brought reinforcements,” Andrew said, lifting the boxes.
“Hope you’re hungry,” Rafael added with a wink.
They settled into the living room, paper plates balanced on their knees, and beer cans sweating on the coffee table. Rafael kept admiring the tree, pointing out the ornaments and the way the lights twinkled just right. Brogan liked him more than he expected to—quiet, observant, kind. He had said little before around them, but tonight he felt present and he wasn’t giving either a ticket.
After a few bites, Andrew cleared his throat. “I wanted to come by and talk about Christmas Day,” he said. “I know my dad told you that you’re not invited after I had invited you.”
Archie turned serious, but he didn’t say anything.
Andrew continued, “I didn’t know he was going to do that. I’m sorry. I’m going to talk to my mom, see if she can fix it.”
“If she can’t,” Rafael said, setting down his beer, “we’re not going either
Brogan blinked. That caught him off guard. Rafael had always been polite, but he hadn’t expected him to take such a clear stand or even join in their conversations.
“You’d skip Christmas with your family?” Brogan asked.
Rafael nodded. “I will not sit at a table where Archie’s not welcome. Where you’re not welcome. That’s not family.”
Andrew sighed. “My dad’s always been like this. He barely talks to us unless it’s to criticize. I thought maybe he’d mellow out, but… apparently not.”
“What about your family Christmas, Rafael?” Brogan asked.
“They celebrate on Christmas Eve, plus we are supposed to go to midnight mass as a family. My father is just as bad as Andrew’s.”
Brogan felt a mix of anger and disbelief. “Yeah, Andrew, he sure is nasty. He told Archie his mom would roll over in her grave,” he said. “That’s not just cruel—it’s disgusting.”
Andrew looked down. “He can be a monster sometimes. I’m sorry.”
Brogan glanced at Archie, who was staring into his half-empty beer can like it held all the answers. Brogan reached over and squeezed his hand. “You don’t deserve that kind of hate,” he said. “None of us do.”
The room went quiet for a moment, with just the hum of the heater and the soft crackle of the tree lights. Brogan felt the weight of it all—the hurt, the loyalty, the complicated mess of family, and was grateful, at least, for the people who showed up with pizza and beer and the guts to say, “We’re with you.”
“How is your new teaching job?” Rafael asked.
“The job is great. But it doesn’t end when the bell rings. I have tons of papers to correct. Essays take forever.”
“I guess it would take a long time.”
“Do you miss working at the Blue Star Diner?” Andrew asked.
“Yes, I miss all the people. It was a fun job.”
