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It had been a year before it had come up. The weeks following them getting together the December prior had been such a whirlwind that it hadn’t even come up, and before either of them knew it, exams had come and gone and the week of respite between Christmas and classes starting had flown by. Neither had discussed Christmas in-depth beyond a mutual understanding that they’d cut it too close to make plans.
The year following should’ve been a different story. They had the whole year to get ready — to make plans, to figure out who was going where and when. And it hadn’t been that long, but it had been long enough for it to be reasonable to meet the ‘rents. It had been long enough that they deemed it appropriate to move in together, when Bill started spending more nights at Mike’s place than his own and their lease was running out. They were talking about adopting a cat (Eddie refused, but his resolve was weakening with each passing day.) It was serious. It was a serious, adult relationship, and that meant that, at some point, they’d have to meet each other’s parents, and Christmas was the time that people did that. But it was Christmas Eve Eve, and they still hadn’t had that conversation.
It was bordering on 11 o’clock, and they were sitting in a diner, sharing a basket of fries. Eddie had been fretting for half the basket that it was fried with animal grease, the volume and the intensity of his fretting ramping up over the last half-hour of conversation, to the point where the waitress had come over to assure him that the meat and the non-meat items were fried separately. Eddie was still not re-assured, and Richie was unreasonably fond of his little freak-outs. That was love at its finest, he’d decided.
Taking a fry in his mouth, he spoke between chews, to Eddie’s disgust. “So, are we going to yours or mine for Christmas?”
Eddie choked on his tea (black, with milk and sugar. He was trying to re-orient himself to caffeine. It was a work in progress.) “What?”
“When am I meeting your parents? I thought we’d be meeting yours first, since I figure, you know, your family probably does the whole Christmas thing. My mom would love to have you, but her idea of Christmas is a little weird, and involves more fish than you can handle. Either way, I’d figure I’d give you the option.” He swallowed. “I’m good with whatever.”
“We – we – we,” he spluttered, blinking at Richie. “I’m not going home for Christmas. What would give you that idea?”
Richie shrugged, gesturing at Eddie’s person. He didn’t actually know what had given him that idea. He spoke to his mother on the phone far more frequently than he’d ever heard Eddie, and he couldn’t remember Eddie talking about his family, when he thought about it. “You just, you know. You kind of seem…”
“Like a mama’s boy?” Eddie’s voice was cold, and it made Richie’s skin crawl.
He threw his hands up in defense, acquiescing. “You said it, babe, not me.”
“I mean, I get why you think that. I am gay, and I am kind of high-strung, but I don’t understand why you’d think I’d like my mother... I don’t talk about my broken relationship with my parents, but I’d think my mommy issues would roll off me in waves.”
“Hm,” Richie mumbled, jamming three more fries in his mouth, “yikes.”
“Yeah. My mother is awful. I haven’t spoken with her since I moved out. I’m half-surprised I haven’t told you about this — again, I don’t talk about it, but… It’s like a whole thing.”
“Jesus, Eds, I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, it’s, you know. Whatever. I’d have to tell you sometime — I can’t repress my childhood for the rest of eternity, as much as I’d like to.”
“Well, what about your dad?” Richie hadn’t stopped eating the fries. They were mostly cold, and he’d abandoned them for the conversation a while ago, but this conversation was sending his stress-level skyrocketing — it was like an involuntary reaction to the uncomfortable conversation. He choked another bite down, and took another handful.
“He’s dead.”
Richie choked. “God, I’m so sorry.” He wished his mouth wasn’t filled with chewed potato.
“Seriously, don’t worry about it. It happened when I was pretty young, it’s fine.” Eddie took a fry from the basket, ravaged by Richie, examining it carefully. “So, you want me to come home with you? For Christmas, I mean.”
“Oh, uh. You know, actually.” Christmas at the Toziers’ was a disaster and a very low-key affair all at once, and Richie wasn’t sure if he wanted to subject Eddie to that. His mother, a lifelong Buddhist, still didn’t fully understand Christmas conceptually — at least the western version — and spent most of it trying to cuddle up to his father, like some weird romance with a drunk Santa, and when Went got his hands on the eggnog, well. That was that. “Maybe that’s not a good idea. Christmas is, like. Hm.”
Eddie took a hesitant bite of the french fry and swallowed. He grimaced. “I am absolutely certain there’s beef fat here.” Dropping it back in the basket, Richie took it. He didn’t think it tasted anything like meat, but he wasn’t about to argue with Eddie about it. “Well, we’re adults, Rich. We don’t have to do Christmas.”
Somehow, this was scandalizing, though Richie had never been particularly into Christmas. Maybe it was because his mother always painted Christmas as a couple’s activity, and Richie had never been part of a couple before, and maybe it was just because he had all those warm fluttery feelings for Eddie that he’d always seen in cheesy Christmas rom-coms, so he wanted a cheesy Christmas rom-com of his own, but — Christmas seemed suddenly important. “Yes, we do. We don’t have to go back to either of our parents’, though, you said it yourself — we’re adults. We can do our own Christmas.”
“Oh.” Eddie blinked, thrice, and Richie started to sweat — maybe Eddie just didn’t want to do Christmas, maybe he shouldn’t have pushed it — but Eddie broke out into a grin, taking Richie’s greasy hands in his. “That’s a good idea. That’s a great idea.” He pressed a kiss to Richie’s knuckles, and grinned again. “You taste like… fucking animal grease. Gross. You’re lucky you’re smart.” Despite himself, he leaned across the table and kissed Richie again, on the lips.
Richie grinned back, smiling at Eddie stupidly. “Hey. Christmas.” He pecked Eddie again. “Do you want to do a Friendsmas too? Get the band together, and, you know, Mike and Bill — Benny and Bev aren’t going anywhere this year, and Stan’s already been home for Hannukah.”
Eddie nodded. “Yeah, maybe we can do some kind of slapdash dinner tomorrow? Bill usually goes home for Christmas, but I don’t think it matters. If Stan’s coming, maybe we can call it, you know. Non-denominational friendship gathering.”
“Hey, did I ever tell you that we’re geniuses? And the best friends in the world?”
Eddie snorted. “That’s a little generous, but we are pretty great.”
“And then Christmas can just be —”
“Me and you, sunflower.”
Eddie ran his thumb over Richie’s knuckles once more, before flagging down the waitress for the cheque. He apologized for giving her trouble over the fries, and Richie smirked, because he knew Eddie wasn’t really sorry. They left with their hands in heavy coat pockets, bumping against each other as they walked too close together, boots squishing against the slush on the sidewalk. Eddie rambled about the groceries they’d need to buy, and Richie interjected with smarmy comments about the menu (and helpful reminders about everyone’s food particularities, since Eddie had a tendency to get carried away, when it came to dinner parties.)
Richie stopped suddenly, gloved hand taking Eddie’s arm. “Hey, babe. It’s snowing again.” Eddie span back around, sliding on the wet concrete and latching onto Richie’s coat for stability. They ended up nose-to-nose.
“I guess it is.”
Richie kissed Eddie, softly and sweetly, as the snow started to gather. It collected in the feathers of Eddie’s hair and the curls of Richie’s, on the lenses of his glasses and across Eddie’s shoulders. For the first time, maybe ever, it felt like Christmas. Eddie giggled against Richie’s lips and swatted him away, leaning in for another peck as he started walking again, arms interlinked.
“I love you, Eds.”
“You’re a fucking goof, Rich. I love you too.”