Chapter 12
Twelve
Christmas sucked.
Wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, Mitch flopped onto the couch and stared at the lit Christmas tree in front of the bay window in the living room.
It was otherwise dark in the room, the tree’s tiny white lights casting pinpricks of brightness against the walls and furniture.
Almost midnight on Christmas Day and Mitch wanted to be anywhere but here.
Dinner had been, as expected, a study in contrasts. Mitch and his dad having a conversation about hockey, school, and whatever else came to mind. His mother and Dan quietly forking food into their mouths and making occasional small talk about work.
Until his mother butted her head in.
“Mitch, I heard you lost a game recently.” She said it all sweet and innocent, as if she was concerned about the team’s standing, but Mitch knew his mother and there was a viper underneath the shiny exterior.
Mitch’s hand clenched on his fork. “Yeah, you can’t win them all, as much as I’d like to. But we’ve won most of our games this semester.”
His mother’s mouth pinched into a tight line. “I’ve left you voicemails over the past couple of months and you haven’t returned my calls.”
“You mean the voicemails where you quietly rail at me for losing?” Quietly because she never yelled. Oh no, she made her feelings clear in a calm and controlled Mitch-you-have-greatly-disappointed-me voice. Was it any wonder he deleted the messages without listening to them?
His dad’s fork fell onto his plate with a clatter, jolting Mitch.
His mother didn’t have anything to say to that. Or maybe the glower his dad shot her from across the table was what had her changing tactics.
“You know,” she said, cutting delicately into her turkey breast. “Your brother’s making excellent strides over at the company.”
Mitch stared at his food. From the corner of his eye, he saw Dan shift in his seat. “Good for him,” he said between teeth clenched so tight his jaw ticked.
“You could be doing the same.”
“Greta,” his dad said, voice hard.
His mother pouted prettily and took a tiny sip of wine. “I’m just saying. He could go so far if he applied himself to a business degree.”
Mitch started to laugh at the age-old argument. “I’m majoring in kinesiology, and you’re just going to have to live with it.”
“Sweetheart.” Her expression was pitying. “Nobody knows what that is.”
Enough. “Fuck this.” Mitch pushed away from the table.
“Mitch!”
“And fuck you too.”
Knowing what he did about his mother’s background might make her more relatable, but that didn’t mean he’d sit around and let her badger him all night.
His dad found him in his old room a few minutes later, throwing his clothes into his duffel, ready to buy a bus ticket back to school.
Instead of yelling at him for swearing at the dinner table, his dad took Mitch out to dinner at their favorite restaurant and made him talk about what was bothering him.
“Oh, you mean besides Mom being stone cold, and Dan being a Stepford son?” Mitch glanced around the restaurant.
It was surprisingly packed for Christmas Day, a mix of old and young and everyone in between.
Each table was decorated with a small wreath and candle, pop Christmas music played over the radio, and the servers wore jaunty Santa hats.
“You’re moodier than normal, even for you.” His dad peered at him over his beer. “What’s going on? You and Cody have a fight?”
Which was when Mitch told his dad about Alex, and about how Mitch missed him so much and he wanted to cuddle with him on the couch and watch a movie, and he thought he might be a little in love with Alex even though they hadn’t kissed yet, and he was sure Alex felt nothing for him beyond friendship.
Then Mitch proceeded to burst into tears over his manicotti.
“Kiddo.” His dad patted his arm awkwardly. “Have you gotten any sleep lately?”
Mitch wiped his face with his sleeve. “Of course, I sleep.”
His dad made a sound of disbelief. “Have you been eating enough? You’ve lost weight. You’ve got to take care of yourself, especially playing a contact sport like you do.” He sighed. “No wonder you’re more sensitive than normal. You’re exhausted. Exams were rough, I take it?”
“I’m not sensitive,” Mitch said.
His dad laughed in his face. “Sure.” He twisted spaghetti Bolognese onto his fork. “Tell me about Alex. What’s he like?”
Mitch blew his nose into his napkin, then played with his food.
He was so fucking tired that he didn’t have it in him to be embarrassed over the useless tears.
“He’s really laid-back. Easygoing. Doesn’t sweat the small stuff.
He’s super competitive, though, even when it’s just Mario Kart.
” He cut off a small bite of cheese-filled pasta and chewed slowly.
“He notices everything. Seriously, I can’t hide anything from him.
If I’m hungry, he knows. If I’ve got something on my mind, he knows.
