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“Oliver, finally! I thought you were going to sleep the day away and Santa would have to circle around and take your presents back to the North Pole.”
Oliver stops on the stairs. “It’s six thirty,” he tells his dad. “And Santa isn’t real.”
Dad gasps, his hand on his chest. He’s wearing a new sweater, the tag still hanging from the sleeve. "How could you think that?"
Oliver rolls his eyes. “Everyone knows that,” he says as he continues down the stairs. “I’m too old to believe in Santa.”
Dad lays his hands on his shoulders once he steps off the final stair. “You’re never too old to believe in something that makes you happy.”
Oliver wants to argue that Santa doesn’t make him happy—not since he turned six and heard the other kids at school talking.
Rare crystals make him happy. Bach and eagle ferns and medical journals make him happy. Things he can see and touch and hear.
Real things.
“Oliver, good morning,” Mom says when Dad leads him into the living room.
She’s sitting on the couch, sipping coffee from a mug Oliver bought her last Christmas. She’s still in her pajamas but she’s wearing a diamond necklace Oliver has never seen before. A gift from Dad.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” she says and Oliver realizes the whole house smells like cinnamon and sugar. “But you can get started on your gifts.”
Mom gestures toward the tree which is surrounded by gifts in brightly wrapped paper.
Oliver sits down on the carpet in front of the tree and Dad grabs a large box wrapped in red with a gold bow.
“Santa told me you should open this one first,” he says as he slides it over before sitting down beside Mom.
Oliver rolls his eyes again, but tears at the paper and feels himself light up when he sees the photo on the box.
“A rock polisher!” He shouts as the paper flies around him.
“Is that the one you wanted?” Mom asks and Oliver nods.
“I wonder how Santa could’ve known,” Dad says and Oliver abandons the box and throws himself at his parents.
“Oliver, careful,” Mom laughs as she sets down her mug so she can hug him back.
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
“Merry Christmas, Oliver,” Dad says as he kisses the top of Oliver’s head and Oliver feels so happy he could cry.
Instead, Oliver wakes up in his own bed in his own house, with Josh half-dressed and fully asleep beside him.
They had too much mulled wine at dinner and while they made a valiant effort to fool around when they got home, they decided to call it and resume in the morning. It would be part of their Christmas gift to each other.
Oliver lifts his head to check the clock on the nightstand. Three thirty five. Technically it’s the morning. There’s really nothing stopping him from rolling over, slipping beneath the covers, and waking Josh up in a very, merry way.
Before he can move, Josh shifts closer and rubs his face against the curve of Oliver’s shoulder.
“Go back to sleep,” he mumbles and Oliver turns and presses a kiss to the top of his head.
“I had a dream,” Oliver tells him and Josh makes a soft sound. “I was little—maybe seven. It was Christmas at my mom’s house—my dad was there, too—and I was opening presents. I really wanted a rock polisher that year.”
Josh snorts. “Of course you did.”
“I wanted it more than anything,” Oliver continues. “And I got it. I was so happy.”
“That’s nice,” Josh tells him as he slowly runs his fingertips back and forth over Oliver’s arm.
“I don’t know if it happened or not. It was so real…but I can’t trust my memories anymore. I don’t know if that was a Christmas where my dad couldn’t get out of bed or if my parents were fighting or if he was just gone. I don’t remember if I actually got the rock polisher or not.”
“I’ll buy you one.”
Oliver laughs wetly. When did he start crying?
“I’ll get the exact one you wanted when you were seven.”
“I don't think they still make it.”
“Then I’ll buy you a different one. A dozen different ones. We’ll return the ones you don’t want or donate them to a nerdy child in need.”
Oliver laughs again and rolls over to face him, letting his eyes adjust to the dark as he slides his hand up Josh’s chest, over his heart. They’re so close that Oliver barely has to lean in for their lips to touch.
Maybe that Christmas morning was a memory, or maybe it was just a dream, but he knows that this moment, right now, is very real.