Chapter 21 Thirteen Days till Christmas
21.
Thirteen days till Christmas
To Rafi’s relief, things with Ash returned to normal over the next few days. No intense moments of eye contact or heart-stopping touching, no bizarre near-future fantasies involving London townhouses and kids on swings. The more time passed, the easier it was to think nothing had happened at all—he’d gotten too drunk, misinterpreted things. As Rafi reminded himself hourly, he’d radically misread the romantic situation with Sunita, resulting in a public shaming that blew up his life. The absolute last thing he’d ever do was jeopardize his friendship with Ash. The absolute last thing.
Now that Rafi had committed to quitting his job and beginning the search for meaning outside a nine-to-five, work had actually gotten a little easier. On Thursday afternoon, he closed his laptop at exactly 12:30 p.m. , ready for one hour of lunch break freedom.
Ash was at the dining room table, typing into his own laptop, brow furrowed in concentration. On seeing Rafi, he smiled, pausing. “Hey.”
“Hi.” Rafi plopped into an empty chair, stomach grumbling. “Ready for lunch?”
Ash glanced at his screen. While he didn’t have to be on London time, he did have to bust out seven or eight hours of work a day. It was impressive to see Ash in this senior position, working so hard. “Give me twenty minutes?”
“Perfect. I’ll make us some lunch and then, do you want to start on some cookies?” Someone in the family always kicked off making a batch of the soft, iced gingerbread cookies they had every year. “The dough can chill this afternoon.”
“Sounds great,” Ash agreed. “How about sandwiches. PB and Js?”
The comfort food he’d been eating since he was five. Rafi frowned. “We can do better than that.”
—
Rafi made them two towering turkey clubs, with plenty of mayo and extra crispy bacon, just the way Ash liked it. Then he hunted around the walk-in pantry for flour, brown sugar, baking powder, and spices. He hummed as he lined everything up, then smoothed open Babs’s grandmother’s recipe, smudged with years of baking mishaps.
Ash wandered in, rolling his neck. They sat at the kitchen island and made short work of the sandwiches, Ash moaning over how good his was. “The Brits have no idea what a proper turkey club is.” He licked mayo off his thumb. “They probably think it’s an old-boys network for birds.”
Rafi chuckled, savoring another bite.
When they were done, Ash washed their plates while Rafi found two of Babs’s aprons. The first read I’m Baking, Bitch!; the second, Now Watch Me Whip in curling font around an illustrated whisk.
Rafi tossed him the latter. “Suit up, Campbell.”
Ash caught it deftly. “Yes, ma’am.”
They started on the recipe they’d followed so many times, Rafi could practically recite it in his sleep. Whisk the dry ingredients, set aside. Beat the butter, sugar, and molasses until creamy. They chatted as they worked, an effortless back-and-forth, punctuated by jokes and laughter. The two men were back to being in perfect lockstep. When Rafi needed a tablespoon of grated fresh ginger, Ash had it ready. When Ash decided the dough was too sticky, Rafi was right there with a handful of flour.
They were such a good team. When he was ready to try dating again, this was what Rafi wanted—someone with whom things were simple and fun. He’d never had this sort of ease with Sunita. He wanted to be with someone who felt like an equal. Someone he could eat a messy sandwich with. Someone like Ash. Who wasn’t Ash. Obviously.
They covered the dough in plastic wrap and put it in the fridge.
Ash double-took at Rafi, huffing a laugh. “Dude, you’re covered in flour.” He gestured at Rafi’s cheek.
“Where?” Rafi swiped at his skin, feeling the soft powder smudge into his stubble. He hadn’t shaved since his breakup, liking the way it made him feel and look older. His thick, dark whiskers were already longer than Ash’s, who maintained a classic five-o’clock shadow.
“You’re making it worse.” Ash wet a dishrag.
“Story of my life.”
Ash chortled, taking Rafi’s jaw in one hand to carefully wipe off the flour. The act was surprisingly tender.
They’d always been affectionate with each other. When they hugged, it was a real embrace, not the quick, back-thumping impersonation of a hug. And yet, there was something about the way Ash was holding Rafi’s jaw that felt newly intimate. They were standing so close, Rafi could feel the heat rolling off his body. Ash’s eyes were focused, a brilliant tawny gold. Rafi’s pulse picked up, alert and alarmed.
“All good.” Ash tossed the dishrag into the sink.
“Thanks.” Rafi rubbed at his chin, willing the tingly sensation simmering under his skin to dissipate.
