Page 16 of A Stag Family Christmas

“Gram, you’re being ridiculous,” I scold, but I frown trying to remember the last time we hit the reservoir together. It might have been before Halloween. I pull out my phone and text them both to see when Ty is next in town.

Gram rattles the newspaper at me and says, “Read the sports page before you ask those kinds of questions if you don’t already know the answer, Timber Stag.”

“You know that Donna is the one who keeps track of all those sorts of dates,” I tell her. “I’ve been stressed out trying to onboard Nicole.”

“Onboard. Pah.” She snorts. Alice left for work early today to set up the gingerbread structure contest for the team at Stag Law. She said it’s astructure contestsince not everyone will want to build a house. She ordered matching aprons for everyone who signed up. I don’t think anyone will bill a single dollar’s worth of time today, but Alice insists it’s good for morale and Nicole backed her up. She told me it’s an investment today for productivity and loyalty later. This is why I need Nicole. I don’t know how to think about that shit.

My phone chirps in my hand and I see it’s Thatcher.Ty home today. Emma told me. I guess my wife watches hockey now??

Three dotted lines appear from Ty and I know he’s seen my message, too. A few seconds later he writesCan run as soon as I bang Judge Juney. Nobody told me how horny and demanding pregnant women get!!!!!!

I chuckle, remembering Alice in late pregnancy, how she was insatiable. I start wondering if Thatcher and Emma are there yet, and then I realize I don’t want to think about my brothers’ sex lives. I tap out a reply:Meet at reservoir in 20 min.

All of us show up within a few minutes of each other, stretching our quads against the stone railing at the top of the steps, looking down on the frozen park below. The air smells like snow, unusual for early December. But not unheard of. “You look like shit, Thatcher,” Ty says, leaning on him for balance as he tugs one ankle behind him.

“Well, things are pretty shitty at my house,” he spits back, giving Ty a shove. “Emma still won’t talk to me after the courthouse.” Thatcher nods a chin in my direction. “Buddy the Elf over here gave me mom’s engagement ring, but…”

“You have to create the mood,” Ty says, bending over and sticking his ass in Thatcher’s face as he stretches. I laugh at the two of them, puffing out my cheeks against the cold.

“Let’s go, guys,” I say, starting off at a slow pace. “Gram says she isn’t going to buy us the good running socks for Christmas if we don’t hang out together.” Everyone agrees that this is a bullshit threat. She’s been getting us matching socks every year since we can remember, starting when that was about all we could afford for Christmas. I float the idea of inviting our father to come run with us sometime, now that he seems to be doing better, healthwise. Thanksgiving was civil…cordial in fact. But ultimately we decide these runs are for the three of us. A ritual we began when we had nobody but ourselves, a way to communicate when the words would’t come. The catalyst to dealing with any shit we may have simmering.

And right now, that barely-contained disaster is Emma and Thatcher. More specifically, Thatcher. I can see that even if I have my work situation straightened out, my family still needs me…or someone…for guidance. Thatcher’s a damn mess.

“The way I see it,” I say, inching the pace faster. “You’re acting like I did when Alice first got pregnant.”

Ty starts jogging backward, showing off and facing us. “You know, Timbo, that sounds about right. Thatcher is freaking the fuck out and trying to be all controlling and shit.”

Thatcher shakes his head and stops in his tracks.“Youare the ones trying to get me to woo her into some big ass plan,” he spits out. “She’s wanted this for ages, and I’ve been too stubborn to notice and now that I see what she wants, I just want to get us there as soon as possible. That’s all.”

Ty cocks an eyebrow at Thatcher. “You done spewing nonsense yet?” He starts jogging again. “Like Tim said at the courthouse, Emma needs a gesture.”

I nod my agreement.

“I sold my fucking truck. I bought an SUV!” Thatcher pulls off his beanie and shakes out his long hair. Tucking the hat in his back pocket of his sweats, he speeds up ahead. Despite the frigid air searing my lungs, I manage to keep up with him.

“You have to make yourself vulnerable,” I tell him. “And you should probably ask Nicole for advice at this point. God damn, that woman has good ideas,” I say. “And you should know by now that Emma needs time to adjust after you act like a cranky, bossy old man.” Thatcher grunts, but I know he knows I’m right. I think this will be fine. It’s almost Christmas. Everyone gets sappy and forgiving at Christmas—at least that’s what Alice tells me.

I notice Ty is lagging a bit and I shoot him a dirty look. “What the hell isyourproblem,” I say. “I don’t know if we have time for more than one Stag Brother to be in crisis at a time.”

Ty shakes his head. We run for awhile longer in silence until Thatcher complains that his toes are going to snap off in the cold. We all walk back down to my house, passing my father in law out in the yard on the way. “Lights are looking good, Bob,” I shout. “Love the lawn Santa.”

Bob snorts and flips the bird at the generator behind the giant inflatable. “Amy’s boys wanted this thing. Makes a damn racket.”

“You could always cut it and tell them a squirrel chewed the cord,” Ty offers, and we all laugh.

I drape an arm around his shoulder and tell him, “You’re going to be a great dad, Tyrion.”

Rather than crack a joke, he looks me straight in the eye. “That means a lot coming from you, Tim. Thank you.”

17

THATCHER

I’ll give her a gesture, I think. I rummage through my closet to try to find a necktie. I haven’t worn one since Ty’s wedding. Hell, I don’t even wear a tie when I have an art opening. Those shows are all about me anyway. Fuck anyone who tells me what to wear. But this morning isn’t about me. It’s about Emma and I need to make every effort to do this right.

I find the tie from Ty’s wedding. I frown, noticing that it doesn’t really match the pants I picked out and, soon enough, I find myself wearing the entire rig I put on for my brother’s ceremony. We all bought grey suits to match our eyes. I actually dig how I look in this vest and decide I’m going to start wearing these more often. The tie can go to hell, though.

I sigh and climb in my fancy family car, that I hope like hell will soon carry my family. Emma still hasn’t told her parents about the baby and through my entire drive to her father’s office, I remind myself of this fact. “Don’t mention the baby. Don’t mention the baby.” It becomes a mantra as I sit through tunnel traffic and again as I wait for security to run my ID.

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