Golden Boy, page 2
“Naked! Out there on the Internet for all my TikTok followers to see!” I step back to fling another handful of tinsel across the branches, then fiddle with pieces to make them look perfectly random. “You wouldn’t do that to a poor, innocent little tree, would you?”
“Little?” Ellie laughs. “You’re so full of shit.”
“Maybe not little,” I concede with a laugh. We got this eight-foot monster of a pine tree delivered, but it still took us both to wrestle into the living room.
“Will you cut it out?” I add to the tree, groaning as I tug the branch down. It just won’t
I want a TikTok-perfect tree, but this one damn branch just keeps sticking up, however many times I tug it down. Should I just cut the damn thing off?
“I dunno. Maybe it’s an exhibitionist,” Ellie says with a straight face. “Is that a branch in its foliage… or is it happy to be seen?”
“It’s not—” I pull it down again, and it springs up so hard it almost smacks me in the face. “Hey!”
We both dissolve into tears of laughter as she sorts out silver, yellow, and blue decorations, and I coax the tree into behaving itself.
It’ll probably take a day or two to finish decorating… but it’ll be worth it in the end, because it’s going to look perfect.
And that matters to me… a lot.
“So… what’s happening for Christmas?”
I fix a smile on my face. “I’ll stay here as usual.” I left home at eighteen and never went back—it was better for everyone that way. This will be my sixth Christmas by myself, and I’m getting used to it.
Besides, it’s the one day of the year I can indulge in my secret weird hobby without anyone judging me. There’s a reason I’m obsessed with Christmas: it’s the one time of year I get to shamelessly peek through other people’s windows.
I love it when someone leaves the curtains open and allows the passing world to glimpse what’s inside. The love and laughter, little frustrations and shared joys, huge family dinners and tables full of Christmas cookies…
“You can visit my family,” Ellie offers, as always. It’s sweet of her, but I’ve only been there once for Thanksgiving. We spent the whole trip reminding Ellie’s relatives that I’m way too gay to be her boyfriend.
“No, no. I’ll be fine here. Really,” I insist.
“Okay. If you change your mind, just let me know.”
Ellie plugs in the last strand of lights around our windows. Suddenly, the room is bathed in a warm, twinkling glow.
“It’s…” I trail off, backing away from the tree for a better look. My breath catches in my suddenly tight throat.
“It’s beautiful,” Ellie says, finishing my sentence for me.
Every year, I cherish the moment I first see the magic of the season in my own home. The warm glowing lights in the window, or the sparkling tree, or the boughs of holly add up to something far greater.
And for a moment, the gnawing loneliness in my chest lifts, and I let myself make a wish to Santa.
This is the sixth Christmas I’m making the same wish.
I wish for a Daddy.
Someone to teach me what I want, and give me what I need. Someone to bake Christmas cookies with, giggling and stepping on each other’s toes. Someone to stand under the mistletoe with, just gazing deeply into each other’s eyes until we kiss…
“Happy with this?” Ellie asks, popping my fantasy bubble by squeezing me around the shoulders in a hug.
“Yeah,” I murmur, swallowing the ache in my throat.
“You sure?”
Until I look through the right window and find the Daddy of my dreams… this will have to do.
I clear my throat and nod. “Yeah. Yeah, I am. And, Ellie…? Thanks.”
Ellie shakes her head and wanders through the living room to gather our empty mugs. “You know what? This was nice. I think I needed it. Even if it was just an excuse to drink rum on a Tuesday night. So thank you, Golden.”
She somehow looks more at peace than earlier, and I don’t think it’s entirely down to the rum.
“Hey, so…” I follow Ellie like a shadow as she picks up our mugs to bring them to the sink. “Can we talk about work real quick?”
“Uh huh…”
“The boss called me into the office today. He said the assistant manager job is as good as mine in January.” I wince as Ellie pauses and frowns at me. “I’m sorry. I know you wanted it.”
