Page 93 of Happy After All

It seems to be Nathan’s story.

I’m trying to remain cheery while I set up the projector. I’ve run this motel for years without him participating in any of my events. I don’t need him to do it now.

Jonathan and Joseph have already taken their seats, along with a couple of their friends who have come to stay and visit them for theholiday. Albert has arrived in a red turtleneck and red plaid pants, along with red-framed glasses to match. He looks every bit as dramatic as he is, but he isseasonal.

Lydia, Wilma, Ruth, and Gladys have their cribbage boards out, and Alice is set up with a keyboard next to where I’m putting the projector. She’s going to play while Ruth sings.

Our short-term guests have also turned out for the festivities, along with Ben, who is sitting on a blanket with Emma and Elise.

I look to see how close Elise is sitting to him.

They give me hope. My current situation is far too temporary to feelhopefulabout it.

Even if so ... I’m not sure what hope looks like in our situation.

Maybe I don’t need to. Maybe I just need to get the movie started.

I make my way to the computer that’s going to stream the film, and Alice and Ruth begin to play and sing. Everyone sitting around the pool joins in, a rousing rendition of “Here Comes Santa Claus” filling the air.

Which then transitions into “Santa Claus Is Coming to Town” and “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” Perfect, because we’re watching the 1960s Claymation classic about Rudolph.

I hit “Play” on the movie, and the crowd cheers.

A few of the kids are floating in the pool, almost every adult opting to stay dry. I intend to join the kids now that everything has begun.

But then, I turn and nearly run smack into Nathan’s broad chest.

“Oh,” I say.

“You look startled,” he says. “Is it because this movie is creepy?”

I let out a shocked laugh. “This movie isn’t creepy. It’s adorable.”

“It has an elf that pulls teeth.”

“He’s a dentist,” I say.

“It’s creepy,” he says.

“It’s a classic,” I counter.

“Classics can be creepy.”

“Well this one isn’t. And no. I was shocked to see you. Out of your room. With all these people here.”

“It seems stupid not to join you,” he says.

I try not to read too deeply into that, but one of my big problems is that I read too deeply into just about everything. Maybe it’s because I’m a writer. Or maybe I’m a writer because I do that. It’s hard to say. But either way, this is different. The biggest thing that’s changed is the fact that he and I are ... I can’t even call it sleeping together. He hasn’t spent the night with me since the night I slept near him when he was passed-out drunk. We have sex in the night, he goes back to his room, we have sex in the morning. It’s a lot of sex and very little intimacy. Except ... There’s plenty that feels intimate. I can’t deny it.

“You really came to watch the movie?” I ask.

“I didn’t realize it was this movie,” he says.

I push his shoulder. “Well, what’s your favorite Christmas movie?”

He has to think about it. “Home Alone,” he says. “I thought that if my house got broken into, I could handle it too.”

I laugh. Because of course. I suppose every boy in the nineties thought the same. Then I wonder, growing up in his house, how much more important that would’ve felt. Given that his dad is all about the military and he has older brothers who were super involved with it as well.

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