If I’m worried, he knows. He probably knows how I feel about him even though I just admitted it to myself. ”
“Sounds like your opposite.”
“Hey, I notice things.”
“Sometimes.” His dad sliced a large meatball in half. “But you’re usually focused on what comes next, whatever that happens to be. The next game, the next class, the next exam, the next tuition payment, your next shift at work.”
“And that’s a bad thing?”
“No, of course not. You’re a planner, Mitch. You always have been. Nothing wrong with that. Must be an interesting dynamic between you and Alex.”
“I guess?” Mitch kicked the table leg. “He gets me, you know? I don’t know how, but he does. He’s so chill, so unrufflable, so comfortable in who he is and his place in the world. I didn’t make the best first impression—” or second or third, “—but for some reason, he still wanted to be friends.”
“Sounds like a smart guy,” his dad said. “Knows to look past the surface to who a person really is underneath.”
Smart, and also incredibly well-adjusted.
Alex’s dad had left, disappeared from his life, yet Mitch had never gotten the impression that Alex had been badly affected by it.
Maybe because he’d had therapy and had worked through it, or perhaps his Grandpa Forest stepping in had filled the hole in his life.
And here Mitch was, hiding from the world because his mom didn’t respect him and his brother didn’t like him?
He was suddenly acutely embarrassed. Tears threatened and he tilted his head, shielding his reddening face with his too-long curls as shame swept through him and prickled his skin.
What must Alex think of him, that he couldn’t face his problems head-on like an adult?
A couple hours later, they returned home to find Mitch’s mother already asleep and Dan’s car gone.
Mitch’s dad headed off to bed and Mitch curled up on the couch, staring at the tree as if it held the answers to all of his questions.
Of course, it didn’t, but at least the meal and the attention from his dad had made him feel like less of a failure.
Only a few presents remained under the tree, gifts for an aunt in the area and a couple of his dad’s colleagues.
Mitch and his family had exchanged gifts late this morning in typical Greyson family tradition: fire roaring in the fireplace, classical Christmas music playing in the background.
It sounded magical, but the conversation was almost nonexistent and the thank-you’s were stilted.
From his mom, Mitch received a book on how to prepare for the GMAT that he planned on selling as soon as he got back to school.
Dan got him a coffee table book with highlights from the past twenty years of hockey.
It was a surprisingly thoughtful gift. And his dad gave him a check for two hundred bucks.
When he’d found out how broke Mitch was when they’d been out for dinner, he’d taken it back and changed the 2 to a 5.
Their holidays hadn’t always been so terrible.
Back before Mitch had told his mom that he wasn’t going into the family business, that he wanted to play hockey and study kinesiology, before she’d cut him off, things had been good.
Goodish, anyway. Although his mom had always been distant and hard, she’d never been mean.
Or had she? Was Mitch looking at his childhood through rose-colored glasses because he wanted it to be better than it had been?
It hadn’t been bad, per se. He’d had Cody, and hockey, and his dad, and Dan—until he didn’t have Dan.
He’d always had food in his belly and a roof over his head. He hadn’t been abused.
Well, except for verbally, by his mother. That was the kicker, the subtle digs and scorn that had become not-so-subtle as he got older.
And his mother wondered why he didn’t come home over the summer break. Four months of her bullshit? Hell no. At least all Dan did was ignore him.
Digging his phone out of his pocket, he thumbed through his contacts, but instead of calling Cody, he ended up calling Alex.
“Mitch, hey. Everything okay?” Alex’s voice was smooth and warm in Mitch’s ear, wrapping itself around him.
Mitch’s eyes blurred. “Alex, I’m sorry. I forgot what time it is.”
“I was up.” Alex paused for a second. “What’s wrong?”
His dad was right. Mitch hadn’t been sleeping or eating well. Exams hadn’t been as rough as his dad thought, though. Mitch had simply gotten into the habit of packing his day with so many activities, he didn’t have time to stop and think about…
About how fucking much he missed Alex.
“Mitch?”
“Yeah,” Mitch whispered past the knot in his throat.
“Talk to me.”
Swallowing roughly, Mitch stared at the tree so hard, his head started to hurt. “It’s just been a bad day.”
“It’s Christmas.”
“That doesn’t mean much in this house. Not anymore. It’s just another day for my mom to pick at me.”
“About what? She not like that you’re gay?”
Mitch gave a wet laugh. “She couldn’t care less about that. It’s everything else about me that’s an embarrassment to her.”