Ellie sighs. She shakes the water off her hands and turns to me, leaning back against the sink. “That’s not why I’m mad, Goldie. I’m mad because it’s not what you want.”
I blink at her. “Isn’t it? I’ll save up faster that way.”
“For what?”
“My Someday Fund,” I answer without even thinking about it. Ever since I moved out, I’ve been slowly adding to it when I can.
Ellie raises her eyebrow. “You mean your Goldie finally goes to school for interior design fund? The longer you stay at this damn place, the harder it’ll be to leave. I just don’t want to see you leave your dreams behind.”
I swallow hard, staring at the floor.
She’s right. I have a whole box of glossy magazines with Christmas spreads. I’ve been collecting them for years—from the thrift store, garage sales, you name it. I’ve studied them as much as I can, dreaming of what it must be like to have a show home, a photographer, and a budget.
Oh, the wonders I could create.
If I applied for school and got accepted, I could still fit shifts around classes. But our boss made it clear that the new assistant manager will be committed to the place full-time.
“Why don’t you at least try?” Ellie says and turns away to wash up the mugs. “Send in your application. Start a side hustle instead, something you can quit when you get into school.”
“Oh.” I hadn’t thought of that. “Like what…?” Making coffee is pretty much my only marketable skillset, and I’ve already getting all the shifts I can.
Ellie turns suddenly, staring over my shoulder.
“What?” I crane my neck over my shoulder before looking back at her. “Is it a white-haired Daddy popping out of the chimney with an envelope of cash?”
“No such luck,” Ellie laughs.
“Then what is it?”
“Christmas! You’re good at it, you like it… and you love inflicting it on other people,” Ellie grins at me. “So do that.”
Holy shit. That’s a great idea—and I’ve never thought of it before.
“Put up an ad?”
“Christmas Bunny for hire,” Ellie laughs. “No, just kidding—”
“That’s it,” I gasp, raising my hand to catch my sliding headband just in the nick of time. “You’re a genius! I can Design and execute…” I adopt my announcement voice as I wave one hand in front of me like a giant billboard. “Christmas.”
I don’t even need to go to school—I could practice right now!
“Goldie—”
“This is great,” I breathe out, pacing furiously back and forth across the kitchen floor. “I have so many mood boards I’ll never use! Oh my god, and all my Christmas ornament bookmarks—I can make recommendations! Curate them by theme! Wait, is that a thing? A Christmas curator?”
“Goldie!” Ellie laughs, and I finally look at her. “I was gonna say, help people hang their Christmas lights and stuff.”
“Oh. Yeah. That makes more sense.”
I mean… I’ve never hung lights outdoors. Like, on a ladder and everything. But how much harder can it be?
“So,” I breathe out excitedly. “If we advertise tonight on like, local Facebook groups and stuff—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, mister,” Ellie laughs as she turns off the kitchen light. “This genius is on her way to a certified bed.”
“Oh, yeah,” I laugh. “Right. That’s fair.”
Something tells me that Ellie’s already done more for me than she’ll ever know.
If I fill the world around me with Christmas magic, maybe… just maybe… I can start to believe there’s more than enough love out there to fill my home.
And even my heart.
I’ve still got a hand on top of my head to keep the headband in place as I stare into the distance. “Good night,” I murmur absentmindedly. “And thanks again.”
On her way to her room, Ellie stops next to me for long enough to tug one of my bunny ears. “Spread your Christmas Bunny magic, weirdo. Good night.”
Oh, I will.
Chapter Two
JUDE
“Could you please cause more of a distraction with the ladder, dear?”
“Nye!” Star groans. “Don’t say that. He’ll get out his hammer.”
“Mmmm. I’m listening…” Nye snickers.
I’m balanced on top of a stepstool. In one hand, I’m clutching the end of the Christmas light strand. The other is groping blindly across the ceiling beam that’s currently blocking my view of my husbands.
