A Season of Faith

A Season of Faith

I came out of the back room when I heard the bell tinkle. Justin was working today, but I knew he was busy with the young mother who was vacillating between purchasing the Playmobil ranch or the Playmobil zoo. It was Dan, dressed in casual clothes, his hair disheveled from the wind, and his hands encased in bright red mittens.

“You’ve been in here three times in the last week. You can’t possibly have any more relatives that you forgot to buy toys for,” I said, giving him a tight smile. I was starting to think he was buying toys for imaginary relatives.  I was sure he was keeping an eye on me. He’d even handed me a couple of cards for psychologist who worked with adult victims of childhood abuse. He was obsessed by the brother with wandering hands far more than I was.

I’d told my parents about Brother Erikson two days after I’d told Dan. Andy had driven up with me, and it had gone as well as could be expected. Mom hadn’t been surprised and apologized profusely for not pressing the issue when I was a child. I’m not sure if Dad understood. He didn’t say anything; he pressed his lips together in a thin line and left the table. I couldn’t tell if he was angry at me, Brother Erikson, or the whole world. My dad had never been a big talker, and I didn’t expect we’d ever speak about it again. When I’d left that evening, Mom had weighed me down with casseroles, and Dad had hugged me. He rarely did more than shake hands with his adult boys; I couldn’t remember the last time he’d hugged me -- probably when I was a small boy and fell off my bicycle and broke my arm. 

“No toys today,” Dan said with a smile. “I thought I’d ask you to lunch.”

“It’s my busy season. It’s impossible for me to leave.”

“Justin’s here, and doesn’t that kid with the rings and strange hair colors come in shortly?”

“In an hour.”

“Come on then. It’s my treat.”

I reached for my coat and hat and gave Justin the heads up that I’d be gone for an hour or so. There was no reasoning with Dan when he had that expression on his face. It was easier to go along with him and try to escape early and gracefully rather than dig my heels in and refuse to go.

Dan dragged me to a little Italian restaurant that I’d driven by for years but never been in. It was an old-fashioned place, the windows partially fogged from steam from the kitchen. The tables, decorated with a single candle shoved in a melange of bottles and the ubiquitous parmesan and red pepper shakers, had worn, checkered oilcloth coverings and were crowded too close together.

“It doesn’t look like much,” Dan whispered, “but the food’s great.”

A woman with hair an indescribable shade of auburn, obviously a home dye job, waved from behind the cash register as if she and Dan were long lost school friends. She showed us to a table along the back wall.

“Where’s the lovely young man you usually come in with? You’re not playing the field are you?” she asked with a broad smile.

“You know me, a new guy every week. Don’t tell Sam. I keep it a secret,” Dan teased.

She laughed with Dan. “Will you have the usual, and what about this charming young man?”

“Surprise us.”

“That means the usual. I know what you like.”

“I’m sure you do. How are Antonio and Matt?”

“They’re doing wonderful. The ceremony was so lovely. I’m so glad we asked you. So beautiful.”

“I was delighted to do it. They seem to be a well matched pair.”

“They’re very happy. You should see their new house -- a white picket fence and everything.”

“Maria,” a man called from the kitchen. 

“I have to go. Duty calls.”

Dan talked about everything and nothing until the food came. He asked briefly about my family and discussed Christmas plans in no more depth than you would at an office party. The food arrived, nothing fancy but homemade and fresh tasting. I’m sure Jake could discuss the merits of northern Italian cooking versus southern or the type of basil used in the sauce, a remnant from his years with Lawrence, but I was happy to leave such details to the professionals.

Dan scrutinized me as I twirled a forkful of spaghetti. He’d already eaten three quarters of his while I’d only eaten maybe a quarter of mine. To be truthful I wasn’t that hungry. 

“Jake said you weren’t eating well.”

That explained why Jake had suddenly taken over the cooking. He claimed that now without Lawrence acting as a food critic he enjoyed cooking more. I’d heard him on the phone with my mom asking her about favorite recipes. 

“Did he set you on me?” I stirred the pasta again.

“He didn’t have to. I’ve been watching. I’ve seen Jake over talking to Andy quite a few times. Do you know that Jake’s asked about being baptized?”

“No.”

“I thought not. Are you two talking at all? I know he’s pretty good at the silent routine, and you’ve been walking around like a zombie.”

“Yeah, we talk.” I put my fork down, reached into my pocket, and pulled out a magic decoder ring. Dan reached across the table and pulled the ring out of my hand. “Hey, that’s mine.”

“You’re acting like a brat, so I’m going to treat you like one.” Dan waved at a waitress and asked her to pack my lunch in a take out box. She came back with a styrofoam container, and I mechanically filled the box. “All right, little boy, both hands on the table and look at me.”

“What?” I sputtered. I knew just enough about topping to know he was topping and that I didn’t like it. 

“You’re a native speaker of English. Hands on the table. Attention on me.”

