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5
“Why does that coat look familiar?”
“Arthur, darling, have you seen Bea’s shoe?”
“Her right or her left?”
“Either. Wait. Is she missing both now?”
“Catherine. The coat. Where have I seen it before?”
“I don’t know, Mum.”
“Catherine.”
“It’s a blue coat, you could have seen it anywhere.”
“It was Pip’s.”
“Arthur, really. We discussed this.”
“A used coat? You put your child–my grandchild in a used coat?”
“It was Philip’s when he was Henry’s age and then he grew out of it and now it’s Henry’s. It’s not as if we went digging through the rubbish bin for it.”
“Arthur, please.”
“Was he photographed in it?”
“We haven’t left the house yet.”
“Philip. Was Philip photographed in it?”
“It was six years ago. How am I to know?”
“I’m sure he was, Mum. There are photographers everywhere.”
“He’s the future king, he’s going to be photographed.”
“He’s an eleven year old boy. They should learn to leave him be.”
“Don’t tell me you have a problem with the cameras, given your….background.”
“Mother, please, it’s Christmas.”
“And we should all look our very best. Change his coat.”
“We’re late enough as is, Mum, there isn’t time–.”
“If you take my advice and hire a nanny—.”
“We don’t need one, not while Catherine and I are both available. We have this under control.”
“Your daughter isn’t wearing any shoes and your youngest son is dressed in hand-me-downs.”
“My background encourages hand-me-downs and as for Bea’s shoes….”
Henry holds his breath and sits very still on the couch while his father creeps closer and closer.
“I wonder…where….exactly….they could be.”
He pauses right in front of Henry, looking down while Henry looks up, then lunges, scooping Henry into his arms and revealing both of Bea’s black Mary Jane’s on the couch beneath him.
“There they are!” his father shouts while Henry dissolves into giggles. “Darling,” he says, turning around to look at Catherine, “Our son is a thief. We’ll have to hide him, I assume the guards are on their way.”
“To haul him off to the tower and throw away the key,” Catherine adds.
“My god,” Henry’s grandmother mumbles faintly, nose in the air.
“We’ll have to keep him hidden,” Arthur says, swinging Henry around. “Or fend them off. They won’t be taking my boy without a fight.”
“Are we going?” Philip stomps from the doorway, shoes on and coat buttoned. “I’m hot and itchy.”
“Itchy?” Arthur asks.
“It’s the jumper,” Catherine says, struggling to get her necklace clasped. “It’s wool.”
“If it’s itchy,” Arthur says as he lifts Henry onto his shoulders so his hands are free to help her, “then why is he wearing it?”
“He’s wearing it because it looks nice,” the Queen snaps. “He’s wearing it because it’s new and because this family has standards to uphold. We must present ourselves in a certain way and in a certain light which means dressing for style over comfort, sticking to traditional values, and, by all means, sticking to a schedule. As of this moment we are running precisely four minutes late, which is unacceptable.”
“We’re ready to go, Mum.”
“Your daughter isn’t wearing any shoes.”
“A minor detail,” Arthur says as he tips Henry forward and holds him upside down.
“Then fix it. Philip and I will be waiting in the car. I swear he’s the only one with sense in this family.”
She crosses the room where Philip reaches up for her hand. When she ignores it, he scurries after her.
“Have I ever told you what a lovely woman your mother is?”
Catherine slaps her hand across Arthur’s chest. “Christmas, darling. Shoes, Beatrice. Right side up, Henry.”
She tickles his side, setting him off into another round of laughter before Arthur picks him up and settles him on his hip.
“I suppose we’ll head to the car,” he says. “Unless you need backup to get our daughter into her shoes.”
“I’m sure we can manage on our own, isn’t that right? Bea.” She heaves a sigh. “Beatrice, why did you take the ribbon out of your hair?”
“I want it in plaits instead.”
“There isn’t time for that.”
Bea sticks her chin out and her bottom lip begins to quiver.
“Perhaps I can do it in the car. But your shoes first.”
“You sure you don’t want me to stay?” Arthur asks and Catherine shakes her head and kisses his cheek.
“No, go, before my mother—.” Her eyes dart to Henry. “Well. Let’s just leave it at that.”
