Page 8 of Must Love Christmas

Garen extended his arm across the table. “Gonnae show me the other questions.”

Wondering if this was the first of many capitulations, Simon handed over his phone.

Predictably, Garen laughed at the screen. “Number seven: ‘How would you prioritize the following activities: work, play, clean, and rest?’ Is this for real?”

“These are essential compatibility issues.” Simon’s patience was running out. If Garen couldn’t take this interview seriously, how would he respect Simon’s wishes once they were living together? His quirky charm and even quirkier good looks couldn’t compensate for insensitivity.

“Ooh, I like this question.” Garen waved the phone. “‘What chore do you least like doing?’ For me that would be dishes, especially pots and pans. Once the meal is over, food becomes disgusting and I never want to touch it again. So what’s your least favorite chore? Maybe we can divide the labor.”

“Probably cleaning the bathroom, but we’re not negotiating, because I’ve not agreed to—”

“It’s a deal. You do the washing-up and I’ll clean the bathroom once a month.”

Simon stared at him. “Once amonth?”

Garen gave an exaggerated sigh. “Fine, once a fortnight for the toilet and sink.”

“I’ve not agreed to move in. By the way, haven’t you got questions of your own? Aren’t you curious about me?”

“Of course I’m curious.” Garen met his eyes—only for an instant, but long enough to send a spark surfing down Simon’s spine. “I’d just rather we learn about each other organically.”

“How do you mean?” Simon’s voice came out huskier than he’d intended. He cleared his throat again. “What would be an organic question?”

“One that arises naturally from conversation.” He pushed Simon’s phone back across the table. “I’ll answer any question that’s not from some generic list. Ask me what you most want to know.”

“And you’ll give me a straight answer?”

“Mm-hm. Promise.” He started eating again. “Take as long you need.”

Simon felt uneasy. Why wasn’t Garen interrogating him the way the other prospective flatmates had done? Was he really that trusting and naive?

“Ooh, I totally forgot my chai.” Garen picked up the plastic takeaway cup and gave it a quick shimmy, clattering the ice within to mix up the milky tea. “Watch, this is cool.” Garen carefully slid the paper wrapper off his straw, scrunching it up into a tight accordion. Simon saw his tongue slither against the back of his lower teeth as he focused. It seemed an unself-conscious gesture, but it heated Simon’s face and neck just the same.

Garen laid the straw wrapper on the table, dipped the end of the straw into his chai, then put his finger on the end of it, drawing a few drops up into the plastic tube. Finally he dribbled the chai onto the scrunched-up wrapper. It instantly sprang out, writhing like a worm.

Garen beamed at him across the table. “Cool, yeah?”

Simon didn’t know whether to laugh or run. “Yeah,” he said, one step closer to surrender. “Cool.”

* * *

After dinner,Simon still hadn’t heard from the doctor up the street, so, against his better judgment, he agreed to stay—at least long enough to finish the bottle of pinot noir on the sofa, once Garen had assured him the fabric was stain-resistant.

As he eased himself onto the comfy couch, Simon found himself feeling unusually relaxed. Whether this newfound serenity was due to the food, drink, or his companion, he couldn’t tell.

He finally thought of an original question. “You said you’ve lived in Glasgow only as long as you can remember. What did you mean by that? Where were you before?”

“In a Russian orphanage,” Garen said.

“Seriously?” Simon asked, then felt bad. No one would joke about something like that.

“Technically it was a Soviet orphanage when I got there, but by the time I left it was Russian.”

“What was it like?”

“Like I said, I don’t remember life before Glasgow. My twin sister and I were adopted when we were barely three.” With faraway eyes, Garen watched the wine dance in his glass as he swirled it, palm cradling the bowl. “My earliest memory is arriving just before Christmas at the airport with our parents. I remember our whole new family greeting us—our gran, aunties and uncles, cousins and all—and how happy everyone was. I remember the balloons they brought.”

The story struck a familiar chord. “That’s amazing, because my earliest memory is so similar.” Simon angled his body toward Garen. “See, when I was three years old, I had Guillain-Barré syndrome.”

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