Christmas Waltz Page 2

  “I don’t know.” Con doubted it. Not in the short term, anyway. Not that Wes was rigid exactly, but he had everything just the way he liked it in his life. He was not particularly adventurous, and he was definitely not experimental.

  “You’re spending a lot of time together.”

  “Yeah, but he said early on he didn’t want to send any confusing messages to Lizzy.”

  “That was in the beginning. You guys have been together for a couple of months now.”

  “I don’t sleep over there on the nights Liz is home. Which is still most nights.”

  As though choreographed, they turned their backs as a gust of wind sent a small dust devil skipping and hopping toward them. Or maybe that was just a very sandy kid wishing to lodge a complaint.

  When they turned to face the yard again, Pip said, “If he asked you to move in, would you?”

  “Yeah.”

  Pip threw him a curious look. “You’re that sure?”

  Con nodded. He was. Yes. He loved Wes. But he knew what Pip was really saying. Wes was older; he had a kid and a job that took up most of his time and attention. He was a passionate and attentive lover, but he was not Prince Charming. Pip thought Con deserved Prince Charming. She thought he deserved moonlight and roses and champagne. Wes was fine for now, but Con would be settling for less if he moved in with Wes. That was Pip’s view.

  But as much as Con would have liked moonlight and roses and champagne, he understood Wes. He was like Wes in a lot of ways. He liked security and stability, and he understood all about responsibility and commitment.

  He didn’t think moving in with Wes would be “settling.” He also didn’t think that would be happening anytime soon.

  * * * * *

  “Con,” Wes said abruptly.

  Con looked up. It was Thursday night, and they were having another late dinner at Wes’s. He’d be heading home after dinner because Lizzy was not staying over at her mom’s after all. It was disappointing, but it couldn’t be helped. Tomorrow night wouldn’t work because Con would be driving north to visit his mother. In fact, that’s what he’d mostly been thinking about, that he should have let Wes take his car in for a tune-up because the engine was making that weird ticking sound again.

  At the grim expression on Wes’s face, the tuna casserole he’d just swallowed seemed to lodge in his throat. “What’s wrong?” he got out around the lump of tuna and noodle.

  “I think I made a mistake,” Wes said.

  “About what?” Con tried to sound neutral, but given the precarious start to their relationship, maybe his instant anxiety wasn’t unreasonable. Or maybe it was just that tuna casserole didn’t agree with him. One casserole too many?

  Wes was still gazing at him with that uncharacteristic mix of unease and worry. “I wanted to surprise you, but I just realized maybe…”

  “You made a mistake?”

  “Maybe.” Color rose in Wes’s face. “The thing is, we haven’t had a lot of time to ourselves, and you’ve been working so hard, I just thought maybe you’d like something…different. Something more…”

  Wes seemed to be waiting for Con to fill in the blank. Con said cautiously, “More…different?”

  Wes gave a tiny shake of his head. “Romantic,” he said in a pained tone.

  “Romantic?” Con echoed in astonishment.

  Wes went redder. “Yeah. I thought over what you said about spending Christmas together, and I thought if we went away somewhere for a few days where we wouldn’t have any interruptions—”

  “We’re going away for Christmas?”

  “If you want to,” Wes said. “I probably should have asked. I know I should have asked. I know you’re not crazy about surprises.”

  “I’m not?” Con felt like laughing—and he felt like crying—and he wasn’t even sure why. “Where are we going for Christmas?”

  “Hawaii,” Wes said. “Blue water, white sand.”

  “Moonlight and roses?” Con suggested. “Champagne?”

  “Er, sure. If that’s what you want,” Wes said, but he was starting to smile too, looking more like his usual assured and capable self. “I want our first Christmas together to be…”

  Con missed the rest of that. Our first Christmas together. Those were the words he needed to hear. Everything else was fine by him.

  He glanced over his shoulder at the empty hallway and then leaned forward. “It already is,” he said.

