Blue Christmas Eve

"It's three o'clock in the morning," Evan said.

"She won't care. She's probably sitting by the phone now. Call her or not, but think about it while I shower."

Christopher rolled off the bed and went to the bathroom. When he came out, Evan was sitting on the side of the bed, talking on a cell phone. Tears were streaming down his face.

"You're right. She said she'd been sitting by the phone," Evan said to Christopher as the older man redressed himself. "She said Matt confessed to her what he'd been doing and she threw him out. She wants me to come home."

"What do you want to do, Evan?"

When the young man didn't answer for moment, just sat there trying to pretend he wasn't crying, Christopher said, "Where does your mother live?"

"It's the middle of the night. My other things are at the church," Evan mumbled.

"Where does your mother live?"

"Cleveland Heights. Glenwood Road."

"We could be there in a half hour. We can swing by the church and I'll get your other bag."

"You don't have to—"

"It's Christmas. You were put here to help get me straight, and I'm here for you in the same plan. It's out of our hands."

"Will I see you again?"

"I'll give you my card. Call me anytime. If you need a job, I've got them to give. Shower and dress. Your clothes should be dry now. We can get you home in a half hour."

When they came back downstairs, Christopher saw that his glass of beer, untouched, still sat on the coffee table in front of the sofa and that he'd forgotten to turn the gas-logs fireplace off. He chuckled that they had moved so quickly into having sex and then to moving it to the bedroom.

* * * *

When Christopher drove back into his driveway, the snow still falling and beginning to provide some depth on the ground, he found what looked like a pile of rags shoved up on his front door. The reflection of the street lamp off the snow caused the glass bottle floating up and down in the pile of rags to sparkle. Getting out of the SUV, he said, "Are you going to drink all of that wine yourself?"

"I was if you didn't come home pretty soon," Jamal answered. "This is good stuff—a fine balance of quality and cost. I didn't want to drink it all alone."

"How did you find where I lived?" Christopher said, shushing through the snow up to his entry.

"You gave me your card. You made quite clear you wanted to enjoy me again."

"So I did and so I do," Christopher said. And now that he thought about it, he suddenly felt free and ready to live again.

"Are you going to ask me in?" Jamal asked. "It's colder than a witch's tit out here."

"You're not carrying a gun, are you?"

"What in the hell would I need a gun for?"

"Just checking. Sure, you can come in, if you'd like. I can get a fire going in the fireplace, but I'm sorry that I don't have a Christmas tree up this year."

"You don't? That's sacrilege. It's Christmas. Where's your Christmas spirit?"

"I think it's coming back," Christopher said as he unlocked the door. "There will be a tree next year, for sure."

"You know that if you let me in, I'm going to fuck you into the new year."

"I'm counting on it. I'm counting on that for sure," Christopher said as he latched onto the pile of rags and dragged Jamal into his house.