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There were three days until Christmas, and spirits in the Dawson household were in short supply. Rationing inhibited their usual Christmas Day feast, and there were only thee mouths to feed this year.
Peter’s mom tied the wreath’s ribbon into a neat bow and stared with a frown at the small bouquet. “This isn’t enough,” she murmured.
His dad gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “It will do,” he said with a small smile. “Shall we go?”
Holiday decorations lay scattered around the cemetery. It was standard stuff, mostly wreaths and the occasional ornament. Their choices hardly stood out, but they didn’t care about making an impression for other visitors.
Peter laid the bouquet on the ground while his parents affixed the wreath to the headstone. “Wait,” he said. “Make it crooked like his ties.”
His mom smiled sadly at the proposition. For all his strengths, Charles never could tie a tie properly. She tilted the wreath slightly and backed away to make sure it wasn’t too obviously crooked.
The three of them stood in silence. They each wanted to update Charlie on the goings on of the last three months, but none could bring themselves to speak. Peter could only manage a simple “Happy Christmas, Charlie.”
They went to church on Christmas Eve. They knew they wouldn’t be in the mood for the Christmas Day crowd.
“May we sit here?” said a familiar voice.
“Of course,” said Peter’s dad. The three of them inched over to make enough room for the Mills family.
George sat next to Peter and offered a shy smile. As an only child, George knew he couldn’t properly understand the magnitude of losing a sibling. Despite that, he had been a desperately needed shoulder for Peter to cry on and did what little he could to console his best friend.
“How are you holding up?” said Mrs. Mills to Peter’s mom.
She sighed. “I’m trying.”
The service passed uneventfully. They discreetly wiped away the few tears they shed before anyone else could notice. Peter’s parents sang more quietly than usual, but otherwise they managed to fake being okay.
“George,” said Peter’s mom as they made ready to leave the church, “would you like to stay over tomorrow night?”
He looked over expectantly at his parents.
“Go ahead,” said George’s father.
“And we’ll see you for dinner?” said Peter’s dad.
“Of course.”
Christmas morning was a quiet affair. Few gifts were given, but there were enough to distract them at least a little from Charlie’s absence. They decided to forego crackers this year, and the Christmas feast would be closer to an everyday dinner with a few extra dessert options, but at least they were doing something.
While Peter’s mom put the finishing touches on the ham, he and his dad set the table, his dad eventually ducking away to hang some mistletoe in a location that he declined to disclose to Peter. It had been his dad’s idea to invite the Mills family to dinner, and it was just as well. The company would force them not to wallow in self-pity, and they all knew that Charlie would want them to have a good holiday.
Mrs. Mills brought a mincemeat pie prepared from a ration recipe. Despite her insistence that it was too dry and bland, the families partook without complaint. George even asked for seconds. Peter’s mom also found the time to bake some snickerdoodles to accompany their tea.
“Well, it’s getting dark,” said Mrs. Mills. “We had best be going.”
Mr. Mills stood up with her. “Thank you again for having us. You seem to be doing well, all things considered.”
Peter’s dad gave a pained smile. For a flash, Peter and George swore they saw anger in his eyes, but it disappeared so quickly that they may have imagined it. For his part, Peter felt unsure how to take that statement.
Peter cleared his throat. “George and I can take care of the dishes if you want.”
“Thank you, you two.” Turning to George’s parents, she said, “Would you like us to walk you home?”
The house had a comfortable quiet to it as the boys washed the dishes, and it remained quiet for most of the chore. The only noise came from the running water and the radio playing holiday music at a low volume.
They were mostly done when Peter broke the silence. “George, I can’t thank you enough for everything you’ve done.”
“No need to thank me.”
“I mean it. After Charlie … people avoided me. No one knew what to say, so they didn’t say anything.” He scrubbed a plate a little more aggressively than necessary. “No one asked how I was doing. They couldn’t even say ‘I’m sorry.’” Tears began to sting his eyes, but he focused even harder on the plate. “Hell, I’d take a ‘What can we do?’ Of course, there wasn’t really anything they could do. But they could’ve at least tried to check on me.” He paused to frustratedly wipe away fallen tears. “I just lost my brother, but sure. Leave me to grieve without any support. It’s fine.”
George took a break from drying a bowl to place his arm on Peter’s back. “You have me.”
Peter nodded. “I do,” he choked. He wiped away his remaining tears with an apology.
“You don’t have to apologize,” George said. “Come on. That plate’s the last dish, isn’t it?”
Peter wiped his hands on the kitchen towel. Just as he was about to head out of the kitchen, George stopped him and told him to wait while pointing up.
Peter followed his finger. Sure enough, there was his dad’s mistletoe.
It only took a couple of strides for George to reach him. He hesitated at first but soon worked up the courage to peck Peter on the lips.
Peter froze. Was he dreaming? Did that really just happen?
“Did—did I mess up?” George said.
Peter shook his head and placed his hands on George’s face. His hands were still a little damp, but George didn’t notice. Holding George’s face steadily, he pressed his lips against his. The kiss seemed to linger for eternity before they finally broke it, and then Peter snuck in a quick third kiss.
He hadn’t noticed George’s blushing until he pulled back from the final kiss. He seemed flustered and perhaps a little ashamed.
“It’s okay,” said Peter. “It’s just me.”
“You won’t tell?”
“Of course not.” He sealed his promise with a tight embrace. George hugged him back just as tightly, and for a precious few seconds, Peter found himself happy.