Page 18 of Make You Mine This Christmas
“Sounds like pasta for dinner then.” I smile, and Brody matches it. I know we need to talk about what he revealed, but we can do that with full stomachs. “There’re some meatballs in the freezer. I’ll get them going too. I put some clothes on your bed if you want. I can throw anything you might need to wear again tomorrow in the wash. We can place a pickup order to grab on the way home tomorrow night for anything you might need in the interim.”
I see Brody’s eyes widen when I refer to my place as home. An honest slip of the tongue. But even though he decided our future without me ten years ago, I can’t deny there’s something about having him in my space, getting the chance to know this new and different Brody. It doesn’t mean I have to give him my heart. But it might mean I can gain back a friend.
“I’ll go get changed then,” he says, heading back down the hall. I busy myself with putting water on to boil and preheating the oven. I move the load of towels I left in the dryer two days ago to the waiting hamper, so glad I didn’t forget a load in the washer that needs to be rewashed.
Brody shuffles back out into the kitchen, the jeans and sweater he wore all day in hand. I catch a flash of white for his undershirt and black for his boxer briefs in the mix. My eyes flash toward his crotch all on their own. Is he free-balling it in my sweatpants right now? Why does the idea he isdosomething to me?
He’s still standing there, clothes in hand. I jolt into action.
“Oh, right. Washer’s over here.” I walk the five steps across the room to where the stainless-steel stacked unit gleams. Right, I’m sure he spotted it. I open the door, and he tosses his clothes in.
“Did you want to put anything in too, so we’re not running a load for six pieces of clothing?” My brain tries to figure out what the other two pieces are while Brody keeps talking. “And if I could bother you for a pair of socks too, that would be great. Floor’s a little cold.”
His toes lift and fall in order against the linoleum that requires me to keep my feet in slippers even in the heat of summer.
“Oh shit, of course. I’ll be right back.” I, once again, hurry away from Brody. Finding my back-up slippers in my closet, I grab those, a pair of socks, and the top few things from my hamper. When I make it back to the kitchen, Brody’s pouring pasta into the boiling water.
“Here you go.” I try to hand him only the slippers and socks, but everything else falls out of my hands too. And there, on the floor, are a pair of Jack-o’-lantern briefs, lying right next to my Turkey Day briefs.
I duck down to grab them. “Swear I’ve done laundry since Halloween. Since Thanksgiving too, honestly. Sometimes I just grab whatever’s on top.”
“I didn’t say anything.” Brody’s smile says plenty with the same twinkle in his eye that looks so in place when he’s wearing his Santa suit. He leans against the counter and pulls on the wool socks I brought him before stuffing his shoes into the slippers. I busy myself with throwing the rest of my laundry—and shame—into the washer and starting the load.
“So, you have more than one pair of slippers?” Brody asks.
“Yeah,” I say, heading to the oven to check on the meatballs. “My mom gets me a pair every year for Christmas, and I usually keep last year’s pair in reserve in case I have someone over.” How that sounds registers once it’s out of my mouth, but it’s too late now. Might as well lean into it. “You know what they say—we bisexuals can’t keep it in our pants.”
“Stop it.” The fierceness in Brody’s voice makes me turn around to face him. “Stop putting yourself in the slutty bisexual box. Society does it enough for you. You can sleep with whoever you want—it doesn’t matter that they may not all share the same parts.”
“I... I know. I was kidding,” I say, my chest warming at the vigor with which Brody defended me.
“Good,” he says, nodding once. “Besides, I remember how upset biphobia gets you.”
My grin widens, remembering the rant Brody’s referring to. Some social media post or another set me off, and I spent a good five minutes ranting about society discounting bisexuals, especially bisexual men. He nodded and listened the whole time. When I finally ran out of steam, he showed me just how much he appreciated my bisexuality by getting on his knees and?—
Briiiing.
The oven timer interrupts the sexy memory. One glance at Brody’s face, catching the way his eyes dart back up from my crotch, tells me his mind went to the exact same place. Not dangerous at all.
“Time to eat!” I say, my voice too loud. Brody strains the pasta and guesses the cupboard with the bowls right on the first try while I take the meatballs out and warm up some sauce. We’re both settled on the couch eating in silence before Brody speaks again.
“You mentioned your mom buys you slippers. How is she doing?”
Brody’s time in town came right after Mom’s got the “no evidence of disease” news from her doctors. She wanted—no, needed—to get back to some semblance of normal, but I struggled with doing the same. Brody served as a great distraction, but never complained about me having dinner with her a few times a week.
“She’s doing great. Had scans a few weeks ago, and they came back clear. She should be retiring from the craft store soon, but is hoping to go part time instead. Says she missed helping people make their visions come to life most of all when she was sick. She’s slowed down some with age but will deny it if you suggest that’s the case.” Our forks clink against the bowls as I work up the nerve to ask what’s on my mind. “Do you really make a donation every year on my birthday?”
Brody nods. “Your mom is the most important person in your life, and like I said, one of the reasons I couldn’t be the only reason you left Winterberry Glen. I thought a donation was the least I could do. They were small during law school, but have become more sizable since.”
It’s rude to ask how sizable. But again, the question of why Brody’s not a lawyer anymore, and how much money he can possibly make as a professional Santa are at the front of my mind. Brody asked me not to bring it up tonight, so I pivot to the other elephant in the room.
“I know you think you had my best interests at heart in not wanting me to leave the Glen, but you decided it all on your own. That’s not fair to me.”
Brody nods. “I know. I swear to you, that’s the reason I had in my head when I snuck away in the middle of the night. But with some time, and some therapy, I’ve come to realize how selfish I was to make that decision for you, not selfless like I thought. You weren’t part of the plan, and where I was in life, I couldn’t see anything outside of the plan. It sounds stupid and small-minded now. For what it’s worth, you would have hated Law School Brody. I had to work hard to become a Brody who even deserves to give you an apology.”
His eyes never leave mine while he’s talking. He holds my gaze even now, but I can see in the tight way he’s clutching onto the bowl and grabbing the fabric of his pants he’s dying to look away. I hold him in place just a bit longer.
“When I found out you were gone and then found out you had canceled the lease in Amherst, it broke something in me.” I try never to think about my drive to the place we toured together, sneaking into the building and knocking on the door, only to have someone else answer. Their moving boxes in various states of unpacked in the background. Cole stayed on the phone with me the whole way home to make sure I made it back safely. “I deleted your number, blocked you on social media, and tried to pretend you never existed. Well, as much as you can pretend someone who’s altered you completely doesn’t exist.”