Dan’s voice had dropped to a low menacing tone, and I found myself doing what he said. “Do you always treat your parishioners this way?” I asked, unwilling to yield all my defenses to him.

“I’ve tried treating you like a parishioner, and you shut me out. I’ve dropped by to talk to you, and the only intelligible conversation I can get is about the merits of Playmobil versus Lego. I’ve offered you several referrals to professional counselors who specialize in childhood trauma, and you’ve ignored them. You’re not eating properly; from the dark circles around your eyes, you’re not sleeping properly, and you’re sure as shooting not topping properly.” Dan pointed to his neck. “I’m not in my collar, and I’m not at the church. I’m not here as Father Dan. I’m here as a friend and a fellow top. I’m this close to throwing you over my knee and blistering your hind end until you talk.” Dan held his thumb and index finger close enough together that they appeared to be touching. Now talk to me, little boy. My patience has expired.”

I looked at Dan. Would he spank me? My brain said no, but my gut told me not to push my luck. He looked seriously unhappy with me, his gray eyes trying to bore holes in my skull. I dropped my eyes to the table, longing to fold the paper placemat into some form of intricate origami animal.

“Look at me.” He’d pitched his voice in such a way that my eyes were forced upward. “All right, how much of this is about that wretched Brother Erikson, and how much is about being a top? It’s how the two fit together that I can’t figure out. You are linking the two, aren’t you?”

I looked at him, astonished. He’d put his finger on the sore spot; the spot I’d been walking around for weeks. Dan obviously read my expression because he quirked an eyebrow, and a grin flashed across his face.

“I nailed it on my first try. What fabulous prizes do I win? A lifetime supply of Monopoly money?” Dan’s expression became serious again. “Now, do you want to tell me about it?”

I dropped my head into my hands and suppressed a choking sound. We were in a booth, and thank God the two tables next to us were empty, but I didn’t want to put on a public display. “Brother Erikson took my choice. How different is that from topping?”

“Worlds.” Dan reached across  the table and lifted my chin with one hand. He placed the other hand over my two, squeezing firmly. When Brother Eirkson molested you in the locker room, how old were you?”

“Sixteen.”

“How old is Jake now?”

“Thirty-one.”

“Could you vote, have a mortgage, buy alcohol, or get married when you had your encounter with Erikson?”

“No, of course not, but--”

“No,” Dan interrupted, “this is an important point. Jake is an adult. Don’t you forget that, and don’t you cheapen the relationship by thinking of him as a child.”

“But I’ve told him when to go to bed.”

“And who wanted that? I don’t think I’ve seen you running an ad for a slave or a boy toy in the local gay rag.”

I blushed at Dan’s easy listing of some of the more unusual lifestyles. I was gay, and I didn’t hide it, but I wasn’t open about it like Dan and Sam. I’d run into Sam one day when he was on his way home from work, and he’d been wearing a gay pride pin as a tie tack. 

“Jake twisted your arm to get you to use discipline. That’s not nonconsensual or forced in my book. Jake needs you to top. No, he doesn’t need you to come down on him like a ton of bricks like my Sam, but he needs and wants you to top. If you put the restrictions on Jake I put on Sam, your partner would rightly blow his stack, but a little controlled bedtime is hardly excessive. Jake’s a brat, not a top. He’s trying to play that role right now. How long do you think that will work? You remember how it was when you tried vanilla? Broken china, smashed pumpkins. You’re the natural top. Take that role.”

“It’s not that simple. I don’t think I’m cut out to be a top.”

“You don’t get that easy out with me,” Dan said hardening his voice, and trapping me in his gaze like a bug on a pin. “I know Andy well, and you’re definitely a top.You’ve kept your brothers in line for years, and they all adore you.”

“I never hit them.”

“You don’t hit Jake. You spank him, and there’s a lot more to topping than the spanking. Jake doesn’t need a lot of spanking, but he needs the other part. He’s carrying all the relationship on his shoulders right now. Take your half back.”

“Yes, sir,” I muttered. I don’t know how Dan did it, but when he looked at me that way, resisting him was impossible. It was probably the same skill that sent thousands of men to their deaths in wartime or drove mass religious conversions -- an ability to command respect, loyalty, and even love.

“Good, so I won’t have to spank you after all.” Dan gave me one of his true smiles, the kind he used with Sam. His eyes lit up, and I could almost bask in the warmth. He took a sip of his Coke. “Are you sure you don’t want some cheesecake? They make excellent cheesecake here.”

“No, thanks. I don’t like cheesecake. It’s not that I’m not eating,” I added hurriedly. “Plus our house looks like a bakery. Jake’s made a new sweet every day.”

“Bring some for the coffee hour. Jake’s sweets and your cobblers are always eaten first.”

I nodded. This conversation was a lot easier than the other one.

“Are you doing the whole Christmas Eve thing with your family again -- mass and dinner?”

“Yeah, I don’t know how I can get out of it. Mom expects it.”

