Chapter 4 #2
“You invited someone over for… that instead of spending time with your son like you said you wanted?” A flash of Beau’s eyes tell me his anger is genuine but also a more comfortable reaction for him to lean into than the flush to his cheeks.
“You’re right. I was being selfish. If I have time for that, I have time for my son.”
“Good.” Beau continues to rock Bastian and looks at me more squarely. “And sorry again. I know it’s not my place—”
“It’s fine. I don’t need yes men in my employ. You’ve met Skylar. Clearly that’s not what I hired with him. You can dress me down any time you need to if I deserve it.”
“Thanks. Will you, um… get a bottle?” Beau asks, since Bastian is clearly hungry and refusing to be soothed.
“I’ll do you one better. I’ll take him and feed him myself.”
“You washed your hands, right?” Beau hesitates to offer him.
“Yes, Mother.”
“Sorry! I just didn’t expect…”
“Such a lurid display? A blond? A man?”
“All of the above?” Beau says.
Interesting. Here I’d been debating whether he was straight, and he was doing the same thing. “No harm done. I hope?”
“No.” He hands Bastian over, but when I turn for the door, I get an idea I cannot resist turning back to offer.
“Since I’ll likely barely see either of you tomorrow, would you care to join me in the park on Friday? Let me make this up to the two of you?”
“You don’t want to spend that time with Bastian alone?”
“There is a risk of me still getting called in for work, but while I have the time, I’d like to spend it right. With both of you.”
If Beau flushes further, it’s difficult to tell given how dark his cheeks are already, but he smiles, nods, and says, “Deal.”
Thanksgiving Day itself goes by as expected, with me utterly swamped with catching up on menial and significant tasks alike, ensuring that I do not get any turkey or pie until after it is cold and needs to be reheated.
Said leftovers are very neatly labeled and include a note.
There is one from Gabby with instructions for cooking and reheating, then different handwriting added below hers.
I like pie for breakfast the days following Thanksgiving, so your additional penance for yesterday is you only get one slice. (unless you buy me a PSL tomorrow).
-Beau
How charmed I am by his teasing does not bode well for keeping things platonic on the date I unintentionally—or perhaps very intentionally—set up for us.
It doesn’t help that when tomorrow arrives, Beau bundles Bastian up against the autumn chill in an outfit that matches his own emerald jacket perfectly. I add a green scarf to my ensemble to follow suit, and we look like quite the little family, heading out for a festive stroll.
The color coordinating is mostly for the aesthetic.
I know it would be terrible to try something with Beau.
But now that the most awkward thing that could have happened between us already occurred, I feel a bit more relaxed around him.
It’s not often I am disarmed by someone and still choose to spend time with them.
Maybe it’s guilt. Maybe it’s that Beau is more pleasant company with his pants on than most of my recent dalliances are with their pants off.
What those others used to fulfill for me hasn’t been hitting the same mark lately.
The perils of parenthood and finally growing up apparently.
As we head first to a coffee shop near the park, Beau is trying to use nonchalance and humor to diffuse the remaining tension between us, but he can’t fool me. He keeps casting furtive glances my way, proving he is still spooked at how he found me the other day.
Or trying to not picture me with my pants down.
Or trying to picture it.
“You’re not having one?” Beau asks, after I pay for his latte. He was the one pushing the stroller, but now that his hands are occupied, I take over, and we continue toward the park.
“A PSL? Pumpkin spice is a little too precious for me, thanks.”
“Hey! It’s not only to follow the masses. I like it!”
“Mm hm.”
“I do! But fine. No more pie for you.”
“I think I can have my pie whenever I want it.”
“Not if I tell Gabby on you.”
“Touché.”
Beau chuckles but hides any new flush to his cheeks by sipping his latte.
We waited the appropriate amount of time before venturing out this morning so as to miss the initial Black Friday crowds, and the weather is cooperating enough to only require light layers, other than Bastian, who is bundled more securely.
“You realize this is baby’s first outing, right?” Beau says as we enter the park grounds. There are many winding trails with nice views of equal foliage and cityscape, and I lead us down one of my favorite paths where there is an eventual bridge over a brook.
“So it is. Pity he can’t appreciate it yet.
” I peer around the side of the stroller to look at him.
Almost a month old now. He is growing so fast, but he’s still mostly a sleeping, eating, and pooping lump.
It all only gets harder from here. I’ve heard it said too often to enjoy this while I can, the quiet times.
