Chapter 24
DEXTER
Christmas is understandably not typically a happy time of the year for me anymore.
When I was a kid, it was the best thing in my life.
I was my parents’ Christmas miracle as they liked to say.
It wasn’t until I was a teenager and did the math that I realized what they meant since my birthday is in the beginning of October.
Oh man, I would give anything to go back to having them teasing me about how red I used to turn because of it.
It’s been six years since they passed away, and the holidays just aren’t the same.
It’s like all of the light got sucked out of the world when I had to put Mom and Dad in the ground.
I usually lock myself away on Christmas.
It’s the one day of the year that I need distractions, but the world doesn’t let me have that because everything closes.
The world shuts down so that families can be together, but all it does is remind me of what I lost.
This year is different. For the first time since the accident, I have found myself not getting annoyed at the constant barrage of that Mariah Carey song.
Instead, I laugh when I hear it, thanks to Johnny’s awful attempts to sing along to it every time it comes on the radio.
To be honest, I have been excited seeing the joy on my boy’s face for the last few weeks as the holiday got closer.
I genuinely love seeing him light up at every mention of Santa and the magic of Christmas.
He even somehow managed to get me to watch a few of those cheesy prince meets small town girl movies on Netflix the other day.
Ma would have liked my boy. Dad, too. She would have been right there with him in the kitchen, whipping up all of the recipes from the social media posts and dancing to pop hits from her high school years.
Dad would have talked cars with him till the Pirates bring home another Pennant.
He would read up on everything to do with tinkering, but the man literally hammered nails into his own hand and knocked himself out with a screwdriver while assembling a bookshelf from IKEA.
There is a reason why I call someone when tools are required. I take after my father.
Pulling into the driveway, I notice that there are colored lights in my front window and a wreath on the door that weren’t there when I left for work this morning.
I’m glad Johnny and I talked about decorations and such earlier in the week.
At least ten of the boxes that came from his storage unit contain nothing but Christmas decorations.
My boy loves the holiday, but he promised to keep it low key this year for me.
Honestly, as long as it doesn’t look like the North Pole exploded in my home, I really am not going to care. As long as he’s happy.
Stepping through the front door takes me back to better times.
Well, better than the last five years. I don’t think anything is going to top this year based on what I’m seeing.
Not only did he put lights in the window and a wreath on the door, but there is an honest to God real pine tree in my living room draped in lights and ornaments of every possible shape and size.
Most of them look homemade – like the kinds of things kids make in their art classes to give to their parents.
Underneath the tree, there is a miniature train set, complete with a village that I am pretty sure is the city of Wrenshaw made out of Legos.
On the railing to the stairs, white lights and red garland are wrapped around it to make it look like a candy cane spiraling up to the bedrooms. There are decorations everywhere I look, but I know this isn’t everything he brought with him.
And some of it has to be new. The stockings are definitely new because I don’t have one anymore.
I only ever had the one that Ma made for me.
I didn’t replace anything that was lost that day.
Aside from the photo albums and heirlooms, I left everything else to get sold at the estate sale.
Part of me regrets giving up my childhood home, but I would have drowned in the memories.
The music is blasting from the kitchen, so there’s a pretty decent chance that Johnny didn’t hear me come in.
I kick off my shoes and go to put them on the shoe rack, but there are fuzzy slippers where my shoes normally go.
I swap them out with my shoes and see a card tucked inside the right slipper.
Dexter,
I know Christmas will be hard for you, but I hope I can help make this year brighter even if it’s just by being your silly boy. When things get HARD, I promise I’m here to help.
If you decide to play along, there is a matching robe for you hanging on the back of the closet door where you are supposed to hang your coat. The dining chairs are not coat racks tonight.
When you are ready to eat, come to the table.
Jingle Bells and North Pole Kisses,
Your Johnny
When I open the closet to hang up my coat, I laugh out loud.
My boy got me a mother fucking Santa robe.
Looking at the slippers that are now on my feet, they actually do resemble the kind of boots that you would expect to go with a cheap costume.
Now all I need is a... A fuzzy red had with white trim falls out of the pocket of the robe while I put my arms in the sleeves.
I know I have the dopiest grin on my face when I walk through the archway, but I’m pretty sure I fell through a wormhole or something and ended up getting the It’s a Wonderful Life treatment. Is this some sort of magical alternate reality?
The dining set that I picked up for thirty dollars at a yard sale looks like it should be featured in a magazine. I didn’t even know what size table cloth to get for it, let alone a table runner, placemats, and serving dishes. And since when do I have wine glasses and Christmas plates?
“Merry Christmas, Santa Daddy,” Johnny steps over to kiss me on the cheek while I’m still completely blown away by what I’m seeing. “The only thing left to serve is the drinks. I wasn’t sure if you’d want a beer or some of the wine that Russ left for us.”
Slowly, I lower myself down into the chair closest to me. Since there are only two places set, I figure I have a fifty-fifty shot at choosing the right seat.
“I’ll just have whatever you’re having,” I murmur while I take in the feast my boy has prepared for us.
There’s pasta with cream sauce. There’s a tray of snow crab legs.
There’s garlic bread. I even see a dish full of shrimp and sea scallops and another with sautéed mushrooms and tomatoes.
When the hell did he have time to make all of this and decorate?
“I’m not drinking tonight,” Johnny calls out to me from the kitchen. “Cranberry ginger ale okay with you or do you want something else?”
“That’s fine,” I call back and snag a piece of garlic bread from the basket.
He made homemade garlic knots last week and ended up having to hide them from Russel.
My best friend is not getting any of this feast tonight.
Thank all that is holy that Dave insists on his son going to his house for the holidays.
I get my boy to myself for the whole week.
I am not prepared for what I see when he comes back into the room carrying a two liter bottle of pink ginger ale to fill up the wine glasses. I should have figured that with my robe and slippers that he would have something at least equally silly to wear. .
His attempt to style his hair tonight consists of a headband that has a felt elf hat hot glued to the top of it and red and white pipe cleaners wrapped around it.
His slippers are absolutely adorable little red curly elf shoes with jingle bells.
But the pajamas are the kicker. My boy loves his candy canes.
He somehow found an adult pajama romper that is covered in cartoon candy canes with the sleeves striped up from wrist to shoulder as if his arms are candy canes.
After he finishes filling my glass with ginger ale, he giggles and kisses me on the cheek again once I stop coughing.
He doesn’t even have the decency to act concerned while I’m choking on garlic bread.
I pick up the glass and take a sip while he heads over to his seat across the table.
It’s become a habit to check out his ass, considering that’s damn near all I can think about now.
My eyes drift down his back and I spit the damn pop all over the sideboard.
As if they were afraid you’d miss it otherwise, the manufacturers of his damn outfit made sure the butt flap matched the sleeves and not the rest of the outfit.
Johnny’s giggles get a little wilder while I’m wiping up my mess. Either he’s going to kill me or make me the happiest man who ever existed. At this point it’s a toss up, but I’m all for it.