Arthur hums and carries Henry out of the room, making sure his coat is buttoned all the way up.
“I don’t want to go to church, Daddy.”
“I know you don’t,” Arthur tells him. “But it won’t be so bad. It’ll be all done up for Christmas with a bunch of lights and candles and they’ll be singing. You like that, don’t you?”
Henry scrunches his nose and Arthur laughs.
“It’ll go by quickly then we’ll come back home, without your grandmother, and your mother and I will tuck you into bed and in the morning you’ll get to see what Santa has brought you. How does that sound?”
“Better,” Henry says, still sounding moody and Arthur laughs again and kisses his forehead.
“I’ll take it.”
13
Henry stands in the light of the fridge, barefoot and restless.
The rest of the house is quiet and dark, save for the faint glow of the Christmas tree in the sitting room, accidentally left on by one of the staff before they left for the night.
With a dissatisfied huff he closes the refrigerator door and opens the freezer, his stomach rumbling with hunger.
He picked at Christmas dinner, too filled with nerves and guilt to eat, something he’s currently regretting especially since nothing seems to be piquing his interest.
A running theme as of late.
Well, almost.
It’s been a bad day. A bad week. Semester if he’s being painfully honest, culminating in a giant, life-altering mistake that he’s sure will haunt him for the rest of his life.
How could he look at Andrew, the only person he’s been able to befriend so far at Eton, and think he could feel the same way.
Henry closes his eyes and sees the scene flash before him.
Him and Andrew in the library, tucked away in the back corner so they could whisper to each other instead of study. Andrew was talking about rugby and the swim team and how he was spending his holiday break skiing in the Alps with his family and all Henry could think about was how smart he is and how his smile pulls just slightly to the left and before he could stop himself, Henry was leaning in and clumsily pressing their lips together.
The rejection was swift. Andrew jerking back and gathering up his books and notes without saying a word. He avoided Henry for the rest of the day and then for the rest of the week and then they were all sent home for break and Henry is too afraid to reach out and apologize or beg for mercy.
I’m sorry. Please don’t tell anyone. No one can know. I don’t even want to know myself.
“Scrounging for a midnight snack, are we?”
“Holy fuck,” Henry swears as he jumps back far enough to catch his hip on the counter.
The freezer door swings shut to reveal his father leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest with a deep frown on his face.
“Don’t know if I care for the vocabulary you’re learning at that fancy boarding school.”
“I’m sorry,” Henry tells him as he rubs at his hip. “I didn’t know you were there. I didn’t hear you come down the stairs, I–.”
“It’s all right,” Arthur says with a wave of his hand. “I was saying far worse when I was your age. Just don’t let your grandmother hear.” He winks. “Or maybe you can.”
“Only once.”
“Once is all it’ll take.” Arthur pulls the door open and leans in to inspect the contents. “Find anything good?”
“No.”
“That’s only because you don’t know where you’re looking,” Arthur says as he crouches down and digs way back on the bottom shelf. A moment and a few struggles later he pulls out an unopened box of Cornettos and holds it high above his head in victory.
“I didn’t know those were back there,” Henry tells him as Arthur rips the box open and hands him one.
“No one does. They’re my secret stash. Well, less of a secret now, but if we can keep it between the two of us…”
“I won’t tell a soul,” Henry promises and Arthur reaches out to ruffle his hair.
“That’s my boy,” he says fondly as he takes a bite from the cone. “I noticed you didn’t eat much at dinner. A shame, really. It was exceptional this year.”
“It’s always good.”
“But you didn’t want to eat?”
Henry shakes his head and focuses on unwrapping the ice cream. “I wasn’t very hungry.”
“And you couldn’t sleep, either?”
Henry shrugs.
“It’s been happening quite often, hasn’t it?”
“No.”
Arthur sighs. “Henry, one day you’ll grow into those massive feet of yours but for now it sounds like an elephant clomping down the stairs. Don’t think I can’t hear you pacing.” He shifts and stands beside Henry. “Something bothering you?”
Henry shakes his head.
“Oh, c’mon now, something must be. Something big, something small, something to do with your brother, something to do with school?”
Henry flinches but shakes his head. “Philip bothers everyone.”
Arthur snorts. “That’s what brothers do, but if he’s done something—.”