“You know our service times have changed this year,” Dan said slowly. “We’re doing a very early service with a pageant for the kids and a ten thirty service for the adults. Andy thought he’d go to your parents this year, and he invited Sam and me. I wanted to ask you before I showed up, and, yes, I do know how to behave in a Catholic church. We’re trained in ecumenical relations.”

“Andy thinks I need moral support.”

“He loves you. He’s your brother; he’s entitled to be protective.”

“It’s not like I’m afraid of getting struck by lightning or turned into a pillar of salt the moment I step through the church doors.”

“I’m well aware of that. I’m the one with the masters in theology. I’m more concerned about your mental state. It’s the same parish you grew up in.”

“I’ve done it every year. I sit in the back and fold paper cranes from the church bulletin. It’s over fast enough. The Catholics don’t talk as long as you do.”

“OK. I see your point, but Andy would like us to come. Will that be a problem for you?”

“Of course not. You’re my friend, or at least you are when you’re not threatening me, but Andy hasn’t been in a Catholic church in years.”

“He has with me for several interfaith meetings. He doesn’t have an easy excuse this year, and I think he feels guilty abandoning you to the Catholic hordes alone.” Dan smiled to let me know he was teasing about Catholic hordes. He was always careful to not judge or impinge on someone else’s faith, and I think he still wasn’t sure where I stood on Catholicism. Hell, my preferred stance was not to think about it. I couldn’t accept the church’s teaching, but my family was Catholic. It was as much my heritage as the green countryside and the potato famine.

“I’d be happy to have you, and I’m sure Mom won’t care. The more the merrier.”

“Andy already asked her. Your mom’s thrilled. Anything to get all her boys under one roof on Christmas Eve.”

I went home after lunch instead of back to the toy store. Justin and Ted could managed it for one day. I was standing in the kitchen, staring inside an overpacked refrigerator. Jake had been doing the shopping along with everything else, and for some reason he had deemed it necessary to buy three kinds of lettuce, one with funny little weeds in it. I wanted to put some sort of simple supper together, good plain American food. The stuff I knew Jake loved, and Lawrence had almost trained out of him. I finally settled on hamburgers, a salad with three kinds of lettuce minus the weeds, and potatoes au gratin made with frozen hash browns. 

Jake came in late. It was almost seven thirty before I heard his little car in the driveway. He’d been leaving for work early and staying late most of this last week -- something about finishing projects before the new year. 

“You’re cooking?” he asked, tossing his briefcase by the door.

“Put it in the closest. I trip over it when you leave it there.”

Jake raised an eyebrow and studied my face. Had I come at this too hard? Sounded too bossy telling him to put his briefcase away? One of our early rules was that you didn’t leave litter all over the hallway after I tripped over his running shoes and gave myself a black eye on the corner of the hall tree. I hadn’t enforced the rule for several weeks, and Jake had been making a pyramid with with winter coat, hat, and briefcase every night.

He picked up the briefcase and flashed me a sweet smile. I looked hard at him for the first time in weeks. He looked tired. There were dark smudges under his eyes and new lines on his forehead.

“When did you leave for work this morning?”

“Before seven. I had a lot of work to do.” This was from my lover who I usually had to pry out of bed with a crowbar in the morning.

“It’s early to bed tonight. We’ll have dinner and watch a movie together in bed.”

Jake looked at me as if I had three heads. I’d just decreed what we were doing tonight, and I hadn’t topped for weeks. I kept my expression steely and pointed the way towards the kitchen. I hoped he wouldn’t challenge me now. I could do this part, but I wasn’t ready to spank him. I wasn’t even sure I could put him in the corner.

He flopped down in the kitchen chair and handed me the brightly colored plastic plate from his place. I’d set the table with the seventies plastic ware. My understanding was that it was considered fashionable, but more importantly it didn’t break. I couldn’t survive an encounter over a broken dish; I knew my nerve would break as easily as the dish.

We both ate more than I think either of us had eaten in the last week. Jake spent much of the meal watching me, and I tried to make small talk about frantic parents shopping for the perfect toy. Neither of us were relaxed, but I hustled him through the dishes and up to bed less than an hour after he came in the door. 

Jake put a movie on the DVD player while I showered. I recognized the songs from Toy Story before my eyes even saw the screen. “I’ve seen this movie a hundred times or more.”

“I know, so have I. You like it, and we can talk.”

I slid under the covers, watching Buzz Lightyear scale a bookshelf. Jake pushed himself towards me offering more than a cuddle. I kissed the back of his neck but kept my hands above his waist. “I thought you wanted to talk.”

“Hmm,” Jake purred.

“Did you set Dan on me?” I asked and flipped Jake so he was facing me.

“No, it must have been Andy.” 

I shot up in bed. “What did you tell Andy?”

“God, calm down! I’m a brat, not an idiot. It’s not like you would’ve noticed the last couple of weeks. It’s like you’re not here.” Jake’s expression was hurt, and he reached up and turned on the bedside lamp, flooding the room with light. “I’m going downstairs to do some work.”

