“Ah, there’s the man who’s heading the diversity entertainment corps tonight!” Al bellowed as he charged at us. He was wearing a dark green Christmas camo suit. Kenan’s brown eyes flared. “You’ll be pleased to know that not only will we be having a Jewish representative, but we also invited Fred Ottoman from the Lutheran Church out on Lipp Road near the junction.” Al was so proud. He actually tugged on the lapels of his ugly suit as he rose to his toes. “Yes, sir, we’ve opened the doors of religious acceptance here in Whiteham. You’re on in half an hour right after Mabel and Mauve Krester perform “Jingle Bell Rock” on their musical saws. Everyone is quite excited about them being here! They were headliners at the fair last year. Not everyone can boast about playing in the beef barn to over a hundred dedicated saw enthusiasts!”
Kenan and I watched Al swagger off into the crowd. He turned to me.
“The man does realize that Lutherans are Christians so…”
“Yeah, no, he probably doesn’t, but it’s progress of a sort.” I gave his pinkie finger a tug with my pinkie finger. “Do you want a dipped apple?”
“Nope, I’ll hold off until after I perform. Don’t want to sing with caramel and nuts in my teeth.” We strolled around the hall,pinkie holding pinkie, and chatted with folks. Well, Kenan did most of the chatting. I just nodded and grunted. I wasn’t a small talk sort of man. But Kenan seemed to be, so I let him chit-chat until the Krester sisters were announced. Kenan slipped out the side door to get his guitar as the elderly spinster twins took seats in front of a tall, stately evergreen in the corner of the hall and pulled out their saws.
“Nice to see you out and about,” Paula said as she sidled up to me with a steaming cup of mulled cider in her hands. “I’m working the cider stand and thought I’d bring you a drink. Just to shake things up.”
“That’s very nice of you,” I confessed, took the cider and blew over it before sipping. The rich taste of apples, cinnamon, cloves, and allspice tingled on my tongue. “I’m not generally a fan of these kinds of gatherings.” Two young boys, around ten, barreled into my back. Cider sloshed to the rim of my cup but thankfully, not over the top. The kids never looked back as I mumbled about rugrats under my breath.
“No, I suppose not, but still it’s nice to see you here. Kenan is working wonders with you.” She smiled at me as if I was supposed to be impressed or touched or…I had no clue. “Speaking of Kenan…”
She had to stop talking as the hall was filled with the alien sounds of musical saws. I sipped my cider as the twins played four songs and then left after taking several bows. When I glanced down to speak to Paula, she was gone. Huh. Had she even said goodbye? I looked around and found her at the mulled cider booth ladling hot drinks and collecting cash for the fire company. Shrugging, I moved closer to the tree, eyeing the glass balls with worry. Whoever thought that glass balls would survive with so many rambunctious ruffians dashing around obviously was not accustomed to kids. Not that I was either. What I knew about kids was nominal. Although now that I was going to bean uncle next summer, I had better brush up on uncle stuff, whatever that entailed. Probably buying toys and dandling my niece/nephew. Was there a proper dandle technique? Man, I had some big reading online to do.
Baby thoughts shifted to handsome man thoughts when Kenan wiggled through the crowd now packed in around the Christmas tree. I smiled widely at him as his dark sight found me to the left of his stool.
“Evening, everyone,” Kenan called to the crowd. “I’m Kenan Gardet, and I play and sing a little. Thanks to Al for inviting me to perform a few songs for you tonight. I hope you enjoy the tunes I’ve chosen.”
Everyone clapped politely, some with more exuberance than others. Many of my customers were here, and they knew firsthand how fucking talented Kenan was. The others would find out momentarily. I smiled at Glory, Al’s wife, who was moving through the crowd with a donation plate. Not for Kenan, but for the fire company, which was funded mostly by local city government and community grants. All the firefighters were volunteers. That was just how it worked out here in the rural communities.
Kenan strummed his guitar after getting it settled on his thigh. “Since tonight is all about celebrating not only the holidays but each other’s individual lights, I thought I’d start with a song that my grandfather enjoyed a great deal at this time of the year. It’s called “Eight Nights of Joy” by Rabbi Joe Black. I hope you enjoy it.”
I sipped slowly, the cider opening my sinuses, when Kenan began to sing a song I’d never heard before. It was snappy and upbeat, a real toe-tapper as Mr. Blum would call it. I gazed around the hall, a fast look-see with the hope of seeing my neighbor, but he wasn’t there. Perhaps he had dropped by earlierto avoid the chaos and rude cider-spilling kids, who were waiting to sit on Santa’s lap.
The crowd applauded loudly after the song ended. Kenan bowed his head, curls falling into his face, and it took every ounce of willpower I had not to step out of the crowd and brush those tight ringlets back.
“Thank you, thank you.” Kenan smiled softly at the citizens of Whiteham who, it seemed, had accepted this tall, dark stranger into their midst with little upset. Sure, a few of the bigots who disliked me for liking men also seemed to dislike Kenan for liking men as well as for wearing silver Star of David hoops in his ears tonight. But overall, my customers and the folks who he had interacted with here had been kind to him. Or if they hadn’t been, he’d not mentioned it to me. And I felt that he would, given we were sharing a bed.
All of his possessions were at my place now. The whole sleep in my office thing had fizzled out pretty damn quickly. Not that I was complaining. Kenan could curl up beside me until…well, until sometime in the future. There. No dwelling on the past and no fretting about the future. I was here, and he was here, and the songs he was singing were beautiful.
He belted out “Candy Cane Christmas” and followed with a classic rendition of “O Come All Ye Faithful” and then wrapped up his little set with an original song about life on the road. He sang about sleeping under the stars, snow on your nose, and the kindness of strangers. His gaze never wavered from mine as he sang that final song. When he was done, everyone clapped wildly, me included, or as wildly as I could while holding a cup of cooled cider.
When he rejoined me, which was a little bit later as everyone in town stopped him while he moved through the throngs, I offered him some of my cider.
“Thanks, my throat is a little dry,” he said as he took the Styrofoam cup. His calloused fingers brushed mine, sparks dancing from my fingertips to my chest. Even the slightest touch from this man made me feel woozy.
“I think Paula may have spiked the cider,” I said to cover my giddiness.
When we both glanced at the cider booth, Paula was once again staring at Kenan. He nodded at her as he raised his cup.
“Does she look at everyone as if she’s trying to see through them ala Clark Kent?” Kenan asked.
“Not that I’ve ever noticed before. I think she’s got the hots for you.”
“Oh well, she’s barking up the wrong tree. I’m already in a thing with you.”
I tore my sight from Paula to look at Kenan. “Are we in a thing?”
“Are wenotin a thing?”
Okay, he had me there. I mean, I guess what we had could be coined a thing. Thing by definition was something that you didn’t want to give a specific name to, and since I was in this weird place where I was trying not to get too involved while being wholly and totally involved, I guess we were, in fact, and toot sweet, in a thing.
“Yeah, I think we are in a thing.”
And with that, he backed me up a few steps to just under a fake sprig of mistletoe and kissed me on the mouth. Right in front of God, Al, and Santa, who was just exiting the men’s room.