“It’s not Philip. It’s….” He trails off and his father raises his brows, waiting expectantly yet patiently.
His father, who attends the GLAAD Awards every year. Who guest starred as Will’s love interest on Will & Grace. Who fights with the Queen of England each time she says something off-color.
If Henry can’t tell him…
Henry can’t tell him.
“It’s nothing, really. Just excited for Christmas, that’s all.”
Henry can’t look his father in the eyes as he says it. He doesn’t have a good poker face, at least not yet, not with his father.
“Well all right then,” Arthur announces loudly. “Finish that then get your shoes and a coat on.”
“Why?”
“Because we’re going out.”
“It’s the middle of the night. We’re in the middle of nowhere. Where could we possibly be going?”
Arthur smacks a noisy kiss to Henry’s temple then laughs when Henry tries to wipe it off.
“We’re going on an adventure,” he says as he turns away. “Now c’mon, hurry up.”
Snow crunches beneath their feet as they make the trek past the stables and into the barren farmlands.
It had stormed on and off all day, the sky an ugly gray but now the clouds have parted and the sky has opened up into an endless blanket of stars, the kind Henry doesn’t get to see from the palace in the heart of London.
“Is there a reason for this?” Henry asks as he slips on an icy patch. Arthur darts his hand out to catch him.
“You know I took an astronomy course at uni.”
“Does Gran know?”
“God no, I’m keeping that little detail for a rainy day when I need some entertainment.”
Henry laughs and tips his head back to stare at the stars.
“A big group of us would go out on clear nights like this and stand in the middle of some farmer’s field and map the stars. I was good at it, I liked it, but it always made me feel very small.”
“So you went out and became the biggest movie star on the planet?”
“That’s debatable,” Arthur says. “But even if it were true, it doesn’t change the fact that I am this microscopic speck hurtling through the universe, but you—.” He lays his hand on Henry’s shoulder. “And your brother and sister and mother—you are all my entire universe. And that is very, very big. I would drag every one of those stars down from the sky for you–for all of you–and nothing will ever change that. Whatever is bothering you, whatever will bother you, you can always tell me. Or, you can come out here and tell it to the stars. Either way, we’ll both always be here to listen.”
17
Henry does his best to get comfortable in the oversized armchair that the hospital staff dragged in for him.
No matter how he twists or turns he can’t seem to settle. Either his legs threaten to fall asleep or his neck is bent at a funny angle or the muscle in his back pulls sharply and aches.
Across the room his mother and sister are fast asleep in their own chairs; his mother sitting up with her head tipped back and Bea curled up with her head on the arm, her Santa hat cocked to the side and ready to fall off.
Henry envies them—their ability to find comfort here. He could never.
He’s made dozens of trips to the canteen to get tea. He visited the children’s wing and chatted with the nurses. He’s watched the twenty-four hour news cycle for nearly forty-eight hours straight. He can’t sleep. He can’t rest his eyes, too afraid that his father in the bed beside him will slip away behind his closed lids.
“What do you think of her?”
Henry follows the line of his father’s frail hand to the television in the corner where Congresswoman Ellen Claremont is giving a speech, her husband to her right and her children to her left.
The closed captioning catches every other word; equality, stability, and future jumping across the screen without context.
The camera pans to her son, his shoulders back and chin up, looking proud and youthful and–.
Henry looks away before his train of thought veers too severely off course.
“They say she wants to run for president. She’s been making quite a splash.”
“You know we aren’t allowed to get involved in politics.”
“I know the crown isn’t allowed to get involved but I am asking you, my son, not the prince.”
“I hope…I hope she’s successful.”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “What a lovely non-committal answer. Very diplomatic.”
“All that training, something was bound to stick.”
“Well, I think she’s a wonder. She’s exactly what the world needs. Bright and tenacious, not afraid to stand up for what she believes in. Most importantly she believes in the correct things. I saw her give a speech about L-G-B-T-Q rights the other day,” he says, listing the letters out slowly. “It was nothing short of inspiring. We need someone like that around here. It could change a lot of things for today's youth.” He taps Henry’s knee. “Speaking of today’s youth. Haven’t you got something better to do with your holiday than sitting around in a cold hospital room with your father?”
“Like what?”