“Jake, I’m sorry,” I apologized.

He shrugged and continued to climb out of bed.

“You climb back into bed, young man, this instant.”

Jake froze, flushed, and then lay back back down on the pillows. I traced my finger around the circles under his eyes.

“You need me like this.” I hesitated, taking a deep breath. “You need me to top.”

Jake nodded, and a tear escaped down his face.

“Don’t cry.” I licked the single wet salty drop off his cheekbone. “I’m the one who hasn’t been doing my job. I’m sorry. I’ll try harder.” I kissed my lover, his mouth opened, warm and compliant. I rolled on top of him, deepening the kiss and letting my hands rove down his body until I slid under his pajama bottoms. I could feel the tears on my cheeks now. I’d been neglecting Jake, and he was so open, so willing, so yielding. He lifted his hips so I could slide his pajama bottoms off. We never did see what happened to Woody and Buzz that night.

Somehow I’d remembered to set the alarm clock. That horrible buzzing woke me at six thirty, and I set out to chase down the propeller and shut off the noise. Silently I swore to never buy a novelty alarm clock again. Jake pulled the pillow over his head and buried himself deeper under the covers.

“Come on, honey,” I shook his shoulders.

“You shower first.” 

I took a quick shower and pulled on a Spiderman robe. Jake hated the robe, and I could usually get a funny comment out of him anytime I wore it.

“Rise and shine.”

“In a minute.” He didn’t open his eyes.

“Breakfast in ten minutes.”

“OK,” a sleepy voice said from under the covers. 

I watched Jake bury himself farther. He’d had no trouble getting up for the last two weeks. In fact he’d been getting up by himself before me. “Ten minutes. Downstairs.”

I didn’t hear a reply, but I went down to the kitchen anyway. I could do this, I repeated to myself as I poured the juice and scrambled the eggs. Jake needs you to prove you’re the top. Isn’t that what Dan was saying? Jake’s asking you the only way he knows how.

The timer went off. Jake’s ten minutes were up. I scooped a handful of ice out of the freezer and went upstairs. He was curled up in the bed. From his breathing pattern, I could tell he was feigning sleep, but he didn’t move when I came in. I took two cubes and slid them down the back of his t-shirt.

“It’s winter.” Jake grabbed the ice from his back and tossed it down to the end of the bed.

“Get up.”

“No, I’m cold.” Jake actually whined and pouted as he pulled the blanket back over his head. I didn’t know he was capable of those expressions. 

“All right, I’m done being Mr Nice Guy.” I stripped the covers from the bed and pulled him up, swatting him two or three times as I chased him towards the shower. He squirmed and covered his fanny with his free hand, but I think he was laughing. He bolted from me and shut the bathroom door with a bang. I heard the bolt slide into place. 

“You can’t get me now, bossy top,” Jake teased from inside the bathroom. 

“Oh, yes, I can. Naughty boys get cold eggs and porridge for breakfast.”

The only reply I heard was the shower starting. I headed for the stairs, satisfied that Jake would be down for breakfast. I caught my expression reflected in the small mirror on the dresser, which Jake used to check the knot in his tie. My cheeks were flushed, and the green flecks in my eyes, which Jake claimed were so enticing, were dancing. I’d enjoyed chasing my brat into the bathroom, and unless I was crazy he’d enjoyed it too.

I trotted down the stairs into the kitchen and scraped the cold eggs into the trash. Good boys got warm scrambled eggs with sausage and cheese.

*********

Mom, Dad, and my brothers were all loitering in the vestibule of the church waiting for us. We’d cut the time rather finely because Jake had suddenly decided that he’d forgotten an important step with the Christmas cake. Jake had been adamant that he wanted to join my family for Christmas Eve mass, so I threatened and swatted him out the door. I felt like the Grinch before we were finally on the road. We’d driven up with Andy, his wife Caroline, Justin, Dan, and Sam in an ancient Volvo wagon. Dan was a great believer in his role as steward of the environment and had insisted that we carpool. They’d all been waiting impatiently when we arrived and changed vehicles. Dan gave me one of his patented stares that made me feel completely inadequate as a top. Without a word, he conveyed his disgust at my ability to keep time. 

Jake, blushing fiercely, shouldered the blame for our delayed arrival. “Sorry. It’s my fault. I needed to glaze the Christmas cake while it was hot.”

In the church, I made quick introductions as we hurried to shed our coats and hang them on the overflowing coat racks. Jake already knew everyone except for Sean and his wife Joanne, who lived in the state capital. Dan nodded and shook everyone’s hand, looking comfortable as he always did with people. He kept one arm loosely looped over Sam’s shoulder. Sam was grinning, like the cat with the cream, which I didn’t understand until I caught a closer look at his tie. At first glance, I thought it was decorated by men holding tiny signal flags -- no it was men doing the YMCA dance holding rainbow flags. How had he gotten that by Dan?

