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Scraps of paper littered Mac’s bedroom floor, each torn piece had equations and bits of circuit scribbled on it in Mac’s sloping handwriting. Mac sat cross legged and contemplative in the centre of the circle of notes. The system he’d created for his homework assignment wasn’t working, for reasons unknown, so he’d written out all the stages separately and spread them out around him in order on his bedroom carpet, thinking that if he literally put himself in the middle of the interconnected web like an engineering minded spider he’d be able to spot the fly in the logical progression. It hadn’t worked. Yet. Mac scowled at the bits of paper and went back to the beginning of the calculation, muttering the details of each different part aloud to himself in the hope that the flaw would make itself known.
Mac’s mathematical murmurs were interrupted by three rapid little tap tap taps on his bedroom door.
“Mac?” The door opened and Jack’s head appeared around it. “Are you busy, bud?” he asked
“Umm, I’m doing my homework,” Mac looked up from the piece of paper he was clutching, “but it isn’t going right.”
“And you thought sitting on the floor would help?” Jack asked, mouth quirked, taking in Mac’s seat on the floor.
“Kinda.”
“Has it?”
“Not yet.”
“Well,” Jack said with a careful patience that Mac thought was holding back an excited smile, “then maybe you should take a break and look at it again in a few minutes with fresh eyes?”
Mac looked down at his work. “I’m not getting anywhere right now,” he said, putting the rumpled note in his hand back in it’s place in the sequence, “so that makes sense.”
“Great!” Jack strode into the room grinning like a Cheshire Cat who’d just received news of a lottery win. “That’s great because I’ve got something amazing to show you,” he announced and dropped a shopping bag onto Mac’s bed. “You're going to love this, look!”
Jack plunged his hand into the bag with a rustle and show boated for a moment, digging around as if he were searching for a prize in a bran tub. When he finally pulled his hand out he was holding a black item of knitwear.
“Ta-da!” Jack held the knitting up under his chin to reveal a sweater emblazoned with a dinosaur wearing a Santa hat and the caption, ‘Merry Rex-Mas!’ underneath.
“Wha-?” Mac stared open mouthed.
“It’s a Christmas sweater, genius! I got one for you too!”
Jack reached back into the bag again and Mac watched him with a dull throb of concern. If the shirt Jack had willingly chosen for himself looked like, well like that, Mac had no idea what the one his dad picked out for him would be like. Would it have dancing snowmen on it? Cartwheeling elves? A Christmas tree with light up decorations that played a tune when you pressed the star on the top?
“Ta-da again!” Jack said. The sweater he pulled out of the bag was dark blue and red with bold white silhouettes of polar bears, pine trees and snowflakes covering it. “I thought about getting us matching ones but decided that would be too dorky.”
“Yeah,” Mac deadpanned, “we wouldn’t want sweaters that were dorky.”
Jack missed Mac’s sarcasm, or more likely chose to ignore it. He patted Mac’s new top affectionately. “I think this will suit you.”
Mac watched his dad smile down at his new sweater and accepted his fate; him parading around in a top that looked like a winter wonderland was going to be happening in his near future. He didn’t mind, not really, he didn’t know what had possessed Jack to buy the Christmas sweaters but they had made him happy.
“Jack,” Mac asked with exaggerated care, teasingly testing out a theory for the sweater’s sudden appearance in his life, “did the girl at the shop tell you those sweaters were cute?”
“What? No! It’s not like that time with the calamari! I just thought they looked like fun,” Jack rolled his eyes. “Sheesh! You buy bad pizza one time and you never live it down.”
“So what are we going to do with them?” Mac asked, moving the conversation on from the pizza incident.
“Do with what?”
“With the sweaters.”
“Wear them of course!” Jack said. “I was thinking we could have a Christmas movie marathon with snacks and these sweaters. The one I bought you is a little too big so your skinny self has room to grow into it. I thought this could be the start of a tradition.” Jack grinned at Mac and took a sideways leap, landing messily on Mac’s bed with a bounce. He hauled himself to sit up looking enthused the way he always did when planning a fun, silly, father and son time scheme. He’d had that exact same gleam in his eyes when he’d seen their rocking chair while they were furniture shopping, as they’d left the house for the Halloween fair and the time he decided to teach Mac how to shave. “I was thinking we could watch Die Hard – it is a Christmas movie – I have evidence to support this in case anyone argues with me,” he continued, a raised eyebrow levelling an accusation of dissent at Mac; when Mac shrugged in agreement Jack’s face fell a little, crestfallen he wouldn’t get to mount a defence of his theory, “and we can watch It’s a Wonderful Life, Miracle on 34th Street - I like the modern one but I’ll warn you I will cry when Santa talks in sign language to the little deaf girl – Elf, Arthur Christmas, Scrooged, The Muppet's Christmas Carol and any others you can think of too.”
