Merry Christmas, Darling (Holiday Codas), page 4
Anyway, there were a lot worse fates than spending the holiday with family who loved you and sharing pie with neighbors you were no longer feuding with. So Ethan grabbed his jacket and the three of them started across the frost-covered field to the McCartys’.
Erin was singing, “But I can dream, and in my dreams…”
Tony’s baritone joined in, “I’m Christmasing with you.”
Even their voices blended perfectly. Even so. Christmasing? What kind of a verb was that?
“Hey,” Erin broke off. “Isn’t that Michael’s pickup?”
The three of them stopped walking. Sure enough a familiar white pickup truck was trundling down the long dirt road to their house.
Ethan gulped, “I’ll meet you at the McCartys’,” and started walking back. Then he got worried that Michael might knock, find nobody home, and leave, so he began to run. He flew across the field, scrambled over the fence and raced up the walk.
Michael was holding a grocery store pie box in one hand and was raising his other to the doorbell. He turned at the pound of Ethan’s feet. Ethan slid to a stop.
“Uh, hey,” Michael said, sounding uncharacteristically self-conscious. And then, “Something wrong?”
Ethan shook his head vigorously, hand to his chest. “Half a mile. Two seconds.” He leaned against the side of the house, wheezing, “You’re…back!”
“Yeah.” Michael shrugged. “I was hoping…” His gaze dropped to the pie box. He handed it to Ethan. “It’s pecan.”
“I love pecan!”
“I know.”
Ethan smiled down at the pie box and then, shyly, at Michael. “Did you…want to come in?”
No, Ethan. I want to stand here in the freezing evening air and talk about pies. But Michael nodded gravely, almost as though the invitation had been in doubt.
Ethan opened the door and they went inside the house which was redolent of wonderful smells: apples and cinnamon and Christmas tree and turkey dinner with all the trimmings (most of them not burnt too badly). He carried the pie into the kitchen and set the box on the breadboard. By then he had his breath back.
“Would you like a piece of pie?” he asked.
“No.”
“Oh. Okay.” Maybe Michael simply intended to drop off the pie and go? Ethan didn’t want that. He said desperately, “How’s your dad? How was your Christmas?”
Michael was studying the sink full of soaking blackened pans. He wore charcoal dress trousers, a tailored pale gray shirt, and a red tie. Ethan had never seen him in anything but jeans and T-shirts or flannel shirts — or his boxers. He felt shy with this new formal looking Michael. He smiled uncertainly as Michael turned his cool gaze his way.
“Fine. The new girlfriend is fine too. My father’s been married five times already, so I’m not sure why it was so important I meet this one.” Michael stopped. His eyes were very blue as they studied Ethan, his expression grave. Sort of pained. “Look, Ethan. I’m not sure how to say this.”
Ethan felt winded all over again. Like he had just made another run across the meadow.
Please don’t say it. Please don’t do it. Not today. Not on Christmas. Not ever.
But of course this was it. Michael was trying to be as nice as he could about it. Heck, he’d even brought pie. They would still be friends. Ethan closed his eyes, bracing for it.
“What’s the matter?” Michael asked.
Ethan opened his eyes. “Nothing. Go ahead.”
Michael said uncomfortably, “I’m sorry if it seemed like I was —”
“Wait,” Ethan said. His voice sounded choked even to his own ears.
Michael stopped, looking confused.
Ethan blurted, “Are you breaking up with me? Yes or no?”
Michael’s mouth opened. He seemed to run through all the possible responses before saying cautiously, “I wasn’t going to, no. Do you want me to?”
All at once the tightness eased from Ethan’s chest and he could draw a full breath again. He said weakly, “I thought maybe you were — I thought maybe we broke up.”
Michael didn’t laugh. He didn’t say he didn’t know what Ethan meant. He was silent for a moment, frowning, then he said, “I thought maybe we did too. But I wasn’t sure. And I wasn’t sure why we would. I thought I’d like to know.”
