Chapter 9 #2
Even though he was right, it still felt sad to Tom, the thought of anyone spending the holidays alone in a decrepit motel.
“It’s a nice room,” he said.
“It is?” Tom and everyone else in town imagined the worst of the Beacon Strip Motel. “How did you find this place?”
“Priceline.”
Good for Beacon Strip Motel keeping up with the digital revolution.
“Want to see?”
They got out of the car. A light dusting of snow began to fall from the sky.
It was nothing a Midwesterner couldn’t handle.
Tom doubted it would even stick to the roads.
Randall treated it as the most beautiful precipitation he’d ever seen.
It was probably his first white Christmas.
He held his hands out to touch it, lifted his head, laughed as it dotted his cheeks.
Who knew that beneath the raging sex appeal, there would be a layer of dorkiness, and that it could be nothing short of adorable?
* * *
“Nice,” Tom said. Yes, the comforter was about twenty years out of style, but the room had all the furnishings of any other hotel room. It even had a small flat-screen TV sitting on the dresser.
What caught Tom’s eye wasn’t the décor but the string of Christmas lights taped around the perimeter, where the wall met the ceiling. Randall kept the overhead light off and just turned on his Christmas lights, giving the room a glint of magic.
“Wow,” Tom said. “Did you put those up?”
He nodded yes, proud of his design. “It makes the room a lot more festive.”
The only decoration in Tom’s apartment was a fake Christmas tree that his mom had decorated with plastic ornaments and lights. “You have to have something. It’s the holidays,” she’d told him. Being surrounded by the holidays during the day was enough for him.
Tom clocked the gift box ornament hanging from one of the light strings. The sight made his cheeks get warm.
“I didn’t think you’d be so into Christmas,” Tom said. “You have to listen to people ask you for gifts all day long when the holidays should really be about giving. I’ve had customers scream at me because we were out of holiday stemware and how were they going to throw Christmas dinner now?”
Randall took off his Santa jacket, revealing another white sleeveless shirt underneath, and those familiar muscles bulging out.
“I love the holidays. All of it.” He sat on the edge of the bed.
Tom looked at him in disbelief. He leaned against the dresser, unsure whether he had the green light to join Randall.
“You’re not sick of it?” Tom asked.
“No. I guess I’m making up for lost time.”
“Lost time? You didn’t celebrate Christmas enough as a kid?”
“More like never. I grew up as a Jehovah’s Witnesses. We didn’t celebrate any holidays, because most of them have pagan roots. My parents would take me out of school whenever there was any kind of holiday celebration. And I mean any. We’re talking Valentine’s Day-levels here.”
“So you never got a Valentine’s card in school?”
He shook his head no. As trifling and forgettable as they were, Tom couldn’t imagine missing out.
He held onto the Valentine’s Day card his (obviously straight) elementary school crush gave him—the same obligatory card that he gave every kid in class—for years.
The card was addressed to a Tim, not Tom, but he cherished it just as hard.
Randall’s mouth stretched wide in a glorious smile. “I remember my mother covering my ears when we’d be in the store so I wouldn’t hear the holiday music.”
“It is pretty bad.” The Décor Store played an endless loop of Christmas music that by mid-December made Tom want to bury his head in the pillow wall.
“I was punished for a month for turning our living room plant into a Christmas tree, and another month for lighting firecrackers on the Fourth of July. After they caught me jerking off to a department store catalogue, the men’s swimwear page, they warned me every single day that homosexuals do not inherit God’s kingdom. ”
Tom put his hand on his heart.
“Not all Jehovah’s Witnesses are like that. I still talk to an aunt and cousin of mine. My parents are just run-of-the-mill homophobes on top of being devout believers.”
Even though Randall told this story with a smile, there was hurt behind those eyes.
“Once I turned eighteen, I left and never looked back. I wanted to go places and celebrate things. I took odd jobs where I could find them. When I saw a listing for the Oakville Mall Santa, it felt meant to be.”
“So that’s why you travel so much.” Tom sat next to him on the bed. Not because he was beckoned or because this seemed like the right moment, but because he didn’t want Randall to be alone.
“I’m tired of it, to be honest.” His shoulders hunched over. “I’ve been traveling to different states for over three years now.”
“Staying in motels?”
He nodded yes.
“It’s like I’m looking for something, but I don’t know what it is, and I’m afraid I’ll never know what it is, and I’ll just pass it by…
” He looked down and shook his head. His face glowed in different colors from the lights above.
“I get a bit of inspiration from our former presidents. Some of them were just as lost at our age.”
“It’s not just them. It’s all of us.” Tom rubbed his back. “We’re all figuring it out. You have to give yourself some credit that you’ll know what you want when you find it.”
“You seem like you have it together.” Randall lay back on the bed. Tom joined him. They rested on their sides and faced each other. No touching, but still incredibly intimate.
“I’m good at faking. Let’s see…I’ve been stuck in the same job for three years, and I don’t know when I’ll ever get promoted.
But I keep waiting around…” Tom realized how sad that sounded.
Why was he hanging all his hopes on becoming a manager?
Whenever Kirsten or his mom suggested he look elsewhere, Tom’s stomach tightened up with nerves.
He didn’t want to look for another path.
He preferred to avoid risk. “But I keep waiting around because I’m scared. ”
He didn’t mean to say it aloud, but he knew that in this room, under these twinkling lights, he could say anything.
“And because I’m hopelessly in love with my boss who’s taken and definitely not interested.” Tom rubbed a hand over his face. Antonio was never going to leave Milo for him. “I’ve been playing the same game since forever. Crush on guys I have zero chance with. Although somehow I got lucky with you.”
Randall looked at him in surprise. Tom smacked a hand over his mouth. He might as well tell him his social security number at this point.
“You have a crush on me?”
“I…I have this condition where I sometimes say things without thinking. Like a lot.”
“Tourette’s?”
“Not Tourette’s. I don’t actually have Tourette’s. Just plain ole fashioned idiocy.”
“You’re not an idiot.” Randall took Tom’s hand off his face. He smoothed his thumb over Tom’s fingers, then planted a soft kiss on his middle knuckle.
He inched closer to Tom, his pupils wide and earnest.
“Wait, do you have a crush on me?” Tom asked.
Randall answered with a kiss on the lips.