Noah Bishop is an imposing man who takes everything far too seriously. At over six feet tall and sporting a permanent scowl, he’s what most would consider intimidating. I’ve long stopped being cowed by my father. He’s a corporate barrister, and the expectation was that I would follow in his footsteps. Amelia has chosen to study law, but it was never on my radar. I’ve always been intrigued by the arts. Drawing, designing, creating. I take after my mum that way.
“I hope you don’t intend to dress like that with family here tomorrow, Harlan. Be serious. You look ridiculous,” he scolds. I look down at my neon green jumper, with L&L’s logo and a silhouette of a man in lace, and under it, it says “Real men wear lace.” I inhale deeply, ready for the argument. Amelia goes tense, because she knows how this plays out.
“Surely there’s nothing wrong with a jumper and joggers, Father,” I challenge him, sarcasm dripping in my tone. I know my insolence is going to set him off. Amelia pinching my toe says that she knows it, too. Fuck this, though.
“You know very well what I’m talking about, Harlan. Don’t be obstinate.” He gestures to my jumper, and I follow his movement to the garment in question, as though I don’t understand. “Will you ever grow up?”
“Last I checked, I’ve been on my own for years, with no financial support from you after I graduated uni. You make it crystal clear, every single time I step through the door here, that you hate my job. I’m terribly sorry that I am not living up to your impossible expectations as your son,” I bite out. “Just tell me that you don’t want your friends and family to see my arse in advertisements. It’s perhaps a bit toogayfor you, yeah?”
“For fuck’s sake, you know I don’t care that you’re gay. We have done nothing but love and support you. Before you went and ruined things with Darío, we welcomed him as part of this family, without hesitation and without condition. It’s not too much to ask that you consider your future.” His face is crimson as his voice continues to rise.
I get to my feet, so I’m closer to eye level with my father. I try hard to control my temper with him, because it upsets my mum, but I’m done. “What you said, specifically, is that you don’t want me to wear anything that may give away where I work. I worked my arse off to build the career that I have, and all you ever do is shit on it. Of course you love Dare. He plays baseball, so he’s your ‘ideal’ son. This, right here, is exactly why I don’t come home more often. I ask for nothing from you. I moved to another continent, and you’ll still find a way to make me feel bad.” The yelling has drawn my mother to the sitting room, and she looks horrified.
“Noah, I asked you not to do this. Whymustyou? We so rarely have both kids home together. Harlan, you know your father supports you,” she starts, but I cut her off. Her defending him is getting old for me, too.
“No, Mum. He doesn’t support me. He barely disguises his disgust for my work, and the attempt to say that it’s out of concern for my future is quite offensive. I love you both, but I can’t keep doing this.” I’m so tempted to rebook my flights and go back to New York tomorrow. I storm out of the room, leavingmy parents to fight. I hear Amelia start to interject, but I can’t be arsed to stick around and listen.
In the quiet of my bedroom, I pull up the train schedule and buy my ticket to Kings Cross Station. Once I’ve done that, I schedule an Uber to get me there. I’m not convinced I’ll be able to find a flight for tonight, but I’ll stay in a hotel if necessary. There’s a knock on my door before my mum opens it, and her face crumples when she notices me packing.
“Lan, please don’t go,” she cries. “I’m sorry your father did that. He just doesn’t understand…” she trails off. He doesn’t understand me, is what she wants to say. I shake my head.
“Mum, I’m sorry. I can’t stay here. The constant judgment and sideways comments are exhausting. He’ll never change. The only time he didn’t do that was when Dare was here to talk about sport with him. I’m sorry I can’t be that person for him,” I apologize. “I wish I could be what he wants me to be, but I’m simply not.”
“I hate the thought of you traveling through the holiday, Harlan,” she pleads. I take her hand and pull her to sit next to me on the bed. Wrapping my arms around her, I squeeze her tight. I know I’m making the right decision. If I stay, tensions will get worse, and I can’t continue to allow him to do this to me. I promise my mum that I’ll meet her in London after the New Year, and she relents. “I love you exactly as you are, Harlan James. I’m proud of you, and I hope you know that.”
I rebook my flight back to New York for first thing tomorrow morning. I guess it’s a Christmas miracle that I was able to get a flight at all, so I ignore the price and the fact that I will be sitting in a middle seat on an otherwise full plane. I consider telling Dare that I’m coming home early, but stop short of sending the message. He’s with his family, and I don’t want him to worry about me.
With quick emotional goodbyes to my sister and mother, I leave them with their gifts and load my luggage into the Uber. On a whim, I check for tattoo shops in London that are open on Christmas Eve, and find one taking walk-ins. I smile, because maybe my holiday isn’t ruined after all. After sending a quick text to Antonella with my plan, I turn my phone on silent and ignore it until I check into my hotel for the night.
The smellof turkey roasting filters upstairs, pulling me out of my sleep. I listen for the sound of Craig’s snores, but the only noise is from Christmas music below. I fumble for my phone on the nightstand, checking the time, and realize it’s after ten. Thankfully, as an adult, my siblings allow me to sleep in on Christmas. I was hoping for a message from Harlan this morning, but there’s nothing. We’ve spoken almost daily, either by phone or text, since Thanksgiving weekend. I’ve also been lucky enough to see him on our morning runs. I’m hoping he’s just caught up in spending time with his family, but I’d be shocked if he didn’t get into a verbal sparring match with his father. I open our messages and scroll through the various pictures he’s shared from his trip, before I send him a text.