—
Back in front of his computer that afternoon, Rafi went through the motions as his mind wandered, tiptoeing past a Do Not Enter sign and into: Was friendship the best basis for romance? He’d known many successful couples who started as friends. Or became great friends. That mutual respect, and enjoyment of each other, those shared values. His mother hadn’t been friends with any of the men she’d fathered children with, and look how those relationships turned out.
But for chrissakes, why was he even thinking about this? There was a reason why he and Ash had never hooked up, not even as horny teenagers, because they were friends and nothing more. Maybe there really was something wrong with his brain. Nothing was going on! Even if he thought it was. Giving his head a hard shake, Rafi forced his attention back on his screen.
—
Later that afternoon, Birdie, Babs, and Jin-soo were hanging around the kitchen when Rafi and Ash finished up work for the day. Everyone helped roll out the chilled dough and cut it into shapes with cookie cutters, except Birdie, who always did hers freehand.
“Is that…a dog?” Rafi peered at the unidentifiable shape of dough next to the more standard stars and Christmas trees.
Birdie looked crestfallen. “It’s Ma.”
“That’s a tail.” Jin-soo pointed.
“It’s her cane!” Birdie corrected.
“I see it,” Babs claimed, squinting uncertainly.
Ash and Rafi traded an amused look. “Bad dog,” Ash reprimanded, making Rafi giggle.
“Is that an angel, sweetheart?” Babs examined Rafi’s handiwork, her tone turning syrupy. “It’s very good.”
In the past, Rafi had enjoyed being coddled by his mother. Now it embarrassed him. “I used a cookie cutter. A literal child could do it.”
“Children!” Babs flung her hands in the air. “Which one of you will give me grandchildren first?”
Rafi and Birdie exchanged a look of alarm. His sister cleared her throat delicately. “Jin-soo?”
Before anyone had a chance to speak, Siouxsie bustled in with two bags of groceries. Right behind her were Violet and Liz coming in from their day of writing in the Barn. All at once, the evening was in full swing. Ash streamed elegant, earthy jazz as Rafi put the cookies in the oven—they’d ice them tomorrow, after they cooled. Birdie opened a bottle of wine, weaving around Liz and Violet, who were putting together a snack board of cheese and olives. Babs regaled Jin-soo with stories of Christmases past—the ones when the money was flowing and all the kids got top-of-the-line bikes. The ones when she was broke and all the kids got bottom-of-the-line used books. “I remember!” Birdie crowed. “Nothing says Merry Christmas like a dog-eared copy of Flowers in the Attic. ”
Liz almost spat out a mouthful of wine, glancing at Violet. “May I remind you this is a family-friendly event?”
“Hey—love the ones you’re with.” Birdie clapped Ash on the back with a smirk. “Right, bro?”
He raised a sardonic glass. He’d taken off his sweater and was now in just a T-shirt, which clung to his biceps for dear life. “Hear, hear.”
Ash caught Rafi’s eye and winked. Goddamnit if Rafi’s heart didn’t trip over its next beat.
—
After dinner, the family dispersed. Babs wanted an early night, while Violet and Liz were heading back to the Barn to work, something Birdie claimed she was also doing. “I work, ” she said indignantly, off Rafi’s look of surprise. “I work all the time. I’m working right now.” Birdie tapped her temple. “Writing a joke about a little brother who’ll never cut the cord.”
He gave his sister a tight smile. “Fuck off.”
“Aw.” Birdie looked truly touched, sauntering out of the kitchen. “I love you, too.”
Ash pushed a hand through his dark gold hair, looking like an ad for literally anything. “Double feature?”
The hairs on the back of Rafi’s neck lifted like startled meerkats. “Tonight?” They usually did their back-to-back screening of Gremlins then Die Hard closer to Christmas Day. “We won’t be blowing our load too early?”
He said it. He heard what he said. What the hell is wrong with me? Rafi maintained a neutral gaze, even as his cheeks flushed.
But Ash just grinned, unfazed. (Why would he be fazed? Nothing was going on!) “Christmas can come early. It’s up to you.”
All Rafi had to do was act normal, and everything would be normal. “Let the best holiday B movies of all time begin.”
—
Babs had renovated the basement-level home theater after landing a Japanese endorsement deal for caffeinated chewing gum. The dark, cozy space consisted of three tiers of seven-foot-long velvet couches, strewn with throw blankets and cushions, facing the enormous screen. The boys had first watched the so-bad-it’s-good throwback double feature when they were fourteen, and had done so every year since, except the last two.
They sank into the front row sofa, a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table in front of them. Ash tossed Rafi a happy grin. “I missed this.”
Rafi smiled back, punchy with anticipation. “Me too.”