  World’s Best Tuna Noodle Casserole

  Ingredients

  10½ ounces cream of chicken soup

  ½ cup mayonnaise

  ¼ cup milk

  ½ cup diced yellow onion

  ½ cup diced celery

  6 ounces albacore tuna

  6 ounces cooked egg noodles

  ¼ cup shredded Cheddar cheese

  Salt and pepper to taste

  Directions

  Mix the cream of chicken, mayonnaise, and milk together in a large bowl. Add the diced celery and onion.

  Fold in the tuna, followed by the cooked egg noodles and shredded Cheddar cheese. Season with salt and pepper.

  Place in a casserole dish.

  Cook at 375°F for about 40-45 minutes, just until the top starts to brown. Feeds 4-6.

  SLINGS AND ARROWS: Carey and Walter

  “Everything is not a joke,” Walter said.

  Which was a clue to how tense he was about the upcoming Christmas dinner with his father and his father’s new wife. Walter usually liked Carey’s sense of humor.

  “I don’t think everything is a joke,” Carey said, surprised.

  “Of course you do.” That was so unfair it almost seemed like Walter was trying to pick a fight. Which really was out of character.

  Carey didn’t enjoy confrontation, and he sure as hell didn’t want to fight with Walter, so he was quiet. Walter turned away and walked to the frost-edged window of the apartment, staring bleakly out at the night. In the raw silence, Carey could hear the departing wail of a distant train.

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go,” Walter said finally.

  “Go?”

  “Come. To Christmas,” Walter said tersely. He turned to face Carey, his gold-rimmed spectacles glinting blankly, his expression withdrawn.

  It was unexpected and painful. So painful that it took Carey a moment to say, “Look, Walt. I…know how to act in public. I’m not going to chew with my mouth open or talk about what we do in bed.”

  Walter’s expression went tighter, closed like a fist.

  “I don’t…understand,” Carey said at last.

  “I’ve changed my mind,” Walter said with the same cold preciseness he’d used back when he’d been Dr. Bing’s teaching assistant rebuffing all slackers and goof-offs. “I don’t think it would be a good idea for you to come with me. You can go to your parents’, correct? They’ll be happy to have you stay for a few days. We both know you’ll have a better time there.”

  Carey swallowed. He was afraid the sound was audible. But Walter’s expression did not change. He was not going to relent. He did not want Carey to go with him. It was that simple. Simple as an arrow through the heart.

  Carey said stiffly, “In that case, maybe I should just leave tonight.” He couldn’t imagine lying next to Walter in that perfectly appointed bedroom with all this between them. Hurt. Anger. Bewilderment.

  “I think that’s a good idea,” Walter said.

  * * * * *

  Was it over?

  Carey wasn’t sure.

  They had been together for just under a year. Walter loved him. He loved Walter. There was no question of that. There was no question that they were happy together. But Walter could be odd. Odd and hurtful. And Carey wasn’t sure that love was enough.

  Four months ago Walter’s father had abruptly remarried. Walter had attended the small, private civil service without Carey. It had sort of bothered Carey, but he had understood. There was no love lost between Walter and his father.

  “Believe me, you don’t want t
o go,” Walter had told him at the time.

  “I want to go if you want me there.”

  “I don’t want you there,” Walter had said.

  That was Walter at his most bluntly honest, but Carey had forborne to take offense. The little Walter had shared about his childhood had been alarming to someone who had grown up in a big, noisy, affectionate clan like Carey’s. No wonder Walter had a few, well, intimacy issues.

  When Walter had returned, he had said the wedding went smoothly and that he thought his new stepmother would suit his father. Carey had not pressed for more information. He was not sure he wanted to know.

  But this was Christmas. Their first Christmas together. This mattered to Carey. Not least because they had both been invited to spend it at Walter’s family estate. And they had accepted. Together. As a couple.

  Otherwise they could have spent it at Carey’s family—where they would always be welcome with or without formal invitation—together and as a couple.

