Page 82 of Say It Again

“Like him?” He groaned. “Mama, I’m so bubbleheaded, irresponsibly, head-over-Christian-Louboutin-heels in love with that man, I feel like I might explode all over this kitchen.”

She gazed at him for a tick. Then it all happened in slow motion. First, she cupped her hands over her mouth. Then her forehead started to crinkle.

“Oh no,” he said. “Oh, hey, nooo. It’s okay.”

But he knew that look. He was king of that look. She was about to cry.

“No, no, no, Mama.” He shot up for a paper towel, but the opportunity to blot it away had passed. Behind the glare of her glasses, big tears spilled over onto her cheeks. “Oh shit.”

“Danny,” she said, wiping at her eyes. “Language.”

“Well, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“I’m not crying.” Her nose was all red and splotchy. “It’s just, oh, I don’t think I’ve ever heard you say that. It’s so snug and magical. Like a queer little Christmas movie.”

“Mom, stop,” he chuckled, wafting at his eyes because of course it was making him tear up. It was a taste of what Aaron probably felt anytime they spoke of anything with an emotional undercurrent. Heaven forbid they ever watch a queer little Christmas movie together. “If you don’t stop, then I’m going to start, and they can’t come back to both of us crying.”

“You’re right.” She ripped off her glasses to blow her nose into the paper towel loud as an elephant. “Did I mess up my makeup?”

Yes. The whole situation, amiss to begin with, now looked dire.

“Don’t you worry.” He patted her hand, then scurried off to the bathroom and returned with her makeup bag. “Dancake to the rescue.”

“So,” she said as he wiped her under eyes clean. “Have you told him? You know? Told him how bubbleheaded you feel?”

“I have.” His smile faded as he rubbed his lips together. “Let me ask you something. Do you think I should be worried that he didn’t say it back?”

“Oh, he didn’t? Hmph. Well, why do you think that is?”

He shrugged as he began to redraw her eyeliner, only better because he took the liberty of adding a pointy cat-eye tip. “Maybe because he doesn’t feel that way about me.”

“Danny. Don’t get in your head about it. People experience life in different strides. If Aaron hasn’t said it yet, I’m sure he has a reason.”

Because Aaron didn’t feel that way about him…?

“And the reason doesn’t necessarily mean because he doesn’t feel that way about you.”

Daniel snorted as he patted highlighter along her cheekbone.

“Butchie took a while to say it back.”

“Really?” He squinted. “But he’s bonkers about you.”

“He took a while to say it.” She nodded. “Get out of your head. Enjoy the heck out of that boy. Gosh, I sure would.” Then in a quiet mumble, “JFK Junior.”

“Speaking of Butchie.” He patted the finishing touches of a cream blush on the apples of her cheeks and held up a compact mirror. “He’s a lucky man.”

“Oh Lordy.” Her face lit up as she twisted her head side to side. “Well, look at me. I’m ready for the Miss America. What should my talent be?”

“Hmm. Baked ziti?”

“Oh shit.” She ran to check the oven.

“Mama.” He smiled, as cheeky as possible. “Language.”

“Dear Santa.” Butchie busted through the front door, the presence of a thunderstorm. “I know what I want for Christmas. It’s that car, baby.” He spun Daniel’s mom around from the stove and kissed her. “Who’s this she-devil?”

She giggled and swatted at him.

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