Page 84 of Must Love Christmas

Garen stood quickly. “Well?”

“I’ve ordered a car already,” Simon said, “so we’d best hurry to the lobby to meet it.”

Once they were alone inside the lift, Garen asked, “What did she say? Was it good news? What’s that paper?”

“Good and bad news. It’s a new prescription. She’s lowering the dose of my gabapentin, since overall I’m in a lot less pain than I was before.”

“Brilliant, but what’s the bad news? Are you not recovering as fast as they thought you would do?”

“If you’ll let me finish…”

“Sorry.” Garen pressed his lips together hard.

“She’s pleased with my progress,” Simon said. “There’ll be a lot of ups and downs, she says. Some weeks I’ll make great strides, and other weeks will feel like I’m standing still or even backsliding a bit. But overall I’m on a typical recovery track for someone my age.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning I should be able to walk without an aid within three months.”

“Gaun yersel!” Garen went to offer a high-five and realized he was still clutching the archaeology magazine. He tucked the purloined journal under his arm so he could give Simon an awkward semi-hug. “You’ll be running in the Glasgow Half-Marathon next October.”

“That’s the bad news. She said I could have fatigue for another year, maybe longer.” Simon rubbed his eyes. “I’m so fucking tired of being tired.”

The lift dinged, and the doors opened. Garen followed Simon out into the lobby, where they waited for the driver to arrive. The rain had returned in full force, battering the tarmac outside so hard, each drop seemed to bounce a meter off the ground.

Garen put a hand on Simon’s shoulder. “I’m sorry it wasn’t what you wanted to hear.”

Simon just stared out into the downpour. “It feels like me life has been stolen. What did I do to deserve this?”

“Nothing. It’s just bad luck.”

“I don’t believe in luck.”

“It’s pretty much all I believe in.”

Simon squinted up at him. “Why is that?”

Garen started to say he’d only been joking, but Simon’s serious gaze prompted a more thorough consideration. “I don’t know, I guess because…my life?” When Simon cocked his head, Garen went on. “I was born into such a shit situation, but my mum and dad pulled me out of it. I didn’t do anything to deserve getting adopted.” He gestured at the sheets of rain. “A lot of life is like the weather—totally out of our control—and blaming unlucky people for their misfortune isn’t just unproductive, it’s pretty fucking cruel. Even when that unlucky person is oneself.”

Simon swallowed hard, his eyes growing wet. But then he broke into a crooked smile. “Garen McLaren, how are you even real?”

“Maybe I’m not. Maybe I’m a figment of your imagination.”

“But I know other people who know you.”

“I could be a mass hallucination,” Garen said.

“In that case, I’m the luckiest member of the masses, because I get to see you naked.” Simon looked out the door, then down at the ride-hailing app on his phone. “That’s our car.” He glanced at Garen’s hands. “Where’s the umbrella?”

Garen reached for it before realizing it was miles away by now. “In our taxi. Sorry.”

Twenty minutes later, they entered their flat, dripping wet.

As Simon shook the water from his coat, he said, “Before you go to work, you might want to check your Christmas stocking.”

“An early gift?” Garen dropped his own coat on the hallway floor and darted into the living room, where their stockings hung by the fake fireplace.

Garen’s stocking bore a tiny bulge at the toe. “I’ve got no idea what this is.” He reached deep inside, his fingers closing around a cylindrical metal object. He pulled it out to see a red pocket-size electric torch. “Thanks,” he said, a bit confused. “This’ll come in handy when it’s…dark.”

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