Chapter 38
The group thus installed around the fireplace, the duel was set to begin.
“OK, Graham.” Brent spoke like a football coach giving a pre-game pep talk. “We got this. The first clue is Santa.”
Graham furrowed his brow, thinking. “Claus?”
“Bzzzt!” Carol exclaimed, the picture of giddiness. She turned her attention to Pickering. “All right, Mayor. Now, here’s my clue for you. Reindeer.”
Deep creases formed on Pickering’s forehead as he contemplated his response. “Fly?”
Now it was Brent making buzzer sounds. “Not even close.” He looked at Graham head-on. “All right, here’s a clue I know you’ll get.”
The remark drew a frown from Graham. Now what could Brent have meant by that?
Brent arched an eyebrow as he continued. “Queen.” The word came out with a flamboyance that made Graham suddenly tense. Just what was Brent implying by insisting such a clue would be obvious for him?
And just like that, it clicked.
Santa.
Reindeer.
Queen.
Queen as in Slay, queen.
“Sleigh!”
Brent threw his hand in the air for a high-five. “Score one for the boys!”
Reluctant, Graham clapped his hand against Brent’s. The boys? Geez, that almost made them sound like…
“I don’t understand,” chimed a visibly perplexed Mayor. “Queen? What does that have to do with—”
“Oh, Pickering,” Carol cooed, amused. “You really need to come out—get out, I mean—more often.”
Graham suddenly became aware of his heart beating faster. Surely, that had just been a coincidence.
Probably the influence of Brent’s less-than-subtle style of gameplay. Graham uttered a silent prayer that his partner would have the good sense to tone down his clues next round.
Unfortunately, as he was about to discover, it was not a prayer that the big guy upstairs planned to answer.
“Gift,” Brent clued.
Innocent enough, Graham mused. “Present?”
Brent shook his head, dismayed.
“Delivery,” Carol called next.
Pickering bit lip in thought. “UPS?”
Now it was Graham’s mother shaking her head.
And just like that, a wily grin appeared on Brent’s face. “I’ve got it. Meat.”
Befuddled faces appeared all around.
Until, that is, Graham put two and two together. Gift? Delivery? Meat?
He exhaled an exasperated sigh. “Let me guess. Package.”
Beaming, Brent beckoned another high-five from Graham.
Meanwhile, it appeared the winning clue had been once again lost on their august Mayor Pickering. “Package? Name one good meat that comes in a package.”
“That’s a hard one,” Carol consoled, suddenly losing her color as her words dawned on her. “A tough one, I mean. That’s a tough one, Mayor.”
The unease brewing inside Graham’s stomach intensified. So help him, if Brent was doing this on purpose…
It was time for the third and final round.
“Turkey,” Brent began.
Graham gave an approving nod. This seemed safe. “Dinner?”
Brent shook his head, dismayed.
The attention shifted to Carol. “Stocking.”
Pickering stroked his chin, deliberating. “Chimney?”
Carol responded with a thumbs-down.
Silence fell over the group then as Brent considered his next clue. Suddenly, a bright glow lit up his face that made Graham’s insides sour. “Bottoms.”
For the third time that evening, the entire room went slack-jawed.
Until, that is, the one possible answer hit Graham like a freefalling piano. He suddenly wished for a rock to crawl under.
Turkey.
Stocking.
Bottoms.
He couldn’t believe he was about to say this, but the answer was staring him right in the face.
“Stuffed.”
This time, even Mayor Pickering managed to read between the lines.
Graham was going to let Brent have it for this.
Then again, maybe he had this coming after the way he’d had Brent cumming earlier that afternoon.
The thought, however, quickly fell away as Graham found himself wrapped in a bear hug. “Nice work, champ!”
He braced himself against the surprise ambush. Champ? Geez, Brent was really starting to push it.
He squirmed uncomfortably in the arms that, in the privacy of Brent’s apartment, had made his heart glow. Here in front of his mother, though, Brent’s embrace felt more like being pinned inside a straitjacket.
“Well, how do you like that?” Carol said.
“Beat at my own game, and by my very own son, no less.” She cracked a wry grin.
“I promise I won’t hold it against you, though.
I’m just happy to see the two of you boys bonding so well.
” A glow seemed to radiate off her as she savored the sight of Brent and Graham together.
Graham felt a sudden urge to pry himself from Brent’s arms.
Resetting, Carol helped herself to a gumdrop from the crystal candy dish between them.
“Gee, Brent, I don’t know how to explain it,” she said in that tone Graham knew meant she was up to something, “but you really seem to have brought out Graham’s Christmas spirit.
” She popped another gumdrop, acting casual.
“After all these years of not coming home for the holidays, I was worried my Graham had turned into a Grinch.” A third gumdrop disappeared into her mouth.
“But what can I say? Apparently, you’ve got the magic touch. ”
The choice of words made Graham cringe visibly. She wasn’t kidding about that.
Just then, Carol clicked her tongue aloud.
“Oh, dear. Would you look at that?” She gestured to the now gumdrop-less dish.
“We’re out of snacks!” Crystal in hand, she rose to her feet.
“Graham, would you help me in the kitchen?” Despite her friendly tone, the look in her eyes told him this wasn’t an optional request.
His heart rate took a nosedive. Something told him this wasn’t just a sugar restock.
* * *
For how pristinely Graham’s mother kept the rest of the house, she sure had left the kitchen to fend for itself.
Mixers, bowls, spoons, pans—evidence of hours of holiday baking—lay strewn over the flour-speckled countertops.
Across the room on the table, enough holiday treats to feed the North Pole towered in a mountain of sugar-filled delights.
Good thing Oscar wasn’t here.
Casually, Carol pulled a tin from the treat pile. “Brent sure does know how to win a party game, huh?”
Graham felt his hackles raise. “I guess you could say that.”
She popped the tin open. “Although, I suppose you deserve some credit, too.”
Graham arched an eyebrow, cautious. Where exactly was this going? “Thank you?”
Carol started withdrawing cookies from the tin. “You two make a good pair, you know.”
Silence hung in the air as her eyes remained focused on her work. Graham suddenly realized his palms had begun to sweat.
“Funny you two never spent much time together back in school.”
Wordless, Graham watched as his mother arranged the cookies gingerly on a plate. Surely, this wasn’t headed where it seemed like this was headed.
“Come to think of it, we didn’t,” he finally managed to reply.
His mother nodded, inward. “I guess it’s just the magic of the season. He sure does seem to make you…happy.”
And just like that, a voice inside Graham screamed. Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no. This could not be happening.
Damn it, Brent, he cursed in his head. Just a simple, secret holiday fling, eh? Well, now, thanks to him, the entire persona he’d painstakingly curated for his mother was melting faster than a snowman at Venice Beach.
“And if he does make you, well, happy,” his mother went on, still diligently arranging cookies, “that’s all I could ever ask for.”
Graham felt his system spike into code red. Years of keeping his life in LA a secret, all down the drain thanks to a cheesy holiday party game.
This was exactly why he didn’t come home for Christmas.
“What more could a mother want, after all, than to see her child happy?” She took a pause from plating to offer her son a lopsided smile.