Jake moved closer to me as we stepped into the main part of the church. I looked up at the stained glass windows depicting scenes from the Last Supper. This was the church I’d grown up in, attended every week until I was sixteen and seen one of my brothers married in, but I felt like a stranger. 

The church was full, and we all squeezed into two pews near the back. Mom smiled at me reassuringly as I sat down. “I know this was hard. Thank you.” She gave me a sad smile and squeezed my hand. “It’s so nice to have all my boys together. It’s like old times.”

“I know, Mom.” I did my best to return the smile. I was saved from further conversation by the start of the service. 

The ritual was the same as from my childhood, and with easy familiarity I stood and sat at the appropriate times without listening or thinking. Jake knew several of the hymns and sang in a beautiful baritone. The priest had started the sermon. I assumed he was giving the usual Christmas sermon, wishing for peace and goodwill across national and ethnic boundaries when I heard a strangled curse from Sam, and saw Dan grab the hymnal from Sam’s hand as if Dan expected a flying missile and hustle his partner from the church. 

Jake placed a hand on my thigh, an openly demonstrative move for him, and Mom reached in her purse for a tissue and dabbed her eyes. Andy turned around and gave me such a look a pure fury that I for a moment entertained the idea that man could strike people down with a glare. I gave him a questioning glance back. What had I done to evoke such a response?

“It’s Christmas,” he hissed. “I’m sorry. You are more Christian than...” There was a pause as if Andy was searching for the right word. “ That --that man will ever be.”

I nodded and shrugged, still not following the conversation. The priest was giving the usual instructions for receiving communion, and then I heard it. He was excluding vast swaths of people, from anyone who’d voted for a pro choice politician to those who lay with the same sex. I watched the people in front stand and file forward.  This was a heavily Democratic district; I couldn’t believe no one had voted for a pro choice politician. No one seemed to pay much attention to the directives. At least that was until the people stood one pew in front of Andy. I couldn’t tell completely what happened, watching between Andy and his wife’s shoulders, but it appeared that a young man --maybe nineteen -- didn’t stand with his family. His dad reached over to pull him to his feet Then all chaos broke loose. Like all young people this young man’s passions ran high, unfettered by the conservative wisdom of age.

“Get your hands off me.”

“Don’t disappoint you mother. It’s time to take communion.” They weren’t actually shouting, but the church’s acoustics were good, and I’m sure they could be heard through at least half the church.

“I can’t.”

“Did you join the occult up there at that fancy college?”

“No, you never listen. I’ve been telling you and Mom for years. I’m gay, a queer, a faggot, or whatever you want to call it.” The young man jerked free, shaking his hair, which was tied with a leather thong at the nape of his neck, and headed for the exit. 

Andy, with the skills that had made him a football star intercepted him in the aisle, blocking him with his body before setting his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Easy, I’m not the enemy here."

“You walk out of here, and you’re out of the family,” the father hurled at his son.

“I don’t care.” The kid pushed to get by Andy, and Andy let him, not moving but not thwarting him either.”

The father opened his mouth to make a sharp retort, but Andy’s deep voice interrupted him. “Don’t say anything that you’ll regret for the next forty years of your life. He is your son, your flesh and blood.” Andy turned and strode after the boy.

The church had fallen silent during the short tirade. There were no shuffling feet as people approach the altar, or whispered directions for the confused worshipper. All eyes watched my brother push the swinging doors wide, and then as if a new act had started, they coughed, smoothed their hair back, grabbed their children’s hands, and finished the business of taking communion. 

Jake and I shifted to allow my parents and Sean to slide by, but they remained seated. Joyce Peterson, an old family friend, gave my mom a quizzical look as she rose from the pew behind her. I don’t think my mom had ever missed taking communion. Even when she’d fallen on the ice and broken her ankle, she had hobbled forward.

“My son’s gay. I won’t take communion if he can’t.” Mom said clearly but not loudly and reached over and kissed my cheek.

Joyce made a surprised O with her mouth but said nothing, and before she could get out of earshot Sean added, “I co-sponsored the bill on emergency contraception. I can’t take communion either.”

“Mom, Sean, you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I want to,” Mom said in a voice that I knew meant I couldn’t change her mind.

“Sean, whatever you do and say will be on You Tube in less than an hour.”

“And if the bigots vote me out of office, so be it. We’re supposed to be celebrating the birth of a man who embraced the sinners and the disenfranchised.”

There was nothing to say to that. Thankfully we were in the back of the church and the service concluded shortly after the completion of communion. The priest made the usual announcements about service times for later tonight and tomorrow and the location of my mom’s Christmas Eve get together. She always hosted an open house for anyone who wanted somewhere to go between services. 

She gave me a quirky smile; her brown eyes sparkled with determination. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. Keep your chin up,” she whispered. “We’ll see how many of the bigots come.”