  Instead they would be celebrating Christmas apart. And Carey wasn’t completely sure if they still were a couple or not. Was Walter ashamed of him? Did Walter really think Carey would make inappropriate jokes or use the wrong fork or…

  Or was it something else?

  Something even worse?

  Who knew with Walter…

  This time Carey didn’t feel like being understanding or patient. It took him less than fifteen minutes to pack his suitcase (later he discovered he’d forgotten his toothbrush) and headed straight for the front door.

  Walter was still staring out the window at the black and starless night. He didn’t turn around, and he didn’t say anything to stop Carey.

  “Have yourself a merry little Christmas,” Carey said bitterly. He regretted that crack later, but at least he refrained from slamming the door.

  * * * * *

  Christmas Day passed without a word from Walter.

  Carey had told himself he wasn’t expecting to hear from him, but the letdown was something akin to discovering Santa had skipped your zip code. His family showed unusual discretion and tactfully didn’t ask.

  It was a nice Christmas. It was a Christmas like all the Christmases that had come before it. And probably all the Christmases that would come after. The thing that would have made it different, remarkable, memorable was Walter.

  “Maybe next year,” his sister Susan said, and Carey smiled noncommittally.

  He stayed over the weekend. Walter wasn’t flying back until Monday anyway, so there was no reason to hurry home.

  On Monday Carey debated staying another night, but it was starting to feel like he was hiding out. If he didn’t go home, he needed a reason, and that reason would have to be there was something seriously wrong between him and Walter.

  If he went home now, they could pretend it had just been an ordinary, run-of-the-mill argument. Carey wasn’t sure he was ready to face it being more than that. Once he’d stopped being so angry, he’d started missing Walter. He still loved Walter. Doubts about the future didn’t change that.

  But sooner or later they were going to have to face it. Whatever it was.

  * * * * *

  The minute Carey unlocked the front door, he knew Walt was home.

  The apartment was silent, but the silence had a living, breathing quality. Relieved, Carey pushed open the door and walked inside.

  There was a neat tower of expensively wrapped red and green parcels on the chrome and glass coffee table. His own gift to Walt, a plum-colored cashmere pullover, hung over the arm of the sofa. All other signs of Christmas had been cleared away. Walt was in the kitchen, making a grilled-cheese sandwich.

  He looked up at Carey’s entrance. “How was your family?” he asked.

  “Fine,” Carey said. “How was yours?”

  “Fine.” Walter was unsmiling and serious. But that was usual for Walt.

  “Did you have a nice Christmas?” Carey asked.

  “It was all right,” Walter said politely. “How was yours?”

  Carey opened his mouth. But he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t play the game, couldn’t be a part of this. He wasn’t built like Walter. His former relief that everything could go back to normal vanished—because this was not normal.

  “I missed you,” he said. “But I guess I better get used to that.”

  Walter’s pale, bony face reddened. “Carey—”

  Carey waited, but Walter didn’t go on.

  Carey let out a long weary sigh. He hadn’t realized how tired he was. It was the effort of holding back all that sadness and worry. But there was no holding it back now. “That’s what I thought,” he said.

  “What did you think?” Walter turned off the stove and came across the kitchen to Carey, but Carey put a hand up to stop him. Walter did stop. He looked stricken.

  “Carey,” he said in a very different voice.

  “I don’t know any way to explain it that I’m not going to sound childish or petty,” Carey said. “But this isn’t about where we spend the holiday. Or how we celebrate, except that holidays are for spending with the people we love.”

  “Next year we’ll spend it with your family,” Walter said quickly.

  “No. I don’t think we will because…” Carey swallowed but made himself go on. “I’m not sure we’ll be together next year. I don’t think we will be.”

  Walter put a hand out to grip the back of one of the kitchen table chairs—as if Carey had punched him. No, more like Carey had delivered some mortal blow. “Of course we’re going to be together,” Walter said. He sounded almost frightened. “I love you, and I know you love me.”

