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The apartment is cold outside of this bed and these blankets. Marvin must have left a window open somewhere. Whizzer doesn’t care, though. Under the covers, bundled up and pressed against him, holding him; he’s warm here. It’s early December. There’s no snow, it’s just cold. Cold and dry, and Whizzer’s lips have been chapped for weeks. But he loves December. There’s a cheeriness and a hopefulness that exists only around the holidays. He loves seeing the city strewn with evergreen garlands and string lights and tinsel. New York City glows in December. When he walks the streets, his mind trails back to the rush for the living room on Christmas morning, cousins pushing past aunts and uncles to find their stocking and uncover the secrets hidden inside. To decorating the tree with ornaments from all around the globe. To cutting out gingerbread men and praying that their legs wouldn’t break off in the process. Lying here, next to Marvin, with the crisp, cold air on his face, he can’t get it out of his head.
“Hey, Marv? We should get a Christmas tree this year.”
Marvin gives him a questioning look, eyebrow raised, wondering whether it’s a joke and he should be laughing. “I’m Jewish,” he says eventually, adding: “So are you, actually.”
“Half-Jewish,” Whizzer corrects. “You know I love Christmas.”
“Yeah, I’m highly aware. And you always drag me to Cordelia’s Christmas parties and make us walk past the Rockefeller Christmas tree even when it’s completely out of the way, and, honestly, that’s enough for me,” Marvin states, as if that should be the end of the conversation.
“Well not for me,” Whizzer says. He boosts himself onto his elbow and leans over Marvin a bit. “I always had a tree growing up. And decorations and lights and stockings on the fireplace. I mean, we put Chanukkah presents under the tree as well, and the stockings hung under our menorah…”
Marvin shakes his head. “There’s Christmas shit everywhere.”
“So, what’s a little more?” Whizzer asks.
“I don’t want it in my apartment, Whizzer.”
“ Our apartment,” Whizzer snaps. “But why?”
“I just don’t!” Marvin pushes the covers away and stands, quickly finding a pair of sweatpants and one of Whizzer’s sweatshirts to pull on and protect him from the cold.
Whizzer sits up and wraps the blankets around his shoulders. “It’s important to me, Marvin.”
“Just allow me this one sanctuary from the constant suffocation of Christians and consumerism,” Marvin pleads. “Please, Whizzer.”
“Chanukkah bush?”
“No.”
Whizzer’s heart sinks, but he nods reluctantly. He gives Marvin a small smile. “You look cute in that.” The sweatshirt is too big for Marvin and the fabric engulfs him and Whizzer imagines that it’s the main reason he so quickly folded. Too easily distracted.
Marvin smiles grandly and sits back down on the bed. He runs his hand through Whizzer’s hair and leans forward to kiss him, but he frowns and pauses before their lips can meet.
“What’s wrong?” Whizzer asks.
Marvin just shakes his head. “I’ll think about it, okay? The tree.”
Whizzer smiles and closes the small gap between their lips. “That’s all I ask,” he murmurs happily.
“You know, it’s not really a Christian tradition,” Whizzer says from the couch.
Marvin sticks his head out from the kitchen, where he’s making dinner for once. “Sorry?”
“Christmas trees. It’s a pagan tradition that Christians appropriated for Christmas when they were, like, trying to convert the entire world.”
“Were?”
“Well, I mean, when they were more successful at it.”
“Better.”
“Point is, Christmas trees aren’t Christian if you don’t want them to be, right? So, we just buy a non-Christmas pine tree from Home Depot and put it in the apartment and string some completely secular fairy lights and hang utterly non-denominational glass bulbs from the limbs and walá! Pagan winter tree!”
Marvin laughs and shakes his head. “I said I’d think about it.”
“Well, think faster.”
Marvin doesn’t think faster. It’s mid-December and Chanukkah starts at sundown and there’s still no tree. Whizzer walks home from the subway station and stares wistfully at the wreaths over doors and the oversized bows hanging from balconies. There has been some snow, but not enough to cover the ground in white. Instead, there are patches of icy snow every few feet that have turned black from dirt and soot and whatever the hell else covers New York City. Far from a winter wonderland.
He fumbles with his keys with his numb fingers and curses himself for forgetting his gloves today. Eventually, he fits it into the lock and pushes the door open to reveal a well-lit apartment. Did he forget to turn the lights off when left this morning? He hears some rustling from the living room. Whizzer tenses, turning the corner slowly, expecting to find some punk trying to steal their TV. Instead, he sees Marvin. Well, he sees part of Marvin. The rest of him is hidden behind the green needles of a Douglas Fir, which he is attempting to lift into a plastic stand. “Marvin?”
“Shit!” He groans and drops the tree, letting it thud loudly to the ground.
Whizzer laughs and raises an eyebrow. “What’s all this?”
Marvin sighs and collapses into his leather armchair. He looks completely defeated, his eyes blank and dead with exhaustion. “I was going to surprise you with this, like, as a Chanukkah gift or whatever! I took off half a day of work to pick it out and get it here and get it all set up and decorated for when you came home and I even bought blue and silver ornaments and blue and white lights and I Amazon Primed a star of David tree topper, too!” Marvin waves a frustrated hand at the fallen tree. “Turns out these are impossible to put up and I don’t know how to use the fucking stand and it just… I’m sorry.”
