Page 111 of Season of Gifts

With his toothbrush replaced in the holder and his mouth minty fresh, he stepped back into the bedroom.Alice slept on her side, waves of hair cradling her face, one hand curled beside her on the pillow.Beyond her, Jay lay on his stomach, his face turned to the far side of the bed.The sheets formed a heap at Alice’s back, bundling her in the warmth their husband had rejected.

Henry had been a silent ghost yesterday morning, in for a change of clothes and out again without waking them.A natural state at home; most mornings he woke first and left them to rise as they would.But this was not home, and these were not normal circumstances.

He circled slowly, his feet soundless on the rug.Jay’s back lay bare, exposed, as beautiful as the day he’d stood for his portrait.Black shorts clung at the waistband, wedged near his hips, and draped the powerful muscles of his ass and thighs.Approval stirred, appreciation of Jay’s beauty, and more—a vague flicker of desire, like a live coal banked in the embers of a fire he’d thought cold.

Today began on a canvas not scraped clean but brimming with the colors of the truths they carried with them.He would avoid the mistakes of yesterday.And when he inevitably slipped, his spouses would be there to prevent a stumble from becoming the well he drowned in.

Jay rested with both arms around his pillow, hugging it beneath his head.A shock of black hair lay across one eye.Henry’s hand hovered in the air, shading Jay from the light streaming in through the windows.

Jay’s eyes swept open.“My turn for the shower?”

“If you like.”Henry gave in to temptation, brushing the hair back, luxuriating in the heat of Jay’s skin.His boy burned hot, a furnace of energy and life.“I thought to check on Mother before starting breakfast.Perhaps you’d care to wake Alice.We have an Advent card to open.”

“Her day.She’s evens.”Jay yawned deeply, his shoulders and back tensing and releasing.“I’ll wake her.”

“Thank you, my boy.”His kiss landed high on Jay’s cheek.The things one took for granted.Such a simple touch could elevate his mood, and he’d foolishly denied himself the comfort despite Jay’s fervent desire to help.Never again.“I’ll see you both soon.”

Carrying the portable with him, he straightened his pajamas.No mismatched buttons this morning.He walked the hall at a far more sedate pace than he had last night.His gentle rap on Mother’s door brought a soft “Enter” that echoed through the monitor.

The bed stood empty, the covers folded back.In the sunny seat by the window, Mother faced the garden below, her sketchbook on her lap and the monitor base on the low table in front of her.She’d dressed for the day and brushed her hair into submission.His coddling, though well-meaning, had been unwarranted.The process may have taken her more time, but the importance of agency could not be overstated.The light in her eyes spoke wonders.

A gesture would convey far more than words.He tossed the portable handset onto the bed.Mother tilted her head with interest.He hefted the chair at the bedside and returned it to face its mate by the window.

Standing beside the empty chair, he breathed deeply and resettled his shoulders.Shedding concealment—emotional and physical—was an honesty he owed her.He patted the seatback.“May I?”

She laid the sketchbook aside.Melting ice hung like diamonds from the bare branches of trees.“Given that you didn’t spend the night in it, I’m inclined to allow it.”Her broad smile gentled the tease as she waved him down.“From your attire, I take it you finally had a decent night’s sleep?”

A transformative one, in fact.

“Following a long talk with Alice and Jay, in which I made numerous apologies, yes.”Hands folded, he sat forward in the seat, a penitent at prayer.“I owe you my apologies as well, Mother.”

She narrowed her eyes, the surrounding wrinkles softening a stern glare into a careful assessment.“I will accept them, for your sake.But, darling, I make no such accounting.This experience…” With a slow, deliberate breath and a hand touching her heart, she indicated the cause of so much strain.“I believe it has emotionally taxed you as it has physically taxed me.I do hope the frustration will ebb for us both the more openly we discuss it.”A grimace twisted her mouth, and she gazed into the garden.“That’s not what your father would have said, but discussing emotions never did sit easy with him.”

“You may have mastered understatement.”He joined her laugh, though hers lacked the bitter undertone his carried.“I am…” Painful to say the words, to acknowledge the failure of the silent promise he’d made at seven.“I’m afraid I am more like him than I thought, and I am sorry for that.I’ve done no better than he did.”

“No better?”She extended her arm, and he swiftly rose and rounded the table to accept the hand she offered.She gripped him tightly, her hand pale and small but pulsing with life.“What is it you think you have done?”

What hadn’t he done?An ache settled under his ribs, and he closed his eyes to follow the thread.So often of late he’d pushed warnings aside when he ought to have examined them.

“I remember,” he murmured, slowly returning his gaze to the present.“I remember how angry Father was, how…” The word teetered at the edge of his tongue before he pushed it forward.“Ashamed.”Questions forbidden, truth forbidden, emotions most certainly forbidden.“He lied and obstructed and forced secrets upon you without considering what you needed.”

Henry would never grow up to be that man; he’d sworn vows in the mirror.Never would he ignore or miss or refuse to listen, refuse to see.If wishing could make it so, if vigilance and control could make it so—but when his actions had mattered most, he had failed again.

He swept his thumb across Mother’s knuckles, careful to glide over the delicate skin.Aging thinned bodies even when minds grew more resilient.“And now I have overprotected you and forced restrictions and my presence upon you without asking what you needed.I was…” His confession came haltingly, snagging in his throat, the truth jagged and uncomfortable.“I was afraid of failing you like he did, missing the signs.”

Bringing his childish fears to Father had resulted in nothing, no action that would have arrested Mother’s despair.The shadow of the past haunted him with specters no longer present.

“But in trying to keep you safe, I smothered your spirit as much as he ever did.”If she’d been mourning in the last two weeks, it had been for the freedoms and independence he had put out of reach.He might well have precipitated the events he intended to prevent.“I’m truly sorry, Mother.I wish I had handled all of this differently.You deserved better from me now, just as you deserved better from him then.”

Mouth pressed in a tight line, Mother shoved her artwork aside.He startled back.The tray of pencils tumbled over the edge of the table and upended on the floor, scattering.When he would have stooped to reassemble them, she tugged him forward and tapped a finger on the table in front of her.“Sit.”

He sat.

She clasped both of his hands in hers, atop his knees.The low table brought their eyes level.Pain echoed in hers, tiny flickers at the corners, a faint sheen covering the fresh spring green of her irises.

“Is that how you see it?”Her voice had shifted into the warm, coaxing tones of his childhood, the welcoming comfort offetch me a book, darling, and I’ll read to you.“All those years ago.His failure?Your failure?”

She’d wanted to leave this life three days after his seventh birthday.Two and a half months after the arrival of his stillborn sister, the one he’d never met.“I went to Father.I told him you were sad.He insisted I shouldn’t worry about it, that you were fine.”

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