Relief washed through Ethan, leaving him unexpectedly weak in the knees. He leaned back against the counter. “I don’t know what happened,” he admitted. “I was thinking you would come to Christmas. But then you didn’t.” It sounded idiotic, put like that, but that was pretty much the gist of it.
“I thought I would too, but then you never asked. Until…”
It was too late. Yes. And then Ethan had taken great pains to make sure Michael understood he was being invited out of politeness.
“I wasn’t sure you wanted to be invited,” Ethan admitted.
“Why wouldn’t I want to be invited to Christmas?”
“Maybe you had plans.”
“With who?”
“Well, you did have plans,” Ethan pointed out.
“At the last minute I did, yeah. I didn’t before.”
“Well, you didn’t say anything,” Ethan said. “So I didn’t know for sure.”
Michael frowned. “I can’t invite myself. Not to Christmas. Anyway, I don’t want to always invite myself. I don’t want to feel like the only reason we get together is because I push for it.”
“Is that how it seems?”
“Yes,” Michael said bluntly.
Ethan flushed. “I’m just never sure if you really want to get together or if I’m just bothering you.”
Michael stopped himself from saying whatever he nearly answered. He raked a hand through his long, pale hair and said, carefully, “Ethan, do I really seem like someone who would spend five minutes with you if I didn’t feel like spending five minutes with you?”
No. No, Michael was polite, but not overly so. He was not the suffer-fools-gladly type, that was for sure.
“Er…no.”
Michael’s hard, blue gaze softened. “We have coffee together every morning. We have lunch together every other day. We’re together more nights than we’re apart. Wouldn’t that be a hint that I like to be with you?”
“Yes. But.”
“But what?”
Ethan felt himself coloring. “It’s just that you’re hard to read and I still don’t know how this works.”
Michael’s mouth twisted. He turned the scarred half of his face to Ethan. It was funny that Ethan never noticed Michael’s scars anymore. He only noticed now because he could tell Michael was struggling with some unfamiliar emotion.
“I know I’m really bad at this,” Ethan admitted humbly.
Michael turned back to face him. “Well, at least you have the excuse of inexperience. I’m really bad at this too, and I’ve had my share of relationships.”
“Right. I guess.” Ethan hated thinking that maybe he was just one more in a series of relationships in Michael’s life. But even if that was true, Michael had cared enough to come here today to find out what the situation was between them. That took courage. It wasn’t fair not to try to meet that straight on.
Ethan gathered his nerve. “I guess the problem is I don’t know how you feel, and I really, really li —”
“I love you, Ethan,” Michael said.
“Y-you do?”
“Yes.” Michael spoke with such quiet, simple sincerity it brought tears to Ethan’s eyes. “I think I loved you from the moment I saw you. I figured you knew that.”
Ethan swallowed. “Sometimes I think maybe you do. But then other times I think maybe you don’t.”
“I do,” Michael said firmly. He gave one of his rare, beautiful smiles. “Hasn’t it crossed your mind that maybe I was waiting for you to say something?”
“Me?”
“Yes, you!”
No. It really had not. But now that he understood? He was probably never going to shut up about how much he loved Michael. Michael would be wishing he’d kept his mouth shut. Or maybe not. Because Michael did suddenly look a lot happier and relaxed.
It was going to be all right after all. Somehow it was going to be happy endings for everyone tonight.
Ethan said mischievously, “Hm. What would you like me to say?”
“Anything!”
Ethan reached for Michael, who met him halfway. There were many things he wanted, needed to tell Michael, and now he knew for sure they would be welcome. The little things and the big things both. He started with something small.