“It’s not a hammer in my pocket,” I quip. “I’m just happy to see you.”
After twelve years together, most of our flirting doesn’t go anywhere. But it helps the three of us remember that we love each other, even—or especially—when we’re annoying the crap out of each other.
“Actually, I’m not listening,” Nye changes his mind. “I have to finish this Powerpoint today.”
“Aha!” I just found the plastic clip, so I grin and snap the light strand into place. “Gotcha, you little bastard.”
“And I need to focus.”
“Me, too,” Star chimes in pointedly.
Uh oh. We’ve been together so long that I can feel the twin long-suffering X-ray stare without even looking at them.
Usually, it means, Jude! You’re pacing around the room again. Take that call in the office, please. And in the interest of marital harmony, I usually listen.
But today’s ruckus can’t be relocated.
We’re already two days into December, and it doesn’t feel right to open our chocolate advent calendar doors without mood lighting.
“You can always work in the office,” I tell them, trying not to grin. I know perfectly well that their glares are hot enough to set the beam on fire now. “I have to do this.”
Star groans. “Right now?”
“I haven’t even started the outdoor lights. If I don’t give you outdoor lights, my complaints box will fill up.”
We’re lucky enough to share the roster of husband duties three ways, but hanging the lights is firmly my job.
Nye would short-circuit the whole block if left alone with power cords. Star sometimes helps, but he can spend an hour making sure every light on a string is pointing the right way.
I wind the power cord around the beam and then hop down from the stepstool to plug it into the complex network of extension cords—meticulously planned for electrical safety, of course.
“You’re right,” Nye says from the couch, sighing as he looks up from his laptop. “Sorry, baby. We do love the outdoor lights. It’s just…” he trails off, pinching his nose and staring at the screen.
I hate how often I see that look on his face lately, like he’s stretched too thin. His usual sass is turning into snappishness a little too often. I know he feels bad afterward, but that’s no easier on everyone.
“A lot of work to focus on,” Star finishes Nye’s thought, looking down at his screen with a sigh. He’s been picking up the slack for a lot of his coworkers over Thanksgiving, and he hasn’t taken time off yet.
I’m only three years older than my husbands, so I try not to give unsolicited advice too often. But now and then, I can’t help myself.
“You know, we could solve a lot of problems at once,” I tell them while opening the last box of indoor lights for the kitchen. “But you won’t like the answer.”
They both look up at me while I move the stepping stool to the last ceiling beam.
We all take turns being on the pointy end of our three-way relationship… and that isn’t even a euphemism, though that’s true, too. What I mean is, there’s always someone around to take a side.
And right now, it’s two against one. But that’s never stopped me before.
“Take time off work, help me decorate. Get into the mood of the season.”
Star narrows his eyes. “Jude—”
“You need to take more time off anyway,” I cut off their protests. “You’re getting into that mood again.”
Nye sits bolt upright and folds his arms, clicking his tongue primly. “What mood?”
“That mood.”
Star raises his eyebrows. “It’s not as easy as that.”
“It is, though.” I don’t pull the I’m older and I know what I’m doing card very often. But I learned early how to set boundaries and make my bosses respect me. I wish they would, too.
“Oh, really?” Star purses his lips.
It’s a trap I can’t help running headlong into, any more than they can stop themselves taking my bait. We all know how this argument is going to go.
“All it takes is doing what I say once in a while.”
Star snaps his laptop closed and stands up. “Jupiter Behr,” he snaps. “How many fucking times?”
I grunt with frustration, yanking the end of the light string out of its coil to snap into the clip. “I’m not talking out of my ass. I’m only trying to help.”
“And we didn’t ask for help,” Star retorts. He grabs his work stuff and shoves it into his bag while Nye snaps his laptop shut, too.
Great. They’re going to storm off together and bitch about me, leaving me to complain to our Great Pyrenees—and Blanche never takes sides. She just wants everyone to stop fighting.
