Chapter 31
CHAPTER
THIRTY-ONE
SAWYER
Mom’s apartment feels like a spa or a church or something equally safe and soothing compared to the Boyers’ house. It's a fraction of the size, decades older, and yet I would rather spend an evening here any day of the week.
I like seeing Preston here too. He’s relaxed, at ease. None of that frenetic tension he always gets at his parents’ place. Preston should always be in spaces like this—homey, comfortable, warm.
The box Mom brought out contains our holiday decorations. All the ornaments I made as a kid, all the cheesy ones we’ve collected over the years, and the antique star Mom says has been in Dad’s family for generations.
I pull up my Christmas playlist on my phone and we listen to Mariah Carey tell us what she wants for Christmas while transferring each ornament from the box to the tree.
Mom and I let Preston do most of the hanging since he’s never really had the chance to do anything like this before. The trees at his parents’ house are professionally decorated with brand-new crystal ornaments each year.
He takes the job very seriously, considering the placement of each one like he’s running an algorithm in that big, beautiful brain of his.
This one is round, so it can’t go next to that other round one.
This one is blue, so it can’t be next to that other blue one.
The whole process is a lot slower than what Mom and I usually manage, but I love it.
I love watching Preston nibble on his lip as he finds the perfect branch for each ornament.
Mom eventually leaves us to it while she finishes cooking dinner. When the last ornament has been placed, I drag Preston to the couch for cuddles. He snuggles in beside me as I turn on the TV, searching for a holiday movie to play in the background.
“Having fun?” I ask, leaning my head against his.
He nods. “So much better than my parents’ house.”
“Yeah,” I agree with a touch of regret. Not that I regret Preston finally standing up to his dad. But I wish it hadn’t turned quite so ugly. There was a moment there when I really thought punches would start flying.
“Do you think your mom’s right?” I ask. “That your dad will come around?”
Preston shrugs. “I wouldn’t have thought so, but… Your mom told me something at Thanksgiving. She said my parents just want me to be happy. I hope she’s right.”
I chuckle. “If Mom said it, it’s most likely right. She’s rarely wrong.”
“Correction: I’m never wrong,” Mom says, coming out of the kitchen. “Dinner’s ready. Come help set the table, Sawyer.”
Dinner at Mom’s is nowhere near as fancy as dinner at the Boyers’.
I move the poinsettia to the corner of the table so there’s room for the ham she’s roasted.
Plus creamy mashed sweet potatoes, crispy green beans, and crunchy asparagus.
She hands me the pack of Christmas-themed paper napkins I’m pretty sure we’ve had since I was in high school.
When we sit down, Mom holds her hands out to both of us. Preston shoots me an uncertain look and I give him a reassuring nod as I take Mom’s hand.
“We’re not a religious household or anything, but on days like today, there’s something special about stopping to acknowledge and give thanks for the things we have.” Mom looks at Preston. “I’m really glad you’re here with us, sweetheart.”
Preston blinks at the endearment.
“I’ve watched you and Sawyer grow up together, turning into the men you are today.
In some ways, you’re like a second son to me.
” She rolls her eyes when I make a choking sound.
“Not in a gross way, obviously. I want you to know, Preston, that you’re always welcome here.
My apartment might be modest, but you can consider it your home. ”
Preston’s eyes are a little glassy with unshed tears. My own throat gets tight with emotion. I haven’t told Mom about the whole thing with Preston’s parents, but her mother’s intuition seems to have picked up that something happened.
“Okay, enough of this sentimental stuff.” I cut the ham and make sure Preston gets a nice thick slice. Then I pile on the sweet potatoes, green beans, and asparagus.
Preston looks at the small spread like it’s the most decadent meal he’s ever laid eyes on. We tear through Mom’s cooking, which is just as good as—if not better than—any of the five-star Michelin chef stuff that Preston’s parents get catered at their events. Not that I’m biased or anything.
After dinner, Mom brings out the pecan pie she left warming in the oven, and by the time we’re done, I’m about to keel over from my food coma. Preston actually winces in discomfort as he leans back and tugs at the waistband of his pants, trying to give his stomach extra room to expand.
Mom laughs at us as she sips her coffee.
“How can you even drink that?” I groan. “I think my stomach will burst if I swallow my spit.”
She shakes her head at me. “You need to know when to stop.”
I drop my head back and do my best imitation of a dying goose. Preston shifts, making a pained noise.
“Preston, why don’t you change into something more comfortable?” Mom suggests.
Preston goes to change while I help Mom clear the table and pack up the food in containers.
“How are things with Preston’s parents?” Mom asks quietly as we move around the tiny kitchen together.