“Watching all those movies will take a whole weekend!” Mac said, boggling slightly at just how long Jack was planning to spend in a Christmas movie binge.
“That’s why I said it will be a marathon not a sprint.” Jack nodded. “Come on, it will be a fun and festive frolic.” He picked up Mac’s sweater and held it under his chin, dancing it from side to side with such joy in his expression that Mac couldn’t refuse him.
“Okay. That does sound like fun.”
“Attaboy!” Jack tossed Mac his new top. “Put that somewhere safe, you’ll need it this weekend.”
Mac caught the sweater and laid it across his lap, replacing some of the pieces of paper that had shifted position when he’d moved.
Jack looked down curiously at Mac’s scribblings. “What are you doing?”
“Homework.”
Jack squinted at the pages surrounding Mac. “I don’t know what they’re teaching in those classes of yours but it must be different from what we did in my school, you look like you’re planning on doing some kind of ritual there, Gandalf, add a couple of candles and I think you could summon the spirit of Stephen Hawking.”
Mac laughed. “Only on a night with a full moon,” he said. “The system I’m designing isn’t working so I hoped breaking it down into pieces would help me find the problem.”
Jack hummed. “I have an equation for you,” he held up his Christmas top, the open mouthed roar of it’s dinosaur was almost as wide as Jack’s smile. “Jack + Mac + Sweaters + Snacks + Christmas movies = Awesome. Awesomeness squared! Or, like, cubed, or to the power of ten or something; you know, one of those math things that mean a lot.”
“Awesomeness squared.” Mac said, smiling at the concept, Jack’s enthusiasm was contagious. “Who could say no to that?”
“You’ll wear the sweater then?” Jack asked.
“Of course.”
“Awesome!” Jack cried. “We should go to the diner in them so Katie can see you wearing it. Women like a man in a novelty sweater, that’s a fact, they think they make us look warm, fun and approachable.” He winked.
“Katie,” Mac flustered and blushed, “might not be working when we go to the diner and even if she was she won’t care what I’m wearing.”
“Of course she won’t.” Jack said in a drawl. He climbed off Mac’s bed and stood. “I’ll leave you to plan your mission to Mars or whatever it is that you’re working on. Maybe when you’re done you could use all this,” he waved his hands and Mac’s notes, “to work out how Santa is able to deliver a toy to every child in the world in just one night.”
“I thought Santa used magic,” Mac said.
“He uses magic,” ‘Duh!’ was heavily implied in Jack’s tone, “but he’ll need to work out an effective route around the planet too. The quickest route from A to B is a straight line, right? But the Earth is round and the countries are all over the place so that makes the whole thing more complicated. I’m sure Mr Claus uses all the tools at his disposal to get the job done right including reindeer, magic, GPS and nerd powered geekery.”
“How about I think about it and let you know what I come up with?” A small part of Mac’s brain had actually started wondering just how Santa’s Christmas Eve journey around the world could be made possible vis a vis time zones and utilising the jet stream for speed.
“That sounds good to me,” Jack said, giving Mac a thumbs up. He stood and gathered up his new sweater. “I’ll leave you to it, hopefully this little interlude has given your brain chance to look at your equation thingy with new eyes.”
“Maybe, hopefully,” Mac said, looking down at his homework, “yeah, I think it has, thanks,”
“Awesome,” Jack said, “Good luck.” He turned and left the room with a pleased swagger. Mac heard him singing Santa Claus is Coming to Town as he headed to his room to hang up his sweater.
‘Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Jack Frost nipping at your nose, Yuletide choirs being sung by a fire and folks dressed up like Eskimos…’
Mac rolled over with a grunt and turned off the alarm on his phone. He’d set The Christmas Song to go off at 6am on the Saturday morning of The Great Dalton Family Christmas Movie Marathon thinking Jack wouldn’t be up at that hour and he’d have plenty of time to put his plan into action. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He flopped onto his back and looked blearily up at the ceiling through the dark, huffing out a sound not unlike the noise the horses in the stable make to express their dissatisfaction. Nat King Cole had a silky smooth voice, as warm and rich as Jack’s homemade hot chocolate, but even his singing couldn’t make being woken up before sunrise on a winter weekend a pleasant experience. Still, Mac thought, heaving himself out of bed and reaching for his Christmas sweater, it would be worth it.
Everything was ready. Mac had checked his work, and checked it again to be extra, extra sure that it all functioned, then sat on the sofa in the unlit living room listening for Jack’s footsteps in the hallway. He twitched nervously, not really sure what else to do with himself except wait for his dad to emerge from his bed. The sun still wasn’t up and the street outside the house was waiting silently for the day to start in earnest. Everyone was still in bed, still tucked up warm and comfortable and why wouldn’t they be? What else would be a sensible choice on a winter’s morning? Mac would have been there too if he hadn’t had something special to do. Sitting by an unlit Christmas tree while everyone else slept Mac felt like a small child hiding out in the hope of sneaking a glance at Santa Claus. He drew his knees up to his chest, snuggling into the Christmas sweater he’d put on over his pyjamas and hugging himself. Now he had finished his task the idea that had seemed so sweet at first began to sour as doubts emerged. Maybe he was being childish, maybe Jack would think what he’d done was stupid, now that he was finished with it his idea was starting to seem kind of lame.