This wasn’t my idea of fun. The priest always came. Father whatever his name, who retired earlier this year, had either been willfully ignoring the church’s doctrine on homosexuals  or too naive to recognize my sexual orientation. I suspected it was the former because he’d made several attempts at pastoral care and even in a circumspect way hinted that he was aware of my sexual orientation. He hadn’t been as skilled or as persistent as Dan, and I ignored him. Compared to the new guy, he’d been the picture of liberalism. The new priest could play a leading role as the Grand Inquisitor.

Dan, Sam, and Andy were tucked in the corner between the coat rack and the water fountain. Dan was sitting on a wooden bench with the young man next to him, Dan’s arm draped over his shoulder. Dan stood up, dragging the young man with him. “This is Devon,” he said. “He’ll be staying with us until we get things settled with his family.”

My mom leapt forward and made introductions. I’m sure Devon thought that he’d landed in some bizarre combination of Mary Poppins and The Waltons. “This is our eldest son Quill. His partner Jake Wright is somewhere.”

I looked around for Jake. He’d slipped over next to Andy and was almost hidden by my brother’s greater bulk. They were whispering about something together, and now Dan was adding in his two cents. I didn’t have time to contemplate their plans further before Mom swept us all out to the cars.

Mom and Dad, or more accurately Mom, had gone overboard for the holidays just like she did every year. The house glittered with lights, and we all had to squeeze around a massive tree in the entry hall. Most families downsize their Christmas decorations after the kids leave; mine seemed to have super sized them. Every shelf, mantle, and bannister rail were festooned with elves, Santa Clauses, or silver bells.

“I see. The overdecorating must be genetic,” Dan said dryly as he collected our coats. “I’m glad the auxiliary decorated the church, otherwise we might have had Santa in a helicopter on the roof.”

Mom did her party thing with her usual expertise and soon had all of us boys roped into spreading out the food and pouring drinks. She even conned Devon into bartending for the little kids, and he seemed to have relaxed. I pulled the box of Christmas crackers down from the top cabinet in the kitchen, and Jake and Devon both had fun with the small explosions while I tried to set them out for party favors. Neither of them had ever seen Christmas crackers before, and I think they had more fun with the toys inside than the kids. Of course as the toy expert, I had to collect one of each prize; the whistle was my favorite.

More people came than I ever remembered at this affair. A constant parade of people who seemed to make a special effort to inquire about Galaxy toys or request an introduction to Jake. At first I didn’t realize what was going on, and then it hit me it was the community’s way of supporting my family. Several of my mother’s friends from the gaggle of clubs she belonged to came over to congratulate me on my choice of partners. Mom and Dad had decided to come out full force about their son’s sexuality. 

Dan collected me while the party was still in full swing. “We’ve got to get back. I think my parishioners wouldn’t be happy to show up to a dark church tonight.” Dan with his usual efficiency rounded up Devon, Justin, Sam, and Jake. They were all engrossed in a spirited game of Trivial Pursuit with  a group of teenagers, most of whom I didn’t know. Fortunately for Sam and Jake they were using an older version of Trivial Pursuit, or it would have been a slaughter. They were woefully ignorant about teenage pop idols. Justin opted to spend the night with our parents, and the remainder of us hit the road.

The candles flickered down the center aisle. The church was full. I couldn’t see the back pews through the sea of faces. Jake was up in the choir loft, and unlike most days, people had slid in on either side of me, sandwiching me between strangers. Andy and Dan were both leading the service today, They walked down the aisle carrying the cross and trailed by a pack of acolytes. The service proceeded as usual with me juggling both the hymnal and the Book of Common Prayer. The choir sang several secular favorites, which I suspected was Sam’s doing unless the church had recently determined Rudolph and Frosty had been present in Bethlehem. 

Andy did the Bible reading, and Dan gave the sermon. It was the usual Christmas stuff, wishing for peace the world over. It did have a significant emphasis on the importance of peace and love not only with people who shared your thoughts and beliefs, what Dan called the easy side, but also with those who made you initially recoil. I wondered if this had been added after this evening’s experience. He also made reference to both listening and trying to engage those who disagreed and moving towards an active compromise that respected everyone. The sermon over, Dan usually stepped back to the altar to perform the Eucharist; instead he made an announcement.

“Tonight we have a slight change of plans, and I hope you will all bear with me as it’s going to make the service last longer than usual. I have a request to perform a baptism, and while I usually do adult baptism in the Easter season, I didn’t think it was fair to make this candidate wait any longer.” Dan then gave the page in the Book of Common Prayer.

I was busy flipping to the pages and didn’t notice the candidate until he’d approached the front of the church. It was Jake. Dan caught my eye and I saw a trace of a smile on his face.

“Quill, are you planning to come up here, or are you going to hide back there?” Dan was smiling, and he had this incredible knack for appearing to direct his full gaze on me, even though the pews in front of me were packed.

I nodded and climbed to my feet. Andy was giving me a wise ass grin as I took my place next to my partner. “You can be the family; I’ll play the role of godfather.”

“How long have you been planning on doing this?” I whispered.

“A while,” Jake answered.