Gremlins was paused on the title credit, but Ash didn’t hit play on the remote, instead twisting to face Rafi. “Y’know, our double feature was an important part of my ‘journey.’?”
“I’d totally forgotten about that.” Rafi tried to remember exactly how it played out. “We were what…? Fifteen? Sixteen?”
Ash smiled, nostalgia softening his face. “Fifteen. It was the second time we’d watched it, and you were pining over Becky Ryerson.”
Becky Ryerson! Their high school’s queen bee, as beautiful and cruel as her equally hot twin brother, Brett. Rafi had to laugh. “Wow, I had such a crush on Becky Ryerson.”
“And you assumed I did, too,” Ash said. “After that second screening, we were sitting on this very couch”—he tapped the space between them—“and you were going on about Becky, asking me what was my favorite thing about her. And I told you I didn’t have a favorite thing about Becky. I had a favorite thing…about Brett.” Ash shook his head, seeming awestruck at his younger self’s boldness. “I don’t think you got what I meant, so we talked in circles for a bit and in the end, I just told you the truth. That I had a crush on him. It was the first time I’d ever come out to anyone. I was barely out to myself.” Ash wiped his hands on his jeans, shaking his head with a smile. “Even just remembering it now, my heart is racing. I’d never been so nervous. I thought I was going to throw up. I had no idea what you’d say, and I was so scared you were going to tell your mom, kick me out, and I really, really didn’t want that because my home was terrible and you were my lifeline. My best friend. My only friend.”
And for a moment, Ash didn’t look like the style editor for London Man. He looked like a closeted fifteen-year-old boy, vulnerable and alone. He went on. “I saw it sink in, saw the mic-drop moment on your face. What you said next probably saved my life.”
Rafi’s breath hitched in his throat. “What did I say? I can’t remember exactly.”
“You looked at me with this big smile on your face and said, ‘Well, that’s perfect! I’ll marry Becky and you’ll marry Brett!’ You barely even blinked.” Ash’s eyes were glossy with tears, his entire face flushed. “God, it was such a huge moment for me. For the first time since I realized I liked guys, I saw a future where I might actually be okay. Right here. Exactly where I’m sitting now.”
Rafi’s throat was tight, his entire body flooding with emotion. His love for this human had always been galactic, but in this moment, galaxies plural didn’t describe the size.
He had to protect this friendship. For both their sakes.
Rafi looked Ash in the eye, committing to what he was about to say with a ferocity he’d never felt before. “I will always be your friend. I will always be there for you.”
Ash’s face was open, his eyes soft. “Love ya, Raf.” Ash shifted closer and then, they were hugging. Holding this man in the dimly lit theater, Rafi was overly aware of Ash’s hard, muscled body. The softness of his hair. The smell of his musky-sweet skin mixed with that delicious cologne: citrus and bergamot and blown-out birthday candles. The prickle of his stubble rubbed against Rafi’s cheek and neck, a murmur of enjoyment reverberating deep in Ash’s throat. Holding him, being held, was Rafi’s new favorite feeling.
Ash pulled back, his strong hands sliding down Rafi’s arms in a way that felt noticeably slower than usual. The intense expression on his face was unreadable. Deep gratitude? Unspoken affection? For a long, heated moment, they both gazed silently at each other.
“Ready?” Ash shifted back to face the screen, aiming the remote and hitting play.
Rafi had always loved the ridiculousness of the absurd nineties Christmas-set horror-comedy. But Rafi couldn’t concentrate on Gizmo, or the microwave scene, or the film’s allegory about the dangers of unchecked capitalism. Because less than a minute in, Ash reached forward for some popcorn, and when he sat back, his left leg was pressing into Rafi’s right leg. And he didn’t move away.
Rafi stopped breathing. Did they usually sit so close in the home theater that their legs were touching? There was plenty of room on the sofa; it wasn’t a matter of a lack of space. It was quite possible they did sit this close, and he’d just never noticed. Every time Ash reached for another handful of popcorn, his leg rubbed against Rafi’s, sending a rush of heat stampeding into his chest that came out as a choked gasp he pretended was a reaction to something happening onscreen. The entire universe—every planet, every star, every piece of space dust—had narrowed to the point in this basement home theater where two legs touched.
Sitting there in the dark, replaying everything that’d happened since Ash had arrived—the moment of tension on Monday night, his musings about friendship and love, Ash sitting so their bodies were pressed together—Rafi couldn’t stop the impossible idea sneaking inside his head. And once it was there, the impossible idea was impossible to ignore.
Was he, or was Ash, or were they both… putting out a vibe ?