Chapter 12
RAFE
Brent was acting weird when we woke up this morning. The way he practically ran to the bathroom had me thinking spiders were in the bed with us. I think it was a combination of how I ended up cuddled up against him and that he was hard.
If it would have made it any better, I’d have told him not to worry about being hard. I mean, we’re young men. It happens a lot. It’s not a big deal. But I knew that calling attention to it would have created more stress for him.
It’s really not a huge deal, though. If he hadn’t been so concerned with his own predicament, he’d have realized I was chubbed up too. That’s how mornings go. Having shared a frat room for a few years now, I would have thought he’d be used to us both waking up in various states of hardness.
I suppose it’s different when we wake up spooning together in bed.
By the time I get out of the shower, Brent is back to normal. I think he’s feeling a little sentimental as we head downstairs, though. Perhaps that isn’t the right word.
I imagine that coming from the familial situation he did and then stepping into my home, where it’s the complete opposite, might be a bit jarring. I feel like maybe my family is proving some things wrong for him. Things he’d been convinced of because of his shitty family.
I’m both happy and a little sad about it.
I understand he was kicked out at seventeen, which means he’d had a home for seventeen years.
But it doesn’t sound like he had much of a family that long.
Having a roof over your head and having a family are different things.
Growing up in that environment no doubt colors your outlook on what a family is.
We join my family for breakfast in the courtyard.
There are heaters blazing and seating throughout, allowing you to choose how warm you want to be.
Each table is topped with a holiday topiary.
I inhale deeply. A smile touches my lips as I close my eyes, letting the pine and cinnamon scent fill my lungs.
I’ve yet to learn how my family pumps that holiday smell in, but it never fails to make me feel like it’s the holiday season.
Brent’s gentle tug on my hand has me opening my eyes.
My grandmother is approaching. When she’s not smiling, she can be an intimidating woman.
She’s tall, lean, and screams of having the power to give you detention regardless of your age or where you are.
She looks incredibly intelligent. Not someone who wears oversized suits and paints their skin with fake tans so thoroughly that they look orange and pretends to be highly educated.
This is a woman who has spent years studying.
Traveling and learning, not just from books but from observation and experience.
When she tells you that you’re wrong, it’s best to accept it or end up listening to her make you feel eight inches tall as she tells you just how thoroughly you’re wrong—with documented sources and footnotes.
But Grandma is smiling as she approaches.
Of course, she is. The only time that smile is less frequent is when we’re out in the wide world and a woman’s intelligence is viewed as less than a man’s.
Some of my favorite moments are when she puts those people in their place.
Not with nastiness or name-calling as she’s faced, but with a conversation they simply can’t keep up with.
“Hi, Grandma,” I greet when she’s close. Besides my nieces, she’s the one person I let go of Brent to hug. She gives the best hugs.
“Hello, baby,” she returns. “Happy Holidays, Rafe.”
Grandma’s hugs are never short. In her thousands of hours of studying, she says hugs are the one thing that seems to be universal. Even when people don’t believe so, when Grandma hugs them, they feel it.
She takes a step back and looks at me appraisingly. “I appreciate that you don’t grow much anymore. It makes the months between visits feel shorter.”
“I’ll have you know that I am still a growing boy. My muscles have me growing out of my tee shirts.” I flex my arm for her to admire.
Grandma does, giving me an approving smile. “Always strive for improvement. No matter the area. Very good, Rafe.”
I grin and reach for Brent, wrapping my arm around his waist and pulling him to my side. “This is Brent, my roommate, best friend, and boyfriend. Brent, my grandma—the most loving and intelligent person I’ve ever known.”
“Flattery,” Grandma says as she reaches for Brent’s hand, giving him a smile. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Brent.”
“You as well, Ma’am.”
“Ma’am. Is that a bit of the South in your voice, young man?”
I’ve never seen Brent flinch, but I feel it. He tries to hide a scowl. “I thought I got rid of it all,” he says, sighing. “Yes, Ma’am.”
“Hmm. Not a proud Southerner, are you?”
Brent doesn’t answer except to shake his head.