“Like whatever Pez is doing? Surely he’s off having a grand old time somewhere. You could be with him.”
“He’s in Fiji,” Henry says, pulling out his phone and showing his father the photos Pez sent of white sand beaches, turquoise water, and himself in a Speedo, the latter of which makes his father laugh until he starts to cough and Henry is quick to grab the glass of water off the bedside table.
“It’s sun and sand this week before he starts volunteering at different shelters around the islands in the South Pacific. He’ll be gone for two months. He invited me to go—.”
“You should’ve gone.”
Henry sighs. “Dad.”
“You deserve to have fun. I know I’d rather be out there with him than in this dreary hospital watching my father waste away to nothing.”
“Dad.”
“You deserve to live your life, son. You’ve earned it. That’s my dying wish.”
“You’re going to be fine,” Henry grits out. He refuses to cry. He refuses to be that weak, to be what his brother and grandmother already suspect him to be. “The doctor said–.”
“Henry,” Arthur cuts in. “If I lived to be one hundred, it would still be my dying wish.”
Henry nods. He’s always known when to back down. It’s what he does best.
“Well, how would it look, me on a beach getting a tan while you and Bea and Mum are here and Philip is with Gran at Westminster ....the press would drag me through the mud. Especially if they learned I was with Pez.”
“Fuck them,” his father says and Henry starts. “I mean it. If I had the energy to make it to the window I’d lean out and give every photographer down there one of these.” He holds his middle and index finger up on both hands. “Never let them get to you. Never give them that much power.”
Henry nods instead of fighting. It’s all so much easier said than done.
“What about for New Year’s,” Arthur says. “Anything planned with any of your other friends?”
Henry snorts and fixes the blanket where it’s slipped down his father’s chest. “What other friends?”
“Your friends. You know, your friends from polo or your chums from Eton. I know you’re already in at Oxford but don’t tell me you’ve forgotten them already.”
“They were never really my friends. Teammates. Acquaintances. Admirers who only wanted to get close to me for the fame or to get to Bea. Pez is the only one that ever liked me for me.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“It’s true,” Henry tells him. “You know I’ve never been any good at making friends.” Can’t make them, can’t keep them. “There’s always been something wrong with me in that department.”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Arthur tells him. “I know you know that.”
“I’m not sure I do.”
“Henry—.”
“Let’s watch something else,” Henry interrupts as he grabs the remote. “Something festive.”
Change the subject. Change the channel. Get the lump out of his throat. Get the boy off the TV.
“I think Rudolph might be on,” Henry says as he flips through the channels. “You like that, don’t you?”
“You hate it.”
“The stop-animation makes me nauseous but I’ll live.”
“One of us should.”
“Dad.”
“Yes, yes, I know, I’m bringing down the mood. Now come up here.”
“Where?”
“The bed,” Arthur says as he gathers his strength and moves over. “That chair is dreadful.”
“I’m not going to fit.”
“I’m making room.”
“I’m not a little boy anymore.”
“Nonsense. You’ll always be to me.”
He scooches over just enough for Henry to perch on the edge, their heads on the same pillow.
“If you vomit it’s okay,” Arthur says as Rudolph meets up with Hermey. “You’re in a hospital, they expect that here. But do aim off the other side instead of over me, won’t you?”
Henry settles with his head on his father’s shoulder. “I’ll do my best.”
22
“I’ve been invited to his New Year’s party.”
“Whose?”
Henry gives him a flat look over the top of his pint glass. Pez snorts.
“I know, but I wanted to hear you say it.”
“Why in god’s name—.”
“Oh come on,” Pez says, hanging off of Henry’s arm. “Indulge your best and oldest friend. Well, perhaps not best seeing as how I’ve been replaced by a certain American boy with deep brown eyes and gorgeous curls.”
“I wouldn’t exactly call us friends. It’s all fake you know. The articles, the photo ops, the invitation. He doesn’t mean a word of it.”
“And the constant texts and the phone calls…that’s all fake, too? There aren’t any cameras around…no reporters…just you and him and the way you blush.” He tries to pinch Henry’s cheek and Henry bats his hand away. “I’m just saying, Haz. I’m surprised you’re not on the phone with him right now.”