“Okay. Well,” Ethan hugged Michael back with all his strength. “Merry Christmas, darling…”
Tiny Pecan Tarts
Ingredients
1 cup butter
6 ounces cream cheese, softened
2 cups all-purpose flour
4 eggs
3 cups packed brown sugar
4 tablespoons melted butter
Pinch salt
1 teaspoon vanilla extract
1 cup chopped pecans
Directions
To Make Pastry:
Cream butter or margarine and cream cheese. Add flour and mix well. Make into 48 balls; place one ball in each cup of a mini tart pan. Use your fingers or a tart tamper to press out into a tart shell.
To Make Filling:
Break the eggs, but do not beat. Add sugar, melted butter, salt, vanilla and pecans. Mix well. Fill the tart shells. Bake at 350°F for about 30 minutes or until delicately browned.
FAIR GAME: Elliot and Tucker
The stuffing in the sweet potato roulade was made with parmesan and cheddar cheese, crushed garlic, nut bread crumbs, sage and parsley. The moussaka was made with portobello mushrooms and seitan. There were Provencal stuffed tomatoes, buttermilk biscuits, and ginger-brandy cheesecake for dessert. There was a lot of food. A lot of wonderful food.
What there was not, was a turkey.
But there was plenty to drink, and Elliot kept Tucker’s glass topped up — and his own.
They had sailed across that morning on Tucker’s boat. The biting cold wind off the Sound had turned their hands red and their faces ruddy in the early morning light, but every time they caught each other’s gazes, they’d grinned. Their first Christmas.
They were spending the day with Roland, but they would sail back that night. Tomorrow they would have all day to themselves.
Tucker was dealing manfully with the absence of turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes at Christmas dinner. But then Tucker had a small turkey all prepped and ready to go into the oven when they got home to Goose Island that night.
Roland, who had also had his share of alcoholic beverages, was saying, “When you look at it that way, when you consider how much money is spent on stuff that people don’t want and don’t need, it makes sense to skip buying presents and just donate to the person’s charity of choice.”
Tucker and Elliot had exchanged gifts last night. Elliot had given Tucker a top of the line stainless steel thermos and Coffee Joulies. Tucker took his coffee seriously, and Elliot remembered how often it was hard to get hot coffee, let alone good coffee on the job. Tucker had given Elliot a tactical fountain pen (“Never hurts to be prepared”), a copy of Photography and the American Civil War, and a very expensive watch.
“Hey, I thought we agreed we weren’t going crazy buying gifts,” Elliot had protested as Tucker had fastened the watch on his left wrist. Elliot’s right arm was still in a cast.
Tucker had ignored the reproach, leaning in to shut Elliot up with a kiss.
Now Tucker drawled, “What charity were you thinking of donating to on my behalf?”
Roland stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Hmmm. I guess the NRA doesn’t really qualify as a charity, does it?”
Elliot laughed and popped a stuffed olive in his mouth. His two favorite people in the world and they couldn’t be more unlike each other. But they were making an effort. They were all making an effort. And you couldn’t ask for more than that.
Tucker glanced across the table. His blue eyes gleamed in his tanned, freckled face. He gave Elliot a slow, deliberate wink.
Tucker’s Cedar Plank-Grilled Salmon with Garlic, Lemon and Dill
Ingredients
1 (3 pound) whole filet of salmon, skin on, scored
(up to but not through the skin) into serving pieces
6 tablespoons extra-virgin olive oil
4 large garlic cloves, minced
¼ cup minced fresh dill
2 teaspoons sea salt
1 teaspoon ground black pepper
1 teaspoon lemon zest, plus lemon wedges for serving
Directions
Soak an untreated cedar plank (or planks) large enough to hold a side of salmon (5 to 7 inches wide and 16 to 20 inches long) in water, weighting it with something heavy, like a brick, so it stays submerged 30 minutes to 24 hours.
When ready to grill, either build a charcoal fire in half the grill or turn grill burners on high for 10 minutes.
Meanwhile, mix oil, garlic, dill, sea salt, pepper and lemon zest; rub over salmon and into scored areas to coat.
