People mill around the spectacle, taking in the best city in the world dressed up for their enjoyment.
“It is impressive.” Beau bumps into my shoulder lightly. “It’s no sunrise over the orchard on a fall morning, but it’s nice. For a little bit.”
“Wait, shit. How early do you have to get up to see a sunrise?”
Beau flashes that charming smile and opens his mouth.
“You know what, never mind. Whatever you answer is not going to make it okay.” I wave the answer away.
“What’s the plan?” He changes the subject obligingly.
“That.” I tilt my head to the skaters below us. Another Christmas season first I’m having with him: ridiculously overpriced, crowded skating at Rockefeller Center. Where the people watching is amazing.
“That there? You want me to get on frozen water that, if someone miscalculated and it gets a few degrees warmer, could go back to its liquid form? While I’m on it?”
“You just described ice-skating, yes. Have you not skated before?”
He looks so nervous. And his accent is getting deeper. Does this happen with other emotions beside fear? He did deepen it at least once on purpose, for effect. “It doesn’t get very cold in South Carolina...”
“They make outdoor rinks in Southern California now.”
“It just doesn’t seem prudent...”
“Of course not. When is funprudent?”
“Running a 5k is prudent fun.”
I recoil in disgust. “Oh no. Is there like wine or a doughnut cake at the end?”
I mean, I like kickboxing as exercise. I get to punch things, and people say it’s healthy. But running? Pass.
I turn to our planned activity for the evening and feel his hand rest on the small of my back as we walk. This is nice. “I could only get a later reservation, so we have to wander for a bit.”
“Maybe they won’t even have time for us. They’ll probably get a bus full of schoolchildren who want to celebrate Christmas. We can’t stand in their way. They’re the kids.”
I laugh. “You’re afraid of this but you’ll let poor innocent children take the risk?”
He looks chagrined. If he says, “Aww shucks,” I’ll melt into a pile of seduced lady.
He doesn’t oblige. “It’s really safe. I hear they’re even doing it in California.”
I laugh and lead him to a building on the outer edge of the rink. This should make up for the unintended terror of the activity.
“I don’t think I need to go shop—holy shit, are we going to the LEGO store?” His hand leaves the small of my back, and Beau looks at the storefront with a bemused expression on his face.
“We definitely are.” Their window is already decked out in the Christmas spirit, with a giant LEGO tree and LEGO people, holding, well, LEGO presents made of LEGOs. Very meta.
“Sorry about the language,” he says.
“I truly do not give one fuck. Now get in there, tiger.” I pop him on the butt. His firm butt.
The store is packed with families, meaning small children are running amok among the multiple LEGO scenes in the store, especially the giant reconstruction of the Rockefeller Center, complete with LEGO Spider-Man.
“I’m going to win uncle of the year this Christmas.” Beau grabs a set.
“Are you going to get any for your kids? Or maybe for your wife? Or girlfriend? Or husband? Nonbinary partner? For your vow of celibacy?” Yup. That’s out there now.
“Wow. Do wives like LEGO sets?”