“It’s Christmas. He’s probably enjoying time with his family. A foreign concept to me.”
“Hey, you’re with your chosen family.”
It was shockingly easy to get out of official Christmas engagements this year; ever since Cakegate his grandmother has wanted to see less and less of him.
Instead of attending church, Henry joined Pez at one of his shelters, serving up dinner and handing out gifts. It was good press and more importantly, it made Henry feel good.
Unlike this conversation.
“Why is it so hard to admit you’ve made a friend?”
“Because I can’t be his friend. You know that.”
“I do suppose you being madly in love with him for the last three years throws a wrench in the plans.”
“Would you please keep it down,” Henry hisses, glancing over his shoulder at the other patrons at the pub they snuck off to after the work was done. No one seems to be paying them any mind.
“I’m not in love with him.”
Pez raises a brow and Henry sighs.
“I’m in love with him. Hopelessly and helplessly in love with him which wouldn’t be all that bad if it wasn’t also unrequited.”
“Well, now, let’s not be too hasty.”
“He’s straight, Pez.”
“Have I taught you nothing? You can’t assume.”
“I’m not assuming. I know it. I’m sure of it.”
“Might I remind you, my dear, dear boy, that you were sure that I was straight when you met me.” He throws his arms out with a flourish. “Me!”
“Pez, darling, I don’t believe you’re the best example given the fact that I’m still not sure what you are.”
“Neither am I,” Pez proudly announces. “Isn’t it grand? No labels, no pressure to conform. I go wherever the wind takes me, I fancy whomever I please. I live my life.”
Henry hums. “I’m happy for you. I’m so happy in fact that if I didn’t love you so much I fear the jealousy would eat me alive. I’m not going to the party.”
“Oh, of course you are.”
“Yes,” Henry agrees. “Of course I am. But then that’s it. I think our work is done.”
“What do you mean?”
“His mother is up for reelection at the end of the year so I imagine he’ll be busy campaigning and I’ll be doing…whatever my grandmother asks me to do and that’ll be it. People will forget. They’ll move on. I’ll probably never see him again.”
“So then you better make this party count. People kiss on New Year’s, don’t they?”
“It’s not happening, Pez.”
“I just think you’re giving up too easily is all.” Pez chews on the straw of his drink. “Did this invite include a plus one?”
“It did.”
“And I assume you’re bringing me?”
“Exactly who else would I bring?”
“I don’t know, perhaps whatever Lady-du jour your grandmother has cooked up for the week.”
“I am taking you. I don’t really care what my grandmother thinks about it.”
Pez slaps him on the back. “Thatta boy. I’ll go, I’ll get a feel for this boy of yours—figuratively, of course, don’t be jealous, Haz.”
Henry rolls his eyes.
“Or, I’ll link up with that divine sister of his and pump her–respectfully–for information about her brother–.”
“Please do not talk about pumping June Claremont-Diaz.”
“Fair, fair, I can see how it would be uncomfortable for you seeing as how she’s your future sister-in-law.”
“And on that note,” Henry says as he slides off the stool. “I think I’ll be on my way.”
“Oh, no,” Pez says as he reaches for him. “Stay. Have another drink. Better yet, stay over at my place tonight. We’ll get properly sloshed and I’ll let you recite soliloquies about the First Son’s arse while I Google photographs of him in suits and swimwear and we’ll decide what he looks best in. My guess is everything. He’s a damn fashion model…you know, if it weren’t for the lack of height.”
“I have to go. Bea is coming over. We’re going to get in our pajamas and eat too many sweets and watch movies. It should be fun. You're welcome to join us.”
“Tempting, truly,” Pez says as his eyes catch on a couple that walks past. “But I think I’ll stay.” He winks. “Spread a little Christmas cheer.”
“Be safe,” Henry tells him. “Call me in the morning.”
“I’ll call you tonight. Give you all the details.”
“Can’t wait,” Henry tells him as he pulls on his jacket but Pez stops him with a gentle hand on his arm.
“It’ll all work out,” Pez says. “Trust me.”
25
Beside him, Alex shivers and buries his nose deeper into the folds of his scarf.
It’s the fourth time he’s done that since they’ve been out and Henry’s about to take pity.
“We can go back if you’d like.”