Right on cue, Blanche whines softly from the huge, fluffy dog bed in the corner, stirring from her nap.
My frustration sits heavily but uneasily in my stomach as my husbands march for the door. I fumble with the coil of lights until I almost drop the damn thing on the floor.
“So you just wanted to complain about the noise, huh? Not look for solutions?”
That’s not fair, and we all know it.
I shouldn’t be taking this chance to revisit the delicate subject of work-life balance. But I can’t help myself. Something in me needs to be… I don’t know, listened to? Respected?
Hell, they could pretend to humor me once in a while.
But our relationship doesn’t work that way. It never has.
Star pauses to look over his shoulder at me. “Jude. We are not your boys.”
“Of course not. You’re my Daddies,” I snort with irritated amusement.
It’s a running joke that we’re all Daddies just waiting to be old enough to find a boy. We’re all just versatile enough to make it work practically—especially in the bedroom—but none of us is really hardwired to give up control.
Star is standing there wearing a look of strained patience.
Oh. Right.
He’s throwing me a bone, instead of following this argument all the way to the point where we give each other the silent treatment until dinnertime. Even Nye is holding his tongue, raising an expectant eyebrow.
I don’t deserve them sometimes.
“I’m sorry,” I sigh as I wind the strand around the beam until I reach the next clip.
But my brain is racing. What if he’s serious this time?
I frown, draping the rest of the lights over the beam so I can step down from the stool. “Do you… uh, do you actually think I need one? A boy to boss around—”
“Yes,” they both say in unison, barely waiting for me to finish the question.
“Oh.” A fluffy white bear nudges against my leg, and I instinctively reach down to scratch Blanche’s ears. “Where do we, uh, find one of those?”
“I’ll ask Santa,” Nye says drily. “In the meantime, go look for a handyman. It’ll be faster than us helping, and you won’t even get electrocuted.”
In fairness, that was only once… and Nye gave me a lot of apology blowjobs afterward. But I don’t really want to repeat that experience.
I grunt, acknowledging that it’s not a bad idea.
Nye clicks his tongue. “Come on, Blanche. You want to come to Stir?”
“You can get a Puppuccino while we work.” Star joins in, patting his thighs.
Blanche whines excitedly, galloping across the kitchen.
“That’s not fair. You’re taking my emotional support bear!” I groan. “What next, the house?”
“You’re hanging lights, big daddy. On ladders. You really want a freshly-napped Blanche around?” Nye smiles wryly.
Damn it. That common sense is exactly why I’m married to these two.
“Fine. Abandon me, everyone.” I wave them off to the front hall. “I’ll just keep hanging lights here, all alone. Or I’ll find some big, masc Daddy bear on Grindr to help.”
“You do that,” Star snorts, stalking off to the front hall to pull out his boots.
“See you,” Nye calls out, but Star is conspicuously silent.
I grunt in return, listening to the front door close. And at last, ironically, the house is silent.
I plop my ass down on a stool at the kitchen island, pulling out my phone to Google local Christmas light hanging. Somehow, I end up on Facebook instead, but that’s all right.
I can waste a few minutes scrolling and finding memes to send to our group chat. Nye and Star will see them when they’re done with their work days, and it’ll help thaw the ice.
But then I see, in a local residents’ group, a post last night. It’s by a guy called Golden.
Is this a scam profile?
Ha. I’m one to talk. My parents hated me enough to name me Jupiter… and then some. Why not Golden?
He’s posted a simple graphic with Christmas lights all around it. Red curly text at the top says, in all capitals, MAKE CHRISTMAS MAGIC.
The ad goes on to describe his Christmas light-hanging services, and then… inexplicably…
Well, there’s a pair of red bunny ears at the bottom of the ad. Next to it is a phone number and a slogan: The Christmas Bunny is here to help!
My mouth opens and closes a few times, trying to make sense of it, but I’ve got nothing.