Me
Merry Christmas, sweetness. I hope Santa brought you everything you asked for. I can’t wait for New Year’s. Tell your family I said Merry Christmas. I really wish you were here.
Having a house full of family means no privacy, so after I use the bathroom and brush my teeth, I pull on a pair of flannel pajama pants and a T-shirt before I make my way downstairs. The turkey smelled incredible from my room, but as I descend the stairs, the aroma is even better. The smell of garlic and rosemary has my mouth watering. I’m not the least bit surprised to find my mother at the stove making Huevos Pericos, which is my absolute favorite Colombian breakfast. I don’t know what her secret is because the recipe is simple—eggs, chopped tomato, green onion, and cilantro—but mine never taste as good as hers.
I reach around her to grab an arepa off the plate on the stovetop and kiss her cheek. “Merry Christmas, Mama.” My grabby hands earn a smack from the spatula in her grasp, but I have no regrets, even if I yelp at the sting.
“It’s not ready,” she scolds in her thick accent. My parents both immigrated from Colombia as teenagers, and they made sure we all learned Spanish, basically from birth. It was all we were allowed to speak at home growing up. As adults, we tend to switch back and forth more frequently. “Merry Christmas,papito. Breakfast will be done soon, so you won’t starve.” I grin at the childhood nickname that my parents still use for Enrique and me.
In the living room, I find my father, brother, and sister watchingChristmas Vacation,with Craig passed out in front of the fireplace. “Merry Christmas,” I tell all of them, leaning down to kiss my father’s forehead. He barely takes his eyes off the movie to acknowledge me.Message received.It’s his favoriteChristmas movie, after all. Harlan’s corner of the sectional is free, and I’m hit with how much I miss him right now, as I settle into the space, with a blanket in my lap. I check my phone again for a response, but there’s nothing. The message is still showing as unread. I try not to read into that, but it’s starting to worry me.
“What’s wrong with you? You look upset,” Enrique observes. I scowl at him because bringing up Harlan will only have my parents going on and on about how he should be here with us. My siblings know the whole story, but I didn’t have the heart to tell my parents everything. I know they’d love Lan just the same, but they had a hard time with the breakup. I guess we all did in one way or another.
“Nothing,” I grumble. “Just hungry.” As if on cue, my mother calls us into the dining room to eat. Hopefully, this distracts my brother from asking more questions. Once my dad is sure his movie is paused, we shuffle into the dining room, where my mom has laid out a feast of Huevos Pericos, arepas, and chicharrones. Each place setting has a cup of black coffee. I drink the steaming beverage, gratefully. With my mother here, we’ll be drinking coffee until bedtime. She serves it with every meal, and a few random cups in between. Her bloodstream is probably half caffeine.
I make sure my parents get their food first, before I dig in for mine. Despite my epic failure for Friendsgiving, I actually am fairly competent in the kitchen. I generally don’t make meals like this since it’s a lot for one person, so this is a nice change from a protein shake or a bagel from the corner deli. Even when Lan lived here, we didn’t do breakfast like this very often. As we chat through breakfast, Antonella looks at her lap repeatedly, and her eyes are shifty, as if she’s up to no good. I wait for my parents to say something, since they hate phones at the table, but they are either oblivious or no longer care to enforce the rule. I nudgeAntonella with my toe, and she gives me a sharp look before focusing on the conversation with my parents again.
With breakfast finished, I insist my mother go sit and allow the kids to clean up. Antonella is whispering in the corner with Enrique when I return to the dining room to grab the rest of the plates. “I don’t know what you two are up to, but a bit of help would be cool,” I snap. They both instantly look guilty, but offer no apologies. My sister steps out of the dining room, while Enrique and I finish bringing the dishes to the kitchen.
“I’ll be back shortly,” Antonella calls from the front of the house. I can’t imagine where she’d go on Christmas morning. Most stores are closed, and yesterday, we triple-checked to make sure we had everything we needed for the day.
“Where is she going?” My brother ignores my question completely, continuing to load the dishwasher. “Dude, I know you hear me.” He continues with his task, and I throw a balled-up paper towel at his stupid face.
“I have no idea where she’s going. I'm here with you. Maybe Mama asked her to run to the corner store for something.” He feigns ignorance, which pisses me off even more. I don’t know why I’m allowing myself to get so annoyed. Aside from the fact that my message to Harlan now shows as read, I’ve yet to receive a response. I’m giving him another ten minutes before I call him.
I use Craig as an excuse to get outside for a bit, since no one wants to tell me where Antonella went. Hopefully the fresh air clears my head, and perhaps when we’re done, Harlan will have responded. Once I’m bundled for the weather and Craig has his Christmas sweater on, we step outside. There’s a fair bit of traffic as people head for their holiday destinations, but there’s something peaceful about the city on Christmas morning. The cold air stings my face, but it’s a welcome bite.