Place soaked cedar on hot grill grate, close lid, and watch until wood starts to smoke, about 5 minutes. Transfer salmon to hot plank, move salmon off direct charcoal heat or turn burners to low, and cook covered until salmon is just opaque throughout (130 on a meat thermometer inserted in the thickest section), 20 to 25 minutes or longer, depending on thickness and grill temperature.
Let sit 5 minutes; serve with lemon wedges.
Roland’s Cauliflower with Mustard-Lemon Butter
Ingredients
1 small head of cauliflower (about 1 ¾ pounds)
1 teaspoon coarse kosher salt
6 tablespoons (¾ stick) butter
2 tablespoons fresh lemon juice
2 tablespoons whole grain Dijon mustard
1 ½ teaspoons finely grated lemon peel
1 tablespoon chopped fresh parsley
Directions
Preheat oven to 400°F.
Butter rimmed baking sheet.
Cut cauliflower in half, then cut crosswise into ¼-inch-thick slices. Arrange slices in single layer on prepared baking sheet; sprinkle with salt.
Roast until cauliflower is slightly softened, about 15 minutes.
Meanwhile, melt butter in small saucepan over medium heat. Whisk in lemon juice, mustard, and lemon peel.
Spoon mustard-lemon butter evenly over cauliflower and roast until crisp-tender, about 10 minutes longer.
DO AHEAD. Can be made 2 hours ahead. Let stand at room temperature. If desired, re-warm in 350°F oven until heated through, about 10 minutes.
Transfer cauliflower to platter. Sprinkle with parsley and serve warm or at room temperature.
Sweet & Spicy Moroccan Carrot Salad*
Ingredients
1 lb. carrots, peeled and cooked until just tender, cooking liquid reserved
2 tablespoons vegetable oil
2 garlic cloves, peeled and finely chopped
1 teaspoon salt
1 ½ teaspoons cumin
½ teaspoon cayenne pepper
1 teaspoon sugar
2 to 3 tablespoons chopped fresh parsley
3 to 4 tablespoons lemon juice
Fresh parsley sprigs for garnish
Directions
Grate carrots into a large bowl.
In a medium frying pan, over medium-low heat, heat oil.
Add chopped garlic and cook until garlic begins to soften and color, 2-3 minutes.
Add salt, cumin, cayenne and sugar, stirring to blend.
Stir in chopped parsley and lemon juice. Slowly pour in 125 to 175 ml/4 to 6 fl oz of the carrot cooking liquid.
Bring to a boil and simmer 3 to 5 minutes.
Pour over carrots. Cool to room temperature.
Cover and refrigerate 6 to 8 hours or overnight.
Spoon into a serving bowl and garnish with parsley sprigs.
Serves 4 to 6.
*Recipe from Harper Fox
COME UNTO THESE YELLOW SANDS: Swift and Max
Police chiefs don’t get Christmas Eve off.
But Swift was used to that. He had been used to it even before the relationship between him and Max had become official. Being a night owl, it was no hardship to wait up for Max. He took his time preparing every detail of what felt like their first Christmas Eve together, although it was not technically their first. Not at all.
He wound a few Christmas lights around the bookshelves and statuary, lit the strategically placed red and white candles, and set up the Christmas tree. The latter took all of five minutes. It was a small artificial tree from the 1960s which he’d picked up at a flea market the first winter he’d spent at Stone Coast. The tree was white, as were the star-shaped lights. The scratched and faded bulbs were red and silver. It was about as kitschy as Christmas could get, and Swift dearly loved it.
He spent the rest of the evening cooking and listening to music. Mostly Christmas Time with Motown, Max’s favorite holiday record. It took a fair bit of time to get their midnight repast ready and prepare for the following day’s meal. Not that Max would have Christmas day off either, but they would get to spend a portion of it together and Swift had learned to make every minute count.
Swift could not sing to save his life, but that didn’t stop him humming along with Smokey Robinson.
Well I wish it could be Christmas every day
