Page 15 of A Merry Penthouse Christmas
“Touché.”
Beau chuckles but hides any new flush to his cheeks by sipping his latte.
We waited the appropriate amount of time before venturing out this morning so as to miss the initial Black Friday crowds,and the weather is cooperating enough to only require light layers, other than Bastian, who is bundled more securely.
“You realize this is baby’s first outing, right?” Beau says as we enter the park grounds. There are many winding trails with nice views of equal foliage and cityscape, and I lead us down one of my favorite paths where there is an eventual bridge over a brook.
“So it is. Pity he can’t appreciate it yet.” I peer around the side of the stroller to look at him. Almost a month old now. He is growing so fast, but he’s still mostly a sleeping, eating, and pooping lump. It all only gets harder from here. I’ve heard it said too often to enjoy this while I can, the quiet times.
“Yeah,” Beau says. “He might notice some of the lights and color contrasts, but next year, I bet he’ll be in complete awe.”
I look up to see the wonder on Beau’s face as he takes in the many holiday decorations lining the park and nearby buildings. “You sure seem to be.”
Beau turns to me with a brighter smile.
None of the native trees are decorated, but the occasional Christmas fir has been added throughout the park, and all the lamp posts are spiraled in tinsel. Most of the lights aren’t even on since it’s daytime, but there is still a certain sparkle in the sunlight, a charm to it all.
“I love this time of year,” Beau says. “The colors. The warmth. Well, thecold, but the warmth, like… coziness? Pumpkin gives way to peppermint.” He hoists his cup like it might be the last one he has for the season and he means to savor it. “Turkey gives way to snowmen. Presents and carols and holiday traditions.”
“And what sort of traditions did the de León family get up to?” I ask.
Beau tilts his head to think. It is just shy of being cold enough to see one’s breath, but because of the heat from his latte, there is a little visible puff as he continues, like he is the perfect holiday card in motion. “One present on ChristmasEve. Snowball cookies for Santa Christmas Eve night. You know, those Mexican wedding cookies?”
“Also called Russian tea cakes,” I say. Those cookies have too many names.
“And ice-cold milk!” Beau adds.
“We did steamed milk for Santa.”
“Yeah? What else did the Anders family do?”
There is a little less nostalgia for me than Beau when I contemplate my family holidays. “Stocking stuffers when I was little. Always knickknacky things. I don’t have siblings but we would attend a big extended family Christmas. Aunts and uncles, cousins, and we’d all bring one gift for a white elephant exchange.”
“I love white elephant parties!” Beau gushes. “Did you do a price limit or the tradition of giving something from around the house?”
“Something from around the house?” I cringe.
“Those are my favorite! You pick something random, maybe even weird, that you already have but don’t need or want anymore. One time…” Beau has to pause since he immediately starts giggling. “My friend Sam gave an antique doorknob! The whole thing! Like both sides had been taken right out of a door. It was gorgeous but who’s going to do something with that, right? Or so we thought. Our friend Janie totally has it for her bedroom door to this day, and it looks amazing.”
What looks amazing is Beau lit up like Christmas while telling his story. He puts any tinsel or glittering snowflakes to shame.
He must feel me staring, because he meets my gaze before immediately ducking his head for another sip of latte.
“That does sound amazing,” I say. “Clever. We purchased our gifts. Twenty-five-dollar limit. Can’t say I kept anything I got from one of those exchanges. I don’t remember the last time I attended one, but I believe the family still does them, mostlyfocusing on the next generation.” I peek around at Bastian again. He’s asleep now.
“You don’t plan on bringing Bastian this year? Show him off?”
“I don’t think I’ll have the time. I suppose I should let my parents meet him.”
“You suppose? My mother would throw a fit if I… well.” He winces, obviously reminded that he almost was a father—until he wasn’t.
“I don’t have that kind of closeness with my parents,” I admit. “We’re not estranged, we’re just not… much of anything. I had the stereotypically absent father figure. Absent mother too really. I was never a priority to them. All I’ve wanted with Bastian is to not be that, then I went and became that anyway.”
“I wouldn’t say that! I know I’ve been giving you a hard time, but how much you’re trying despite how busy you are really does show.”
“Thank you.” I smile at him. “I keep my parents comfortable at any rate. My wealth is helpful for that. My cousins know better than to ask for money, but I’ve set up scholarships for each of their children. I’m not completely heartless.”
Beau chuckles again. When he takes his next sip of latte, I feel the slide of his eyes peeking at me.