I chuckle softly. “How did you know?”
She scoffs. “Give me a little more credit than that. I’ve watched you boys grow up. I know.”
I take a second to glance toward the bathroom where the fan is running loud enough to drown out our conversation. “Well, there’s a reason we brought all our things with us.”
Mom shakes her head and sighs. “The Boyers are stubborn and entitled, but they’re still parents. I think they’ll come around.” She pops a lid onto a container of green beans. “I’m just glad you and Preston have finally gotten yourselves sorted out.”
The smile that grows on my lips comes from the very depths of my soul. “Me too.”
Once the food is put away and we’ve all changed into our pajamas—with Preston wearing one of my old t-shirts—the three of us gather around the tree.
“Merry Christmas, boys,” Mom says as she hands each of us a present.
I know what they are the moment I hold mine in my hand. It’s soft underneath the wrapping paper and just the right size and shape too. I rip into it, revealing a yellow and orange hand-knit scarf. She makes me one every couple years, just as the one before starts growing tattered.
I wrap it around my neck and strike a pose. “How do I look?” I ask.
Mom rolls her eyes and Preston snickers under his breath.
I poke at his present. “Go on, open it.”
He’s a lot more meticulous than I am, carefully peeling back the tape like this is the most precious gift he’s ever received. He gasps as he pulls out a matching scarf, except his is in varying shades of blue.
“It’s just like yours,” Preston exclaims, and I help him drape it around his shoulders.
I don’t know how Mom did it, but she’s managed to capture the blue of Preston’s eyes perfectly in the vibrant colors of the scarf. They make Preston’s eyes brighter, almost glowing in the lights of the Christmas tree.
“How do I look?” he asks, cheeks turning slightly pink as he tries to copy my pose.
“Breathtaking,” I whisper, and his cheeks grow a little rosier.
“Thank you, Mrs. Paige,” Preston says as he buries his fingers into the soft ends of the scarf.
“Yeah, thanks, Mom.” I get up to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.
Preston’s ready with her gifts in hand when I sit back down.
“Mine first,” I say, taking the package from Preston and passing it to Mom. “I don’t want Preston to upstage me.”
Mom snorts and shoots me a teasing smile. “Too late.”
“Hey!” I protest with a laugh.
She quickly opens the Alexa I got her and stares dumbfoundedly at it. “What is it?”
“It’s a smart speaker!” I throw my hands in the air as Preston giggles next to me. “You can tell it to do things, like play music or podcasts or audiobooks. You said you like listening to audiobooks now, right?”
“Yeah, I just do that on my phone. Why do I need this?”
I give her an exaggerated eye roll. “Because you do. Trust me.” I make a gimme motion with my hands. “I’ll help you set it up before we leave.”
Mom hands it over with a shrug.
When Preston holds up his gift, though, she takes the slim envelope with something close to reverence.
“Thank you, Preston.” She holds it close to her chest.
“You don’t even know what it is yet,” I harrumph, crossing my arms.
“Doesn’t matter. I can tell I’m going to like it.” She breaks the seal on the back of the envelope and pulls out two cards. One is a gift certificate for a fancy spa Madison recommended—a one-day pass, complete with a massage, mani-pedi, and facial. The other is an all-expenses paid trip to Paris.
Mom gasps, hand over her mouth, as she reads the cards. “Oh, Preston!” she says with tears in her eyes. “This is so lovely! Thank you so much!”
Despite my feigned grumpiness, I’m thrilled Mom likes Preston’s gift. She deserves to be pampered and catered to.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs. Paige,” Preston says right before Mom descends on him with a bone-crushing hug. He gives me a startled look from over her shoulder, but I just grin as he gets the full Mom treatment—he deserves that too.
Later, after we’ve pulled the sofa out into a double bed and Mom has bid us goodnight, Preston and I crawl in under the covers.
The bed is a lot smaller than our king-sized one at home, but we’re used to sleeping on top of each other.
I tug Preston to me so I can spoon him from behind.
He wiggles his ass into my crotch and I growl in his ear.
“Pres, we’re in my mom’s living room.”
“I know,” he says and I can hear the laughter in his voice. “I just like how it feels.”
“What? My hard dick nestled against your ass?”
He sighs like I’m whispering sweet nothings to him. “It’s nice.”
I cant my hips to press myself a little more snugly into him. “It is nice,” I agree.
“I like spending Christmas with your mom.”
I kiss the beauty mark behind his ear. “I’m glad you had a good time.”
“I always have a good time when I’m with you.” His voice grows a little slurred with sleep.
“I love you, Preston,” I murmur, nose buried in his hair.
“I love you too, Sawyer.”