I was thinking about protesting my brother’s undue influence over Jake’s religious values when Andy added, “He’s asked me a couple times. This wasn’t a choice he made in haste. When he asked me again tonight, I wasn’t going to put him off any longer.”

“I know, Andy.” I apologized. “You’re the last person to coerce someone about religion.”

“I’d have his head,” Dan said, keeping his voice low enough that only the three of us could hear it. “I know you’re a bit squeamish about organized religion, but this was Jake’s choice, and you should be proud of him.”

“Can we get this done?” Jake gave Dan a pleading look. “I’m getting very embarrassed. I should have done it next week when the church would be empty.”

Dan seemed to take that as his cue. Fortunately for me, who hadn’t been to a baptism since Justin’s,  Andy handed me The Book of Common Prayer so I could follow along. The congregation knew its part, and Dan was soon spilling a little water over Jake’s head. Jake made his way over to the piano, where the choir would stand when they came out of the loft to take communion, I headed back towards my seat. I didn’t make it very far when a couple I recognized from one of Dan’s counseling seminars nearly tackled me and wedged me into the pew next to them. 

I fell back into the familiarity of the rite, walking forward at the appropriate time to take the host. As always, I was unsure how much of the ritual I believed, but it provided comfort and familiarity, and now with Jake’s committed enthusiasm I vowed to at least talk to Andy more about my beliefs. I had returned to my seat, where amongst the line kneeling at the altar I spotted my parents. Dan had made the usual announcement about communion being open to all, but I never expected my parents; I hadn’t even known they were coming to the service. I never remembered my parents attending a non Catholic service except for a wedding or a funeral. If I hadn’t been trapped behind several large people I would have intercepted my mother. 

The service was finally over and in the crush of people wishing each other merry Christmas and re-layering their sweaters and parkas, I searched for my family. I spotted both Andy and Dan greeting what seemed like throngs of parishioners. My gaze sifted through the crowd, looking for Jake and my parents. Jake was in a crush of the church ladies who’d been taking cooking lessons from him. It looked like they were all trying to congratulate him at once. A few particularly brave souls even reached up and kissed his cheek. Finally I caught sight of my parents threading their way through the people like slalom skiers. I dodged through the traffic, not as gracefully as my mom, to catch them as they approached Andy and Dan.

“I can’t believe it took me this many years to come and hear you preach. It was lovely,” my mom said, dabbing at her eyes.

“It was an honor, Mrs Maguire. You must come and hear your son preach. Our church is blessed with his presence.” Dan reached out and shook my dad’s hand before hugging my mother.

“To take communion from our own son on Christmas Eve...” Mom trailed off as if she was overcome by emotion.

“I was thrilled,” Andy said, hugging our mom. “You know you are always welcome, but please don’t feel obligated. Our family has been Catholic for centuries. I’m the heretic.” Andy flashed Mom and Dad a wide boyish grin.

“Andy,” Dad said his voice choked with emotion even as he tried to sound his usual gruff self. “You can count us among your flock.”

“Dad, Mom, don’t do anything rashly. I know the priest tonight--” Andy seemed to be searching for the right word. “was, was unenlightened, but there are others. And the congregation was more than welcoming. It’s the people in the pews who make the church, not the guy up front.”

“No.” Our dad’s eyes sparked a dark blue. “First those bastards try to rape my son, and then they hold themselves up as examples of piety while they cast him away as a sinner. I’m done with them.”

“Mr Maguire, ”Dan interrupted, herding us into a more secluded corner. Sam had materialized from nowhere and effortlessly took over wishing parishioners a good night and merry Christmas, giving us some privacy. He’d obviously filled this role before as I heard him chat about the symphony’s Christmas Concert and the annual production of The Christmas Carol. “It’s Christmas Eve, and I’m being pulled about a hundred different directions. Please come in and talk to me. After tomorrow I should have a lot of free time. Like your son said, don’t do anything rashly.”

“Damn it. Call me Pat. My boys clearly think the world of you, and their judgement is good enough for me.”

“Pat.” Dan smiled reassuringly. “It’s Christmas, the season of forgiveness and love. As a representative of the Episcopal church, I can tell you that all are welcome here, but please make your choice with due deliberation. January is our slow month, and there is nothing that Andy and I like more than a vigorous debate over theology. We all learn something. But I will tell you no faith has a monopoly on either goodness or intolerance. The Catholic church has a long tradition of helping the poor and the suffering. We Anglicans have our black spots -- the flying bishops in England, the US churches aligned with African or South American churches to avoid bishops of the wrong gender or wrong sexual orientation. In all religions, you have to take the good with the bad. Christianity is about the individuals who sit in the pews, not the few of us up front. Here we’re blessed with a wonderful congregation. People manage religious organizations on earth, and we’re all flawed. For tonight, let’s think about the good parts. Merry Christmas!”

“The UN should hire you. World peace would probably break out overnight,” Dad grumbled.

