“You’re joking,” Noah said.
“That’s highway robbery,” Rebeca said.
“No way,” Hazard said. “Not even for a dozen tamales.”
“A dozen tamales,” Somers said, “and a tres leches cake. A whole one.”
“That’s not even how negotiation works,” Noah said, and then he took an angry gulp of sangria. “You don’t even know what you’re doing. We said no to the offer of twelve tamales. You have to come down, not go up.”
“Twelve tamales,” Hazard said, “a tres leches cake, and those refried beans, the ones with real lard. Otherwise, I pull off that beard—”
Another child comet hurtled through the room, shrieking.
When the room was clear, Hazard leaned over the table and said, “I’ll rip that fucker right off.”
“This is laughable,” Noah said. “This is a joke.” He was looking around the room like he might find a studio audience. “You guys have never tried to make a deal before. Here’s a deal: four tamales. No cake. No beans. We bump up the Santa portion to thirty minutes, and you keep the beard on the whole time.”
Hazard exchanged a look with Somers, who was fighting hard not to smile, and suddenly Hazard felt the same wild desire to grin. He met Noah’s look and kept his expression stone cold. “Up to you, Noah. Evie might cry a little when I pull that beard off, but she’ll get over it. I can’t imagine what a houseful of distraught, wailing children will sound like. Maybe you could record it for me. At about three tomorrow morning. When they’re still not asleep.”
“This is blackmail,” Noah said.
“Technically,” Somers said with a smirk, “it’s extortion. My smart, sexy, scute boyfriend is extorting you.”
“Scute?” Noah said.
“Scary cute, motherfucker,” Hazard said. “Read a fucking book.”
“Fine,” Rebeca said, gesturing at them with the glass in her hand, sangria sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “The tamales, the cake, and the beans. I hope you choke on them.” Then, grinning, she added, “The two of you deserve each other.”
“Thanks,” Somers said.
“I think,” Hazard said.
VI
DECEMBER 24
MONDAY
6:54 PM
WILL YOU STOP with the damn pillows already?” Hazard squirmed in the duvetyne suit as his boyfriend jammed pillows inside the coat. “Enough, John.”
“Santa’s belly has to jiggle like a bowl full of jelly.”
“Santa’s belly is memory foam and duck feathers. Ouch, God, one of the quills just stabbed me. Stop it!”
“You’re being a baby.” Somers leaned back, though, examining his work, and made a sound of disgust. “I can hardly tell I put pillows in there.”
“Are you shitting me?” Hazard turned to study his profile in the mirror; they had borrowed a Noah and Rebeca’s room to change into the costume, and finding a place to stand in the chaos of toys and books and laundry baskets hadn’t been easy. “I’m a blimp.”
“Looks the same to me.”
Hazard turned to stare at his boyfriend.
“You weren’t thinking of eating the whole tres leches cake by yourself, were you?”
“I will take the ring right back off your fucking finger.”
“It’s called winter weight gain, Ree.”
“I know what it’s called.”
“It happens to a lot of people.”
“I. Know.” Hazard bit off the words. “I’m the one who watched Warm for the Winter: A History of Health, Hibernation, and Hivernal Living. You just ate popcorn and played Fortnite on your phone.”
“There’s a biological component, you know. We’re programmed to store energy for the winter; that’s why some people,” Somers raked a gaze up and down Hazard, “pack on a few pounds.”
“Keep going. See where this gets you.”
“It’s nothing to embarrassed about.”
Downstairs, Noah shouted, “Everybody to the Christmas tree, everybody to the tree right now. We’re about to have a very special guest.”
Shrieks of “Santa! Santa!” rang through the house, accompanied by a stampede.
A prickle of sickly heat ran through Hazard. He was going to have to walk out there. He was going to have every eye in the room on him, and he was going to be lying, pretending to be something he wasn’t. His whole life, he’d fought hard to be honest about who he was. He’d told the truth even when it hurt. Especially when it hurt. And how he was going to give up all of it. For what? For a dumb story? The suit was suddenly too small, the duvetyne scratchy, the duck quills spearing his gut.
“I think I’m getting a rash,” Hazard said, ripping at the buttons on the front of the coat. “I’m breaking out.”
“You’re fine.”
“No, I’m definitely allergic to something.”
Somers’s hands closed over his, stilling them. “You’re fine.” But then he must have seen something on Hazard’s face because he said, “Hey. Never mind. You don’t have to do this.”
Wiping sweat from his forehead, Hazard got himself under control. He tugged the cap with its faux fur trim lower on his head. “No, it’s fine.”
“Ree, come on. Take off the coat. I know what we’ll do: I’ve got one of those Santa apps on my phone, and we’ll just use that. It’s silly, you know, like they’re getting a phone call from Santa. They’ll eat it up. And I’ve got the Santa tracker. It’s going to be perfect.”
“No,” Hazard said. “I’ll do it. I’ll play Santa. And then, after, I’ll tell them about the anti-socialist underpinnings of the story.”
“That sounds good.”
“And the corporate hijacking in the 1950s.”
“Every kid loves a corporate hijacking story. I told Evie one last night.”
“And they’ll learn about the French Cathar dualist traditions that led to the rise of Zwarte Piet.”
Somers was just nodding and making soothing noises. “Just like Bing Crosby always sang about.”
“Ok,” Hazard said. “I’m ready.”
“Ok.”
“It’s not fair, doing two things like this in one day.”
“Two big, scary things?”
“I didn’t say scary.”
“Two terrifying, emotionally-fraught things like asking me to marry you and speaking to a group of children?”
“You’re saying that like you think it’s funny.”
Somers kept trying to tuck away the corner of a smile, but he wasn’t quite managing. “Scout’s honor. Nothing funny about it at all.”
“I knew I should have pawned that ring.”
“Go get ’em, tiger.”
Hazard couldn’t help it; he growled at his boyfriend.
Somers
