Page 27 of Longing for the Minotaur
“Quiet is the word,” I echo. Then we part, and the parents come out to say hello.
As the sun sets, snow begins to fall outside in big, fat flakes. We all crowd at the window, sipping our eggnog as it covers the front walkway. Then it’s time for our annual viewing of all our favorite Christmas films while the ham cooks.
I want to sit beside Banon on the couch, curl up against him with his arm wrapped around me. Instead, I sit on the far end while he takes the La-Z-Boy. I’ll glance over at him and find himalready looking at me, and then one of us winks or grins before we both try to look away again.
Then the food is out, and it’s like Thanksgiving: Volume Two as we dish up potatoes and gravy and crescent rolls. Banon talks about the game he played before Christmas break, and how they won by a big margin. Now his coach is talking about making him captain.
“He caught the most insane throw,” I say proudly. “Like, it should have been physically impossible for him to get that ball, and yet.”
Banon stares at me, his mouth falling open.
Oh, fuck. I did not mean to say that.
“You saw him play?” Marissa asks, surprised. “I didn’t think you went to any of the games, Val.”
“Um.” I have to think fast to come up with a story. “Yeah. I, uh, wanted to interview him. For the school paper.”
Dad raises an eyebrow. “I didn’t know you’d joined the newspaper, either.”
“Just on a part-time basis. He’s an alumnus, you know, so we’re always interested in what alumni are doing after they graduate school.”
“Working for The Moving Brothers?” Dad asks. “Sounds riveting.”
Marissa frowns and elbows him. “Hey, it’s a good job.”
“Not really newsworthy, though.”
“The fact Banon is still playing is newsworthy,” I argue. “And doing great for his team, too.”
Now both my dad and Marissa are eyeing me with suspicion, while Banon shakes his head on the other side of the table.
“Well, I’m glad you went,” his mother finally says. “And it’s cool you’re on the newspaper now, Val! Exciting stuff.”
Great. They’re going to want to see the article when it comes out, and there won’t be one. Banon sighs, and I wish I’d thought it through just a little more before opening my mouth.
The conversation turns to other things as we stuff our faces. When dinner’s over, us kids take up cleaning duty, and I put the leftovers away while Banon starts scrubbing dishes. Once Marissa and Dad go into the living room to set up the next movie, Banon walks past me and grabs my ass on the way.
I shiver all over just thinking about what comes later.
We sit through one more film, this time one of Marissa’s favorites, an animated movie with haunting music. It’s beautiful and strange, and I’m emotional by the end. When I look over, though, my dad is asleep and Marissa is crying. Banon is watching me, tipping his head.
“That one’s intense, isn’t it?” he asks. “For being animated.”
At last, it’s time for bed. We put cookies and milk on the counter and make sure the fire is out, just like when I was a kid. It’s a stupid tradition, but it brings all of us joy, and then Dad always eats the cookies in the morning before breakfast, much to Marissa’s chagrin.
Then Marissa hands out the packages containing our pajamas—we get a new set every year on Christmas Eve. This time, mine are black and red, with cute little bows on the collar and waist. Banon’s are gray and loose fitting, with a slogan across the front that reads, “Mess with the bull and you’ll get the horns.”
The snow has already piled high in front of the windows, which means a morning of digging out the driveway. But that’s for tomorrow me to deal with. For tonight, I can enjoy the soft glow of snowflakes falling under the streetlights as we all stand looking outside. I’m beside Banon by coincidence, and I lightly brush a hand over his thigh to let him know I’m there.
Finally, we turn all the lights off and retreat to our bedrooms. I putter around, trying to read a book for a few minutes before getting impatient with it and tossing it aside. I know I should wait at least an hour for Dad and Marissa to get ready for bed and fall asleep, but I’m anxious to be with Banon again for the first time since that walk in the park.
After wasting more time scrolling on my phone, it’s finally late enough that I think we’re safe. I head into the Jack-and-Jill bathroom, where Banon’s light is still on under his door. I knock quietly, and the low music pauses. Then the door opens, and there’s my minotaur again, his black horns gleaming in the light, his nostrils flared as he sniffs me, his blue eyes bright and twinkling. I reach up and run a hand through the buckskin fur along his cheek, leaning into just how soft and warm he is under my fingers.
“Valentina.” His tongue licks my name. “You made it.”
“Of course I did.” I slide into the room, and he closes the door behind me. “Sorry about the newspaper thing. God, that was so stupid.”
He grins a sort of sad grin. “Yeah. It was pretty stupid.”
