Page 2 of Nutcracker with Benefits
There’s a moment of silence, one that feels heavy for a reason I can’t fathom, and then Uncle D calls back, “In the kitchen.”
I shed my coat and sweater before wandering in, but the tension in the room is thick and makes me pause. Clara, still in her athleisure wear from the flight, is perched on a barstool, looking like she would rather be anywhere else, while Uncle D and her father stand across the kitchen island. Both of them are white men in their fifties, and while Craig has a full head of dark hair with gray sprinkled into his beard and sideburns, Rolf keeps his balding head cropped close. A frown and lines of concern at the corner of his eyes mar Craig’s features. Uncle D is in a familiar stance, supportive and clearly on his husband’s side, but not wanting to interfere with parenting.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
They all have coffee mugs in front of them, partially full but cold and ignored.
“You’re sleeping with my daughter?” Craig volleys back.
Well, I thought I was nervous before.
I glance at Clara, and though I’m guessing she’s been traveling for a very long time and hasn’t showered or slept in a while, she’s beautiful. Her sandy-blonde hair is up in a ponytail, bare-faced, and she’s nervously chewing on her lip.
As a programmer, my brain is used to seeing options and playing the what-if game. This is a variable I hadn’t seen coming. Will this help my plan or hurt it? I don’t have time to think about it, but the question in front of me only has one right answer.
I raise an eyebrow, checking with Clara before I open my mouth. Truth?
She gives me a subtle nod, and I stand next to her, an arm going around her shoulder and our bodies touching. She leans into me slightly, and the thrill of this somewhat-public acknowledgment settles me.
“Yes, sir.”
“The last time you called me ‘sir’ was when you first moved in with us. Were you sleeping together then?”
“No, sir.”
Craig looks like he wants to ask questions—a lot of questions—but I hope he doesn’t ask what this is between us. I haven’t lied to Uncle D and Craig since I was nineteen when Uncle D discovered that I hadn’t told them about my parents kicking me out. I promised I would never lie to him again, and I haven’t. I held up my end of the bargain, and he held up his, becoming my safe space, my shelter when I didn’t have anywhere else to go.
If he asks what this is between us, what my intentions are with his daughter, I’ll have to tell him one of two truths.
I could tell him that I’ve been fucking Clara behind his back, casually, for nearly a decade.
Or I could confess that I’m in love with Clara when she isn’t ready to hear it.
Uncle D places a hand on Craig’s shoulder and squeezes. His smile is supportive, and while he doesn’t say that he knew…I bet he knew.
“Okay,” Craig says on a deep breath out. “Okay. I just wish you had told us about this instead of hiding your relationship. It feels like you don’t trust us. And to find out this way is just jarring.”
“Dad—” Clara starts but is interrupted by the dinging of the elevator arriving. Fritz and his family are here, abbreviating our conversation and swinging us back into Christmas mode.
When the elevator doors open in the small foyer, it’s a flurry of kids. Normally, they’re already excited to see their grandparents but add in Christmas, and it’s a whole different kind of mayhem, the kind that only four-year-old kids can bring.
We brace ourselves as the twins come screaming down the hall towards the pile of presents under the tree. They’re in their PJs, but we’ve always done presents here, so they’ve had to wait so long to open gifts.
“This one! Me first!” Molly shouts, and Fritz, Clara’s younger brother, drops a diaper bag on the floor.
“No presents yet,” Whitney, his wife, says. “Say hello to Grandpa and Pop-Pop first. And Auntie Clara, you remember her?”
Uncle D, or Pop-Pop as the kids call him, squats down to give Molly and Ricky hugs.
Craig, aka Grandpa, follows, and they take turns exclaiming over the twins’ wacky Christmas pajamas.
“What is that?” Craig points at the brown lump wearing a Santa hat on Ricky’s pajama bottoms.
“Poop!” Ricky shouts, as pleased as a four-year-old can be.
“Mine is a T-rex!” Molly’s not to be outdone.
“Whitney!” Clara says and hugs her sister-in-law awkwardly while Whitney has Benny, the five-month-old, strapped to her chest.