I recognize the calculating look Grandma gives him as she slowly nods. My guess is that she has figured out a whole lot about Brent in just the few sentences they’ve exchanged.
“Sometimes, being proud of your heritage is difficult,” Grandma says. “Sometimes it’s far more prideful to distance yourself from that which was unwelcoming.”
Brent sighs again. “I agree.”
Grandma squeezes his hand gently. “Welcome to the family, Brent.”
“Thank you,” he answers, bowing his head.
Grandma meets my eye. “Why haven’t you brought him home sooner, Rafe?”
I laugh. “Sometimes I like to keep important things all to myself so I don’t have to share.”
“Always the selfish child,” she teases. Grandma pats my cheek. “I want to hear all about your courses later.”
“Of course.” I lean in to kiss her cheek. “I need to feed my man now or he turns into a bear.”
Brent rolls his eyes. Grandma is already laughing as she takes her leave of us.
I’m the bear when I get hungry. Everyone knows that.
I was simply born that way. There are stories that my family loves to relive whenever I get hungry.
I’d go from a very happy, smiling baby to sixty at the drop of a dime, demanding to be fed immediately.
Apparently, that’s never changed as I got older.
I’d like to say that I no longer scream at the top of my lungs until there’s something in my mouth, but I won’t say it will never happen again.
I pull Brent to one of the hot stations and leave him on one side while I get behind it. “Okay, baby, what’ll it be?”
His eyes narrow, but my smile climbs. I’m enjoying this teasing with my boyfriend.
“Whatever you’re having is fine.”
“Eggs, pancakes, bacon?” I ask as I begin lifting lids to see what’s what.
“Where’s the fruit?”
“Cold table,” I tell him, pointing to the right. “Oh, look at the oatmeal. This looks good too.”
“I’ll just do eggs and bacon. I’m going to grab some fruit.”
“Cold station comes after hot station. Keep your sexy ass in that seat.” I point with my spatula. Brent’s lips press together, but he remains seated. He watches me run a wet cloth over the griddle top and send a puff of steam into the air with its sizzle.
I make quick work of eggs and bacon. Just as they’re finishing, Candice climbs into the chair beside Brent and gives us both beaming smiles.
“Make a pancake for me, Uncle Rafe?”
I sigh dramatically. “Did you pay the toll?”
She gives me a devilish smile and holds out a sticky hand where a wrapped candy cane is gripped tightly. “Yes.”
“Ah, you’ve come prepared. Very well.” I take it from her grubby hand, make a show of unwrapping it, and stick one end into my mouth for inspection. “This is high quality. Are you up for barter, child?”
Candice nods, her grin turning serious.
“You show Brent where the beverage station is and how I like my hot chocolate, and I’ll make you a puppy pancake with chocolate chips and pretend I didn’t remember you’re not allowed chocolate in the morning.” I offer her my hand.
She lights up and places her sticky one in mine. “Yes. Deal.”
Brent watches us with amusement until Candice drops from her stool and grabs Brent’s hand with her sticky one. “Come on, Brent. I need that pancake!”
I chuckle as I watch her lead Brent away.
He looks at me over his shoulder, and I laugh when I see his expression regarding her sticky hands.
I wink, blow him a kiss, and turn my attention to pancakes.
We have metal molds, but they’re a little small, so I like to free-ball it, using my spatula as best I can.
When it’s poured, I grab the bowl of chocolate chips from the mini fridge and add a handful.
Yes, an entire handful. What good is being an uncle if you can’t break rules and spoil your nieces that you only get to see a few times a year?
I have to keep my ‘favorite’ and ‘funnest’ uncle status somehow.
I’m just plating all the food when they return, Brent with two mugs in his hand and Candice with one of her own. “This is just tea,” she tells me. “It has some milk and sugar, though.”
“That’s convincing.”
Candice grins.
“Do you need help with your pancake plate?”
She peeks over the counter, and I watch her eyes light up when she sees the berry collar and the whipped cream Santa hat. It doesn’t take a lot to make my nieces happy. She hands me her mug and takes the plate. “I want to carry my puppy pancake.”