  “I do,” Carey admitted. “But I just spent the most unhappy five days of my entire life. And I don’t even know why.”

  “Why what?”

  “Why it had to be that way. You shut me out—and not the first time—and there’s no debate, no discussion. It’s just the way it is. And then when you decide to open the door again, everything goes back to the way it was. Except now I’ll be waiting for the next time the door slams.”

  “It’s not like that,” Walter said. “If I’m…if I’m closing doors, it’s to protect you.”

  “Give me a break, Walt,” Carey said, surprised to find himself getting angry.

  “It’s true.”

  Carey shook his head and turned away. Walter caught his arm. “Wait.”

  Carey stared at Walter, seeing the jump of his Adam’s apple, the little nerve pulsing in his cheek. He seemed unaware his fingers were digging into Carey’s forearm. Walter kept himself in tight check all the time. Only with Carey did he ever let his guard down.

  “I love you, and I don’t want to lose you,” Walter whispered.

  It killed him to hurt Walter. “I love you too, but we’re already losing each other if we can’t be honest.”

  “Wait. Listen to me,” Walter said. “Just…listen.”

  Walter didn’t go on, but Carey listened anyway. And he did feel like there was some kind of plea in Walter’s struggling silence.

  “Walt,” he said helplessly. “Talk to me.”

  “I don’t want you to see me like they do,” Walter burst out. “I don’t want you to see me through their eyes.”

  “I don’t. I wouldn’t. What does that even mean?”

  Walter flushed red and then went very pale. His voice was almost inaudible as he said, “I don’t know why you love me, but you do. And I don’t want you to stop. I know it’s not logical. It’s not rational. But I don’t want you to change toward me.”

  Relief washed through Carey. This was one explanation that had not occurred. Maybe it should have, knowing even the little he did about Walter’s childhood. He was shocked too. Shocked by how much damage Walter’s parents had casually inflicted on their only child…shocked because it was clear to him that Walter had come to terms with it, accepted it. Accepted the warped views of those shallow, selfish, stupid people.

  He was still angry, but now it was on Walter’s behalf. “I’m
not going to change.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  Walter shook his head. “Sometimes, even now, it’s a struggle for me not to see myself like they do.”

  “They don’t see you at all. If they did, they’d know you’re strong and smart and kind and a great person. A great man.”

  Walter’s smile was strange. He didn’t bother to argue. Like he thought Carey was delusional, but that he found his madness charming.

  “You have to have some faith in me.”

  “I do. This is about not having faith in myself.”

  Carey said carefully, “But it’s also about not having faith in me and what I feel for you. If you think my feelings can be changed by someone else’s bad opinion, you must not know I love you.”

  “I know you love me.” There was a touch of the old, arrogant Walter. It was kind of a relief to see it.

  “That’s right. I do. And I don’t want a stack of expensive presents. I want you. All of you. The good and the bad. The real you. Isn’t that how you want me?”

  Walter said instantly, “Of course.”

  “Buying a bunch of presents is like something your dad would do.”

  Walter looked startled and then dismayed. “It wasn’t like that. I just want you to feel appreciated.”

  Carey started to smile. It was going to be okay after all. This was something they could work on. Together. Happiness filled the hollow ache he’d carried inside for the past five days.

  Watching him, Walter smiled tentatively in response. He drew Carey toward him, and this time Carey yielded.

  He said softly, “Okay, well, as far as making me feel appreciated, I’ve got a couple of ideas…”

  Pillsbury Bacon Cheese Pull-Aparts

  The SO and I have this for breakfast A LOT during the holidays. It’s obviously not a very healthy choice, but it is delicious and very quick to prepare.

  Ingredients

  2 eggs

  ¼ cup of milk

  1 can (16.3 ounces) Pillsbury Grands! Flaky Layers refrigerated biscuits