“Dad,” Andy said, “I’ll be up tomorrow for Christmas dinner. We can talk then. I didn’t know you were interested in religion.” There was a faint trace of wistfulness in Andy’s voice. Andy had never said much about his faith at home. I reached for my brother’s arm, suddenly realizing the deep isolation he must have felt keeping a virtual wall of separation around his religion. He’d obviously felt that to preserve family peace he mustn’t speak of his faith.

“I’m not an expert in religion,” Dad said, “but all a father can hope for is that his sons grow up to be men of conscience and true to their beliefs.”

Andy pulled Mom and Dad into a hug. I heard him wish them a merry Christmas before he stepped aside to finish with the last parishioners who were straggling out. I stuck out my hand but much to my surprise Dad pulled me into a hug. Twice in one month; there must be something wrong flitted through my mind before I relaxed and looped my arm around his back. I think to Jake’s relief my dad stuck to shaking hands with him, and Mom kissed us both on the cheek.

“That was an eventful evening,” Dan said as he walked us to our car. 

Everyone else had gone home to wrap final packages or tuck wide-eyed children into bed. Dan stared up into the night sky, either savoring the peace or searching the heavens for eight tiny reindeer. The street was absolutely quiet, not even the bark of a dog in the distance.

“This is the part of Christmas I truly like. The moments after the hustle and bustle are over.” Dan gave both Jake and me a small smile and then slung an arm over each of our shoulders. “OK, I won’t go all religious and contemplative with you.” His face then broke out in the big smile that I usually only saw when it was directed at Sam. “Are Maguire family gatherings always this exciting? I’ll have to go in training before the next one. First we get insulted by a misguided priest.” I could think of a lot of words stronger than misguided, but I didn’t interrupt. “Then with an assist from Andy I end up with a stray boy.”

“Where is he?” Jake asked.

“I sent him home with Sam. They’re a lot alike.” Dan rolled his eyes. “May God grant me patience. You, my boy.” Dan turned to face Jake and gave him a small shake. “You bulldozed Andy and insisted that he baptize you tonight. Whatever you said must have been convincing because he didn’t even give me the option of saying no. And then your father.” Dan was now looking at me, and in the darkness I couldn’t tell if his gray eyes were twinkling, but I imagined they were. “Your father, who I understand is not the talkative type unless he’s shouting in displeasure, not only hugs his sons in public but has a moment of dramatic conversion. Some Christmas, and I still have tomorrow.” Dan shook his head, chuckling softly. 

“Good night and thank you for everything,” I said, opening the car door.

“Good night,” Jake echoed, “and merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas and go in peace.” Dan shut the door and slapped the roof of the car to indicate we should drive off. As I pulled out, the tall, gangly figure, his coat draped over his lanky frame, gave us one final wave. 

Jake, who had been fiddling with the radio until he found some Christmas music, popped up and gave me one of his killer smiles. “That was the best Christmas Eve ever. Way better than with Lawrence. Is Christmas day going to be this exciting?”

“I don’t know,” I drawled, pretending to contemplate the question. “Are your parents going to announce they’re moving to the Riviera or that they just discovered you had a sister who was kidnapped by aliens?”

“Stop.” Jake laughed and slapped my thigh with his glove. “It turned out well.”

“It did, and I think Dad’s even forgiven you for your swearing episode.”

Jake blushed. “Hah, see if I give you your Christmas presents -- bringing up nasty events from my past. You might find switches and coal in your stocking.” He crossed his arms and turned towards the window. He was a terrible actor and choked sounds of laughter kept escaping his lips.

“Brat, you better be careful who you give switches and lumps of coal. I might find a use for those switches.”

Jake swung around with a grin as wide as the sun and moon together on his face and launched himself at me. Thank God the street was quiet, and I managed to pull over with only one sharp swerve. I wrapped my arms around my squirming, laughing partner. “What was that about?

“You called me a brat without wincing. You teased me about being a brat. It’s the first time.” 

Jake kissed me hard, and all analysis of his words flew from my brain as my hormones took over. Somehow I managed to regain enough composure to push him off my lap after several good gropes and deep passionate kisses. “I’m not calling Dad or Dan to bail us out when we’re arrested for lewd behavior on Christmas Eve. Now sit in the passenger seat and settle down.” My effort at sternness was useless, as we both broke out into silly giggles.

“Yes, sir, Captain Top, sir.” Jake reached into his pocket and pulled something out wrapped in tissue paper. “Here -- an early Christmas present.”

From the size of it, I would have been concerned it was serious, like a ring, except Jake was smirking. He wasn’t capable of that kind of deception. If it were a ring he’d be looking serious, or at least I thought he would be. Instead he’s was doing his damnedest not to break out into gales of laughter. 

I tore off the paper. It was a plastic top from the Christmas crackers. “Are you trying to tell me something, brat?” I pounced on Jake kissing and tickling him.

Somehow we did get ourselves arranged in the car and back home home without police intervention. Once home, well, it would have taken the riot squad to separate us.  Hopefully Santa stayed in the living room and didn’t visit the bedroom.