When he heard Jack’s bedroom door open and close Mac’s stomach clenched in anticipation. He was almost 100% sure that Jack would enjoy what he’d done, he’d put his certainty at 98% if he was really pressed for an answer.
Maybe 97%.
Jack liked surprises and he liked it when Mac made things so everything was bound to be fine.
Mac was at least 95% sure of that.
When Jack shuffled past the living room door in his Christmas sweater covered pyjamas Mac called his name.
“Jack?”
“Mac?” Jack stopped walking and peered into the room towards the sound of Mac’s voice. He stepped inside, confusion and the beginnings of concern on his face. “Why are you sitting in the dark? Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine. I’ve got something to show you.” Mac stood and beckoned Jack further into the room. “We’re watching Christmas movies today, right?” he said. “So I thought…I thought it might be nice to…” Mac chewed his lip and decided it would just be easier to show Jack what he’d done. “Turn on the plug board next to the Christmas tree, um, please.”
Mac could see in Jack’s eyes that at least three teasing retorts to that request had flashed through his mind in the seconds it took him to respond. He guessed they included, ‘are we going to be launched into orbit?’, ‘set phasers for stun!’ and some terrible puns about shedding light on the situation. Jack dismissed them all though, clearly seeing his son’s nervousness, and stepped over to press the switch Mac had pointed out.
At the click of the button strings of lights rippled to life one by one to illuminate the room. Bing Crosby began singing about dreaming of a white Christmas as the sequence started with the lights on the Christmas tree, their twinkles bursting to life, reflecting off shining baubles and throwing out spiked shadows of the tree’s branches in colourful splashes, followed by the lights Mac had twisted across the room, around the windows and over the bookshelves where Jack kept his DVDs. A string of gleaming bulbs surrounded the pile of movies on the floor beside the TV - Die Hard waiting patiently on the top - and artificial candles shone on the coffee table. Finally the mantle above the fireplace filled with lights, including ones that blazed inside the stockings with Mac and Jack embroidered on.
The room glowed. Gold, silver, white, green and red shone softly from thoughtfully chosen corners, colours dancing softly, like the Northern Lights brought in from the icy sky, and the air was perfumed with the smell of the pine Christmas tree and the snacks Mac had set out on the table.
Jack’s jaw dropped open then his mouth curved up into a huge grin.
“Buddy,” he said in hushed awe, “this is a wonderful winterland. It looks just like the fancy department store windows my family visited when I was a kid.” He turned in a circle, carefully taking in the sight around him. “I used to press my nose up against the cold glass of those stores trying to squash myself inside the displays because I wanted to feel what it was like to be in with all that shining Christmassyness. And now I know.”
They’d decorated the house the week before but Mac had added extra ornaments to the living room, paper snowflakes cascaded down the windows, a red breasted robin made of a large bauble and several paperclips proudly surveyed the room from the highest branch of the Christmas tree, ping pong ball snowmen sat on the window sill and a procession of lollypop stick reindeer were dashing through the cotton wool snow in front of the fireplace.
Jack tugged at his T-Rex Christmas sweater, “I’m so glad I came dressed for the occasion.”
“Me too.” Mac smoothed down the front of his sweater. He was getting used to it. It was warm and soft and he supposed the pictures on it were jolly in a way that captured the season. “You like the room then?” Mac tried to keep the trepidation he felt out of his voice.
“I love it!” Jack enthused.
Mac thought back to what Jack had said when he’d explained his Christmas movie marathon plan. “Would you say it’s awesome squared?” he asked.
“Kiddo, it’s most certainly awesome squared. It’s wonderful. It’s…it’s,” Jack threw an arm around his son and looked about, trying to find the right words to describe how he felt.
Mac hadn’t been sure if he’d done too much in his need to create a pure festive moment. He knew he couldn’t capture everything he wanted to give and hoped to find in his and Jack’s first Christmas together with some wiring, a few decorations and a download of the Christmas Crooners Classic Song Collection but he couldn’t stop himself from trying. The build wasn’t perfect but he’d hoped it would make Jack happy despite that. And it had. Knowing that, that even though it wasn’t perfect what he’d done was unconditionally welcomed and loved, was like finding an enormous present wrapped in shining paper with his name on under the tree.
Jack squeezed him a little tighter and looked pleased with himself, apparently having found the words to express what he wanted to say. “It’s Christmas squared!”