Page 20 of The Christmas Keeper

“Here we go!” Mr. Blum appeared, wobbling toward us with three glasses of dark wine in delicate flutes. “This was my wife’s chosen drink for the holidays. She loved Manischewitz, and I prefer moscato, but since these recipes are hers as is the menorah, I thought we could enjoy the grape to honor her.”

We all raised our glasses to Betty and then toted our food to a small square table in the corner. A card table that had been covered with a white cloth. After Mr. Blum was seated with a plate, Kenan and I sat, shook out our napkins, and paused as Mr. Blum lowered his head. We followed suit. The prayer was in Hebrew, so I was lost.

“Blessed are you, Lord our God, ruler of the universe, who brings bread from the earth,” Kenan whispered before the amen. Mr. Blum had on a skullcap, Kenan and I did not, and that all seemed cool. Another prayer of thanks for the wine followed.

“Dig in, please. I need to be reaffirmed that it’s all good. I was in that kitchen for three days! No wonder Betty was always so tired.” He chuckled warmly while slicing his brisket.

“We would have gladly helped,” I hurried to say.

“Guests don’t help cook. Betty would haunt me if I had company making the food I served them,” Mr. Blum replied, so I let it drop but still felt bad that this old man had worked so hard to feed us. I resolved to eat lots. It wasn’t hard to fulfill that vow because everything was absolutely delicious. By the time the meal was over, I was so full I could barely breathe.

“I should have worn jogging pants,” I whispered to Kenan as we helped clear the table. Mr. Blum was looking pretty worn out by then, so he did relent to let us tote platters into the boxy kitchen while he sipped his wine and listened to a best of George Gershwin CD that was filling the little home.

He patted my belly. A flare of lust ignited then sputtered out as the three jelly doughnuts I’d ingested smothered any thoughts of passion until I could digest properly.

“I know what you mean,” he said while we scraped scraps into a plastic bucket that Mr. Blum would toss out to the crows along with some corn. This practice was discouraged by the game commission since it drew bears, but, as Mr. Blum would say, the bears have to eat too. Still, he only did that during the winter when the bears were sleeping since the game warden had given him a firm lecture or twenty. “I’ve only been in Whiteham for a week and my pants are already tight.”

I reached over to rub his flat stomach. “A few pounds looks good on you.”

With his free hand, he cupped the back of my neck. I moved into the kiss willingly, eager to lick the sugar off his lips. He was a heady mix of tastes that made my blood run hot.

“Boys, come out here and look at this,” Mr. Blum called. Kenan moved back an inch, rubbed his nose against mine, and then looked into my eyes.

“This has been the best day I’ve had in years. Thank you, Brann.”

I stole another kiss because how could I not then we moseyed back into the living room to sit on either side of Mr. Blum on his couch and page through an old scrapbook. We spent a good two hours looking at black and white images of a much younger Mr. and Mrs. Blum and their son David as he grew from infanthood through his college years. Several dogs had come and gone throughout the years, and Mr. Blum recalled each dog’s name and bad habits.

After several big yawns that our host couldn’t hide, Kenan and I made our excuses after a vow that we would reciprocate the dinner date next week by having Mr. Blum over to our place.

Our place. Mr. Blum had called my place our place, as in mine and Kenan’s. Both of us fell over each other to correct him.

“Bah, semantics. I know two souls who belong together. Betty and I were the same. The looks that we snuck when we thought no one was watching, the stolen kisses in the kitchen while the old timers sipped sickly sweet grape wine and the tiny ones spun dreidels. I know.” He gave his nose a tap and went off to gather our coats from his guest room.

“We’ll let him think what he wants,” I whispered as we tied our boots in the foyer.

“Sure, yes, that’s fine,” Kenan concurred with little objection.

“No point in correcting him about it. Back in his day, everyone who kissed probably ended up getting married, so you know…”

“Yeah, totally.”

We were still playing along with the darling old dude’s antiquated thoughts about love and other outlandish things ten minutes later as we were walking home, hand-in-hand, sharing hot glances under the bright moon and a hundred thousand points of light. Maybe back in the ?60s, a guy could fall in love at first sight. That kind of stuff didn’t happen now, and certainly not to a man who had no heart left to give. But hey, if it made Mr. Blum happy who was I to yuck his yum?

When we stepped into my place, which looked barren in comparison to the lovely home we’d just left, I turned to Kenan, his hand warm in mine.

“It’s really late. You might as well spend the night here. Then we can ride to work together. Save gas.”

“Oh, okay, yeah, that’s great. Yeah, totally we should carpool. Lower our carbon footprints and all that.”

Yep, totally, that was why I invited him to stay. We were young men looking to help the climate crises however we could. Carpooling. Check. Washing in cold water. Check. Sharing a bed to save on fuel oil use. Check. Spooning your bed partner to ensure your thermostat was set lower. Check.

See. It was nothing silly like Mr. Blum’s old-fashioned silliness about love at first sight. We were just a couple of Gen Z eco-warriors doing our part to save the planet.

Chapter Six

Several days later, Kenan and I were still doing our part for the earth.

Us and Greta Thunberg.

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