But Whizzer can’t stop smiling. His eyes are bright and he stares lovingly at the tree, lying horizontal in the middle of the living room floor. “This is really sweet,” he says in amazement. “I love it. So much.”
Marvin’s eyes regain a little life as the edges of his mouth curl up into a slight smile. “You do?”
Whizzer laughs. “Well, I think it’ll be somewhat better once it’s standing up.”
Marvin groans. “I can’t do it! I tried but it just doesn’t like me. I think it’s anti-semitic.”
“Or homophobic,” Whizzer suggests.
“I hadn’t even thought of the possibility, but probably both.”
Whizzer points to the tree. “You lift that. I got the base. Let’s show this fucking bigot of a tree what a couple gay Jews can do.”
Marvin stands up reluctantly and takes a deep, steadying breath. Slowly, a determined look on his face, he lifts the tree up and up until it’s vertical, hugging it to make sure it stays that way.
“Now into the base!” Whizzer orders. Marvin grunts a muffled affirmation and does as he’s told. Whizzer steadies the tree and Marvin lets go finally, his shirt now covered in needles. “Tell me if it’s straight,” Whizzer instructs.
“Everything seems straight next to you, sweetheart.”
Whizzer rolls his eyes. “Just, like, make sure it’s… perpendicular to the ground.”
Marvin laughs. “A little to the left… wait, no, too far, just… there!” Whizzer freezes and nods at Marvin to take the tree from him. He complies and Whizzer crouches down to reach the base, screwing in the nobs to keep the tree steady. Marvin watches him do it, apparently taking notes in his head. Once he’s done, Marvin tentatively steps away, holding out his arms, expecting it to fall over at any second.
“It’s fine, Marv,” Whizzer chuckles. “It’s not going anywhere.”
“I don’t trust it,” Marvin says, but he lowers his defensive stance and tosses Whizzer the string of lights. “Don’t you dare knock it down.”
When the lights are strung and the ornaments are hung and the star has been placed on the highest bough --by Whizzer, as Marvin was convinced the ordeal would end in disaster-- Whizzer plugs the lights into the socket on the wall, dims the lights in the room and steps back, a wide smile slowly growing across his face. He stands behind Marvin, wraps his arms around his stomach and buries his face in his hair. “Thank you,” Whizzer mutters, pressing a kiss into the skin behind Marvin’s ear.
“I hate to admit it,” Marvin says quietly. “But it’s kind of beautiful.”
Whizzer smiles, his mouth still pressed against Marvin’s skin. “You admitting that? It’s a Christmas miracle.”
“Chanukkah miracle.”
Whizzer laughs and steps back, walking over to the fireplace and looking up at the menorah sitting on the mantle. It's not a typical one, not one you'd see as Chanukkah clipart. It's made up of nine black metal dancers, holding each other's waists, legs bent up in a dance position, each holding a candle up over their heads. The tallest dancer, the one meant to hold the shamash, is at the far left, not the middle. It's the same menorah Marvin used as a kid, having taken it from his parents’ house after they retired to Fort Lauderdale and decided it was too heavy to take with them. Whizzer picks up the lighter and the box of candles resting beside the menorah and positions two candles in their holds. “Would you like to do the honors?” he asks, holding the lighter out to Marvin.
They recite the blessing of the candles as Marvin lights the shamash, which he hands to Whizzer to light the first night’s candle. When it’s done, they curl up together on the couch, Marvin leaning comfortably against Whizzer’s chest. The flickering light of the Chanukkah candles and the LED bulbs burning brightly behind the branches of the tree provide the room with a dim, scattered light. Whizzer watches the shadows shift slowly on Marvin’s tired face and it might be the spirit of the holidays, but he suddenly feels so full. So warm, so safe, so loved . For the first time, he doesn’t feel like something is missing. For once in his life, everything he needs is right here, in his arms, covered in tree sap, with pine needles in his hair, still wary of the unfortunate draft that would undoubtedly cause the tree to come crashing to the floor. He is right here. And maybe it’s the spirit of the holidays, but, suddenly, there’s something Whizzer has to say.
“Hey, Marvin?”
Marvin looks up at him with a tired smile. “What’s up?”
Whizzer takes a breath and turns his eyes to the tree, letting the memories of that total, care-free happiness fill his mind. And when he turns back to Marvin, it’s Christmas morning all over again. “I love you,” he finally says.
Whizzer watches as any lingering reminder of earlier frustrations, tensions or stresses fall from Marvin’s face. They are replaced by something more tender, something joyous and loving and vulnerable. A real, consuming happiness that Whizzer hasn’t really seen before. When Marvin speaks, it sounds almost like a sigh of relief, like something that has been building up inside of him, just waiting to be let out. “I love you, too.”
And, nevermind pregnant virgins or a flame that stayed alive for a few extra days, this, right here, is the true miracle of the night.