Page 13 of The Winging It Holiday Special

Gabe nodded and exhaled as though steeling himself for something very difficult. He closed his eyes, withdrew his right hand from Dante’s, and raised it in the air.

Then he looked Dante right in the eye, his expression one of demented mania, and chanted, “U-S-A! U-S-A!”

Dante cackled, startled into laughter by Gabe’s faux betrayal of his country. “Oh my God. You suck. I would’ve loved to have that on video.”

“Why do you think I didn’t give you a chance?” Gabe said wryly, nudging him with his good shoulder. “Seriously, though, please stop looking at me like I’m two steps away from a breakdown because you’re going to the Olympics without me. I’m fucking proud of you. You worked hard for this. You deserve it.”

Oh God, gross. Dante was getting all verklempt. Last year one of the rookies added “cries a lot” to his Wikipedia page. He would’ve attempted to hide the fact that he had to smear away a few tears, but it wasn’t like Gabe didn’t know what he was like.

“Thanks,” he said again, lamely. “How come you’re Mr. Maturity all of a sudden, huh?”

Gabe gestured at the ice packs. His expression was deadpan. “All of a sudden?”

Dante made a face. “You know what I mean.”

Gabe obviously did know, because he let Dante’s question sink in for a moment before replying. “I guessed this was coming, or that it might come. I’m older than you are. It was bound to happen eventually.” He shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I wanted to just be happy for you without making it about me, so I was.”

Ugh, Dante was going to tear up again.

“Besides,” Gabe went on, indicating his general state of disrepair, “I’m kind of looking forward to some recovery time.”

Fair enough. Between the All-Star Game and the Olympic break, Gabe should be well rested and ready to unleash hell on the last few months of the season.

Still, emotional maturity and Team USA chants should not go unrewarded. “I love you,” Dante said, forceful and very serious. “Wanna have sex?”

Gabe shoved the ice pack down his shirt, but it wasn’t a no.

Eventually Dante had to get to the rest of his designated task for the day, because if he didn’t do it today, who knew when he’d get another shot, and Gabe had a doctor’s appointment to get to.

Dante liked to think that in two and a half years of marriage—and a few more years of blissful living in sin—he’d grown a lot when it came to gift-giving.

For one thing, he’d made peace with the fact that Gabe was the master and Dante would never match him. That was fine; Gabe didn’t care, and they were long past the stage in their relationship where everything had to be a competition. (Everything was still a competition, but it didn’thaveto be. That was an important distinction.)

For another, he’d learned to start making notes on his phone in, say, January, of little things Gabe mentioned, likeDidyou see Yorkie’s latest Instagram post? Nice car, eh?andWhat do you think about redoing the patio? We could use a new barbecue.The trick was getting all the way through to December without Gabe changing his mind or buying the damn barbecue first.

Unfortunately you could only buy your husband so many sports cars before you ran out of room to park them. Dante considered a garage extension, but it felt lazy—extravagant rather than thoughtful.

The guest house Gabe had ordered built so Dante’s parents would have privacy for an extended visit? Thoughtful (if also admittedly extravagant). The gorgeous custom-made pea coat, hat, and gloves with the Dekes logo embroidered on the silk lining, and the matching scarf, all gifted just as Dante’s were wearing out but before he noticed it himself—thoughtful. The collection of vintage board games Dante had mentioned loving as a kid, wrapped up for his birthday last year, and the surprise party with his former billet sister? Thoughtful.

So Dante was used to being outclassed. Gabe honestly didn’t need anything and was just as happy with a blow job as Dante was to give it. Not that he saved them for special occasions, but still, when wasn’t a blow job appropriate?

Well, you probably shouldn’t open that under the tree if you invited your parents to Christmas, but other than that.

The point was that Dante had resigned himself to permanent number two gift-giver status. He had made peace with it. But every year he still found himself wandering the mall for what felt like days, searching in vain for inspiration.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t taken notes this past year. He had. The problem was twofold. One, Gabe had put up a good front for the past two years, but it was undeniable now that he was getting older, slowing down. Dante had passed off the necessity of a hot tub under the guise of sexy fun times, but Gabe knew he was alsothinking about the therapeutic impact on his husband’s abused body. Botox injections would’ve been funny five years ago but would just be mean now.

Two….

Two, Dante suspected he knew exactly what Gabe wanted for Christmas. He’d paid attention. Some things were just obvious, even if Dante had been pretending not to notice—the bookmarked websites, the highlighted printout of the collective bargaining agreement Gabe had left on his bedside table four months ago, every smile as he scrolled through his Instagram feed. Dante had seen the way Gabe was with kids. He hadn’t always been like this, but now he just seemed to gravitate toward them, and vice versa.

Besides, whatelsewould Gabe be overthinking like this? Gabe might not have broached the subject, but Dante knew it was coming. He knew his husband. He was waiting for his moment.

But while Gabe was still pussyfooting around, Dante was set to go. Honestly, did Gabe think there was something he could ask for that Dante wouldn’t give him? And, in this case, was kind of excited about?

Except, of course, that it was not within his ability to provide.

After his third futile loop around the mall’s main drag, he gave up and ducked into the coffee shop. He couldn’t solve his Gabe problem, but he could ignore it with the application of a few hundred calories of chocolate and whipped cream.

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