Page 81 of Wedge

“Chow hall turkey, a few years. Gavin’s table, most of the rest.” I press a kiss to the top of his head. “Christmas at Ben’s sounds good. Jasmine in a Santa hat sounds excellent.”

“Deal.”

He turns back to the game, killing Geth with abandon.

“Had some news, a guy from my old apartment,” he says between battles, steering the Mako around some hills.

“Oh yeah? That place should be condemned.”

“Not that bad. Heating and plumbing all worked, mostly.”

“Hmph. What was the news?”

“Manuel got himself arrested for assaulting a police officer.”

I gape at him. He takes down another Colossus. “Not gonna say I told you so.” I pause. “I’m just glad you were on my couch and not next door.”

“You were right,” he says as he blasts a turret.

“Damn right I was,” I reply, kissing the side of his head fiercely.

Ben’s house smells like butter and rosemary before we even get the door open. Snow squeaks under our boots on the porch. The foothills behind the house are blue in the early dark, every window glowing gold. Geoff’s been at this since dawn, apparently. The whole kitchen is a controlled disaster of pastry and beef and six different side dishes competing for oven space.

“There they are,” Ben calls, wrangling Jasmine into a red velvet dress she’s clearly already trying to escape. “Adrian, Stephen, get in here. It’s chaos.”

It is chaos, good chaos, the kind that fills a house up instead of stretching it thin. A fire snaps in the living room, the tree in the corner is strung with so many white lights it hums, and every surface has a bowl of something on it. Gavin and TJ are already sprawled on the couch when we walk in, TJ arguing with Caleb about some football game on mute in the background. TJ’s father, Todd Sr., is planted in the good armchair with the specific satisfaction of a man who knows he’s earned the best seat in the house.

“Stephen,” Gavin says, standing to give me a hug, then shake Adrian’s hand, something warm and easy about him now. “Heard you’ve had a hell of a year.”

“Heard you did too,” Adrian says.

“Every year’s a hell of a year around here,” TJ calls from the couch, not looking up. “It’s a theme.”

Adrian moves to the couch and allows Caleb to envelop him in a hug.

Next door’s contingent shows up twenty minutes later, Ben’s neighbors, a couple I’ve met exactly twice before, and their son Benjamin, eight years old and immediately gravitating toward Jasmine’s abandoned toy pile like it’s the whole point of the party. Ben’s sister Carolyn arrives not long after with her own twins, Darcy and Justin, eight as well, snow still melting off their hats, and the three kids fall in together instantly, the particular easy chaos of kids who’ve clearly spent every holiday together for years.

“You’re outnumbered on this one, Ben,” Carolyn says, grinning at him while she wrangles a coat off one twin and a backpack off the other. “Mom already has opinions about next year’s Easter.”

“Mom always has opinions, Carolyn.”

“Mom already called the caterer.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Language, at Christmas, in front of the children,” Carolyn says primly, and the whole room laughs, Ben included, some old sibling rhythm neither of them can quite resist even when they’re annoyed with each other.

I end up in the kitchen at some point, half-helping Geoff plate sides and some little cucumber sandwiches, half just watching him work, methodical and calm in the middle of all that noise, the windows fogged, a timer going off somewhere behind him. Beef Wellington comes out of the oven looking like something off a magazine cover.

“You’ve done this before,” I say.

“Every year since Ben and I got together. The learning curve was steep.” He grins, sliding the Wellington onto a cutting board with practiced care. “First year I burned the pastry so bad, we ordered pizza and pretended it was intentional.”

“Better story than a perfect Wellington.”

“That’s what I tell myself now.” He glances past me, out toward the living room, where Adrian’s crouched on the floor now, helping Benjamin and Darcy and Justin build something out of blocks while Jasmine tries to demolish it just as fast, the whole scene lit warm by the tree in the corner. “Next year, two more kids will be crawling around,” he smiles.

“That going okay?” I ask, and he nods.