Page 96 of Must Love Christmas

“Garen helped me wrap the gifts.” It couldn’t hurt to big up his boyfriend before announcing they were together.

“What a sweet lad.” Ma’s broad smile held no hint of suspicion.

“Anyway, I hope the gift’s okay,” Simon said in the family tradition of minimizing each present as it was being opened. “I had to buy it online cos I couldn’t get to a shop.”

His mother opened the long jewelry box and gasped. “Oh, Simon.” She drew the necklace from its velvet cushion and held it to the candlelight. “Garnets are my favorite.”

“I know. Da, will you put it on her?”

She swept her long curls aside so his father could fasten the chain round her neck. The teardrop-cut Malawi garnet stood out against her cream-colored high-necked dress, and the accompanying white zircons and fourteen-caret gold chain gleamed in the Christmas faerie lights strung along the ceiling above their table.

“It’s gorgeous, Simon.” She touched the pendant with trembling fingertips. “But it’s too much. I can’t imagine what it must’ve cost.”

“What’s the point of a man having money if he can’t spend it on his ma?” He thought of the necklace he’d really wanted to buy for her, the one with three huge garnets and fifty-seven tiny diamonds, on sale for fourteen hundred pounds. Maybe next year.

As Simon picked up his gift for his father, his mum passed a similarly shaped one across the table, a large, flat, wrapped box. “Now, you two open your gifts to each other at the same time,” she said.

It was an odd request, but Simon knew better than to question his mother on such matters. He waited for his father to have his gift in hand, then began to open his. Once both boxes were unwrapped, they lifted the lids simultaneously.

You’ve got to be kidding me.

He looked at his father, whose shock must have mirrored his own. A flash went off, from his mother’s phone camera.

“Your faces!” she said, breaking into a cackle. “Priceless!”

Simon pulled out the long-sleeved official Liverpool FC jersey with the giant white15on the back. His father did the same with his own. They were identical down to the white letters spellingSturridgeacross the top.

“I can’t believe we gave each other the exact same gift,” his father said.

“I can believe it,” Ma said. “Two peas in a pod, you are. Now move your chair next to Simon’s so I can take a proper picture.”

As Simon smiled at the camera, he noticed the guys at the next table looking over at them.

“Oi, ’mon the Reds!” one of them shouted. “Daniel Sturridge is a pure giant!”

Simon’s father turned to them. “You Liverpool supporters?”

“Naw, mate.” The ginger lad who’d congratulated Simon on getting into his chair tugged the front of his green-and-white-striped shirt. “Glasgow Celtic.”

“Ah right. Practically a sister club.” Da raised his glass to them.

“We sing the same song, aye?” Without warning, the ginger started belting out the chorus to “You’ll Never Walk Alone” in a near-operatic voice. Soon the rest of his table joined in, as well as Simon’s father.

“Oh God,” his mother muttered as she neatly folded the discarded gift wrap, no doubt to reuse later. “Can’t get away from it, can I?”

“Sorry,” Simon said, but then couldn’t help singing along for the last line.

When the song was over, a few of the other diners in the room applauded, while others—probably Glasgow Rangers fans—merely glared.

Their starters arrived then. Simon had ordered the bruschetta because he could eat it without cutlery if he focused hard. Nearly all the sensation had returned to his fingertips this last week, and he relished the feel of the crisp bread crust.

“So you like it here, now you’re out of hospital?” his mother asked, carefully pulling a steamed mussel from its shell with a tiny fork.

“I do. Glaswegians are pure friendly.”

“Aggressively so,” Da said, nodding toward the next table.

“They don’t put on airs,” Simon said. “They remind me a lot of us Scousers.”

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