“Yeah,” Beau says. “He might notice some of the lights and color contrasts, but next year, I bet he’ll be in complete awe.”
I look up to see the wonder on Beau’s face as he takes in the many holiday decorations lining the park and nearby buildings. “You sure seem to be.”
Beau turns to me with a brighter smile.
None of the native trees are decorated, but the occasional Christmas fir has been added throughout the park, and all the lamp posts are spiraled in tinsel. Most of the lights aren’t even on since it’s daytime, but there is still a certain sparkle in the sunlight, a charm to it all.
“I love this time of year,” Beau says. “The colors. The warmth. Well, the cold, but the warmth, like… coziness? Pumpkin gives way to peppermint.” He hoists his cup like it might be the last one he has for the season and he means to savor it.
“Turkey gives way to snowmen. Presents and carols and holiday traditions.”
“And what sort of traditions did the de León family get up to?” I ask.
Beau tilts his head to think. It is just shy of being cold enough to see one’s breath, but because of the heat from his latte, there is a little visible puff as he continues, like he is the perfect holiday card in motion.
“One present on Christmas Eve. Snowball cookies for Santa Christmas Eve night. You know, those Mexican wedding cookies?”
“Also called Russian tea cakes,” I say. Those cookies have too many names.
“And ice-cold milk!” Beau adds.
“We did steamed milk for Santa.”
“Yeah? What else did the Anders family do?”
There is a little less nostalgia for me than Beau when I contemplate my family holidays.
“Stocking stuffers when I was little. Always knickknacky things. I don’t have siblings but we would attend a big extended family Christmas.
Aunts and uncles, cousins, and we’d all bring one gift for a white elephant exchange. ”
“I love white elephant parties!” Beau gushes. “Did you do a price limit or the tradition of giving something from around the house?”
“Something from around the house?” I cringe.
“Those are my favorite! You pick something random, maybe even weird, that you already have but don’t need or want anymore.
One time…” Beau has to pause since he immediately starts giggling.
“My friend Sam gave an antique doorknob! The whole thing! Like both sides had been taken right out of a door. It was gorgeous but who’s going to do something with that, right?
Or so we thought. Our friend Janie totally has it for her bedroom door to this day, and it looks amazing. ”
What looks amazing is Beau lit up like Christmas while telling his story. He puts any tinsel or glittering snowflakes to shame.
He must feel me staring, because he meets my gaze before immediately ducking his head for another sip of latte.
“That does sound amazing,” I say. “Clever. We purchased our gifts. Twenty-five-dollar limit. Can’t say I kept anything I got from one of those exchanges.
I don’t remember the last time I attended one, but I believe the family still does them, mostly focusing on the next generation.
” I peek around at Bastian again. He’s asleep now.
“You don’t plan on bringing Bastian this year? Show him off?”
“I don’t think I’ll have the time. I suppose I should let my parents meet him.”
“You suppose? My mother would throw a fit if I… well.” He winces, obviously reminded that he almost was a father—until he wasn’t.
“I don’t have that kind of closeness with my parents,” I admit.
“We’re not estranged, we’re just not… much of anything.
I had the stereotypically absent father figure.
Absent mother too really. I was never a priority to them.
All I’ve wanted with Bastian is to not be that, then I went and became that anyway. ”
“I wouldn’t say that! I know I’ve been giving you a hard time, but how much you’re trying despite how busy you are really does show.”
“Thank you.” I smile at him. “I keep my parents comfortable at any rate. My wealth is helpful for that. My cousins know better than to ask for money, but I’ve set up scholarships for each of their children. I’m not completely heartless.”
Beau chuckles again. When he takes his next sip of latte, I feel the slide of his eyes peeking at me.
We’re almost to the bridge. The park is a little busy, given the day with so many out and about doing shopping and enjoying the weather before it gets colder.
After a beat, Beau says, “I guess that’s a little sad to me. Not being close with your family. I’m closest with my brother, Bell, but I try to make regular contact with my folks and sisters too.”
“I’m sorry, you have a brother Bell?”
“Well, Bellamy.”
“He is Bell and you’re Beau? And you teased me about the Ariel and Sebastian thing?”
Beau laughs before suddenly freezing. “Shit.”
My first thought is whether he truly never realized the Beauty and the Beast connection of their names, until I notice he is staring very specifically forward.
“What is it?” I follow his eyeline, and while there are many people around, coming down from the bridge we are headed toward is a couple about our same age, a man and woman, with their own stroller and tiny bundle inside.
“That’s my ex.”