I nod toward a table for Brent, wordlessly telling him I’ll meet him there as I follow Candice back to her parents. As I anticipated, Annie looks at her plate and then at me with a pinched expression.
“Hey!” Marietta says. She crosses her arms over her chest and pouts. “Why does she get a pancake like that?”
Candice gives her sister a very convincing, innocent look, complete with batting eyelashes and a comedic shrug of her shoulders. “I just asked for a pancake.”
I set Candice’s mug down at her seat. “Let me eat my breakfast while it’s hot, and I’ll make you one after. Deal?”
Marietta smiles widely. “Okay.”
“With blueberries,” Annie says.
“No, Mom,” Marietta says. “Candy has chocolate chips. I can see it on her face!”
Candice beams and smacks her lips but doesn’t say a word as she takes another big bite.
Annie gives me a glare as I wave them off, shrugging.
Honestly. It’s Christmas, and this isn’t her first year with the Holt family.
She knows I’m going to spoil those babies with all the things I don’t get to sneak them throughout the year.
Hell, when Marietta was a baby, I snuck her a lick of ice cream and mashed potatoes.
When we’ve finished breakfast, I decide that I’m going to wrap and give Annie time to stop glaring at me.
Brent is mesmerized by the room where all the wrapping material is.
I have him grab a basket and go to town choosing the wrapping, ribbon, bows, tags, bags, tissue paper, gift boxes, and anything else he decides he wants.
I dump in tape and scissors since they seemed uninteresting to him, and he skipped right over them.
Then we’re back in my room. I turn my computer on and let it go through its million updates while we use the drop-down table between my wall and the gaming area to wrap. I add a little ambience with Christmas music on my tablet.
“I feel like that’s a store down there,” Brent says as he settles in to wrap with me.
“It might as well be. Mom and my aunts practically clean out all the sales on this kind of thing as soon as Christmas is over to restock. I’m convinced that part of the reason our bank account is as healthy as it is is because Mom is pretty frugal.
Yes, she has the money to pay full price, but when it’s all going on clearance in a month, why pay full price? She’s like that with a lot of things.”
He shakes his head. “I always kind of thought rich people didn’t view money with much thought. They have it, so they spend it without really paying attention to price.”
“Eh. On some things, yeah. But Mom has always shopped around and haggled. She waits for sales. That’s not to say she won’t spend full price on something if need be, but the best way to empty your bank account is spending in the manner that you just noted.
Our family has never had financial struggles, and I think my mom views it as her mission to make sure it never does.
She alone has diversified our income tenfold.
If one avenue goes dry, there are nine others to pick up the slack.
When one market suffers, there are others that will carry us through.
And if, for some reason, our entire business takes a crash due to the economy or a natural disaster, we have coffers that will hold us over. ”
Brent sighs, shaking his head. “You amaze me at every turn,” he says quietly.
I grin. “No, my mom amazes you. She’s the mastermind.”
He shakes his head. We lose ourselves in the sounds of holiday music, folding paper, and tape for quite some time.
I’ve never wrapped gifts with anyone before. Not since I was a kid, and would help my parents and older siblings. The first couple of years I did it on my own were a blast. But after that, it kind of becomes monotonous.
I love giving gifts. It’s my favorite thing in the world. To be able to spoil the people I love means everything to me. To see my nieces’ faces light up when I give them something as simple as a puppy pancake with chocolate chips makes me all warm and happy inside.
As we’re finishing up, with Brent wrapping the last one, I watch him. There’s something elegant about him. In the smooth curve of his features and soft, flawless skin. The style of his hair, parted at the sides, the top trying to curl but not quite managing.
His shirt has a wide collar, so the left side hangs low on his shoulder, exposing his collarbone and soft skin. The graceful curvature of his neck.
If I didn’t know better, at first glance, I’d say he came from a family just like mine. The kind that contracts their kids into marriage for one reason or another. He has such beautiful genes. He’ll make such beautiful babies.
When Brent looks up, meeting my eyes once he’s finished the last present, I blink out of my weird thoughts. What the hell was that?