Alex shakes his head and grits his teeth to stop them from chattering. “I’m fine.”
“Love.”
“Baby.”
Henry shakes his head fondly. “As stubborn as the day I met you.”
“And you love me more now than you did back then. Did you see any ornaments around here? Kinda wanna bring a couple back for my mom and June’s tree is shockingly pathetic. It needs help.”
Henry stops and looks around the market. There are at least a dozen vendors selling ornaments of all shapes, sizes, colors, and material.
“No, I don’t believe I did.”
“Ass,” Alex mumbles before squeezing Henry’s hand and pulling him through the crowd.
The market had been Henry’s idea. He thought it might help shake off the stuffiness of the Palace and serve as a distraction from the impending doom that is dinner with the Queen.
They’ve avoided it for the past few years. First staying in Brooklyn for the holidays then traveling to Austin. It was wonderful. It reminded Henry of Christmases from his past—warmth and love and family. But the press took notice of his absence in London and the bad press was a bridge too far.
Now they’re back. Navigating a market packed with last minute shoppers so they can avoid Her Majesty’s royal glare.
“What do you think about these?” Alex asks, stopping in front of a booth filled with delicate glass ornaments.
“They’re pretty.”
“But not perfect.”
“Do things have to be perfect?”
“Have you met me? How long before we have to be back?”
Henry checks his watch. “Forty-five minutes.”
“We’ll divide and conquer,” Alex tells him. “You go that way and I’ll go this way and we’ll meet back up here in thirty minutes. Whoever finds the best ornaments wins.”
“Must everything be a competition?”
“Again, have you met me?”
“I have. Thankfully.”
The competitive light in Alex’s eyes is replaced with adoration as he leans up and steals a kiss.
“Thirty minutes,” he says as he sways back. “Winner gets to decide whatever filthy thing we do tonight that would have your ancestors clutching their pearls.” He readjusts Henry’s scarf. “I already have like, five ideas so…”
“I have six.”
“Then it sounds like it’ll be a win-win.”
Amy clears her throat from where she's posted behind Alex and Alex drops his hands.
“Thirty minutes. I love you.”
He steps into the crowd, hiding in plain sight behind a scarf and a knit hat and Henry’s heart skips after him.
It’s only thirty minutes without him. Thirty minutes and a task to complete.
With his own PPO following at a distance, Henry weaves his way through the market on a hunt for ornaments but finding mulled wine, fudge, and cheese instead.
Despite the judgment that’s waiting for them at the hands of his grandmother and the less than flattering headlines that are sure to follow, Henry’s happy to be here.
Home is Brooklyn or Austin or DC—at least until Ellen’s term is up…basically anywhere Alex is, but England will always be special.
It’s where he went through the aches and pains of growing up and where his parents did their best with what they knew to soothe them away.
It’s where he met Pez and where he truly met Alex, stuffed in a storage closet at a children’s hospital.
It’s where his father is, physically, even if Henry feels him by his side all the time.
He and Alex will settle in America but they’ll keep coming back. They’ll bring their children—.
The sureness of the thought pulls him up short. As does the sight of Alex down the end of the aisle, talking to a young couple (those lashes and jawline simply cannot be hidden with winter wear) with a baby.
She can’t be more than a year old, bundled up in a fuzzy, pink coat, her little hand wrapped around one of Alex’s fingers.
Four words run in a loop in Henry’s head as Alex says his goodbyes and makes his way back to Henry with a warm smile.
“Thirty minutes on the dot,” Alex says, closing the distance and peeking in Henry’s bags. “And I obviously won. More cheese, Hen, really?”
“Will you marry me?”
Amy squeaks and covers it with a cough. Alex’s smile doesn’t doesn’t falter.
“Yes.”
Henry nods. “Okay. Good. We should keep it to ourselves for now, just until we get back to the states. If we tell people now we’re going to need to make an official, royal announcement and that will entail official portraits and an appearance on the balcony where we’ll need to wave to the masses and it’ll just be easier if we wait. And we don’t have to get married right away. We can wait until you’re done with school and get a job, if that's something you want. If it’s not that’s okay, I have enough money to take care of the both of us for the rest of our lives. But I know you, and I know you’ll want to get a job because you want to help people—.”
“You really have everything figured out.”
“No, actually. I’m making everything up as I go right now. The only thing I have figured out is that I want you forever. That’s all.”
“Well,” Alex says as he steps into his space, eyes like honey and voice sweet like syrup. “That’s everything.”
36
“Santa went overboard this year.”
“Indeed.”
“I mean, look at this, this is crazy. We’re five rows deep, here.”
“If it makes you feel better, not all of these are from Santa. That mountain over there is all from Pez.”
“I thought you told him to keep the gifts in the single digits this year.”
“I did, but he told me that Bella is his only goddaughter and that I should mind my own business.”
“I had a similar conversation with my mom and dad. Okay.” Alex says, sitting back and rubbing his hands over his thighs as he takes in the gifts. “This is fine. This is worth it. She’s worth it.”
“Of course,” Henry agrees. “That’s obvious.”
Alex hums. “Fuck, I wish we had gotten her that talking horse-robot thing she’s been going on about.”
“I found one.”
Alex whips his head around to look at him. “You’re kidding?”
“Nope. It was meant to be a surprise for both of you but…”
“Where? How? It’s sold out everywhere.”
“I have my ways,” Henry says loftily and Alex swears.
“I love when you use your privileged white guy powers for good. C’mere.”
Alex pulls him in, smiling into the kiss as Henry laughs against his mouth, their legs tangling together as Alex tips backwards in front of the tree, messy and silly and good.
“We are not having sex in front of the Christmas tree,” Henry says as Alex slips his hand beneath his shirt.
“Obviously,” Alex agrees, “but we can fool around a little bit. Like the good old days.”
Henry’s huffs. “Do you mean the day before yesterday when your mother took Bella out for lunch and we had the house to ourselves. You pushed me up against the sink in the bathroom and had me watch in the mirror as you—.”
“Shhh,” Alex interrupts, his hand squeezing Henry’s side in warning. “Listen.”
Henry lifts his head from the crook of Alex’s neck and hears little footsteps starting down the stairs.
“Go,” Alex whispers, pushing Henry to his feet. “She can’t see this. She’ll figure it out.”
“She’s five, I highly doubt—.”
“She’s our kid. She’s a genius. She’ll know.”
Henry scrambles up and meets Bella at the bottom of the stairs, scooping her up and spinning her into the kitchen before she can see into the living room.
“Darling, what are you doing up? It’s late.”
“I thought I heard a noise and thought maybe it was Santa.”
“We should get you back to bed, love.”
“But I’m not sleepy now.”
Henry looks at her perfect, little face and melts. Between his husband and his daughter it’s truly a wonder he gets anything done.
“I know how that feels,” he says in sympathy as he carries her toward the back door, pausing to grab his jacket off the hook and wrap it around her.
“Where are we going?”
Henry kisses her temple. “On an adventure.”
They don’t go far, only a a few steps into the backyard, but it’s more than enough to get a view of the star-filled sky.
Bella rests her head on Henry’s shoulder as he rocks her gently.
“When I was a little bit older than you, my father brought me out to look at the stars on Christmas Eve. We stood out there together for hours. He mapped out all the constellations—.”
Bella lifts her head.
“It’s the way the stars make patterns in the sky. Different shapes.” He scans the sky and quickly connects the dots that form Ursa Major and traces them slowly with his finger. “See how those stars look like a big spoon? That's called the Big Dipper.”
Bella giggles and Henry drops a kiss to the top of her head.
“And the Little Dipper is there, see it? Now, Orion—.”
“What are you two doing out here?” Alex says, playing dumb as he steps off the deck with the quilt that was folded over the back of the couch. He wraps them up then loops his arms around Henry.
“Daddy is naming the stars,” Bella says.
Alex hooks his chin over Henry’s shoulder. “Is he now?”
“Just passing down something my father taught me.”
Alex hums. “What were you saying about Orion?” He squeezes Henry’s waist. “That one is a personal favorite of mine.”
Henry grins and raises his eyes to the sky just as a shooting star streaks across it. Bella gasps and Alex laughs in wonder and Henry understands what his father was saying all those years ago.
He is very small, but the love he feels is simply too big to name. It floods in, settling in his chest and making it hard to breathe in but he pushes through, then points to the sky.