The Christmas Orphans Club(44)
“Also, you haven’t dated anyone since you met him,” Hannah continues.
“Not true!” I snap back. “I went on a Hinge date last week.”
“And how did it go?”
“He lived in Hoboken, so it would have been a long-distance relationship.” Her look tells me she’s not buying my excuse. “Nothing happened, but it could have if I wanted it to.”
“But you didn’t want it to, because you have a crush on Theo. I think you should tell him. Look, he’s obviously attracted to you. You met because you went home together, so he doesn’t think you’re some hideous bridge troll.”
“Right, but maybe he was only looking for a hookup.”
“Sure, maybe, but the two of you are attached at the hip. He enjoys spending time with you, he was attracted to you enough to go home with you. I think you’re being dumb.”
I’m not being dumb. I’m being cautious. I remember how easily my father rescinded his love. If he taught me one thing it’s that, no matter what people say, love is conditional. And what if Theo doesn’t like the new terms I propose? Even the thought of a Theo-less life leaves me feeling hollow. It’s better to have him as a friend than nothing at all.
“We’re kind of in the middle of something here. I don’t want to be stuck on a parade float with someone who rejected me.”
“So, tell him after. Promise me you’ll tell him today.”
“Why today?”
“It’s Christmas, and I kind of feel like Christmas is lucky for us. Don’t you? I mean, it brought us together.” Hannah has a dreamy look in her eye, and for a moment I let myself believe that maybe today is lucky for us. On the plus side, I can say with absolute certainty I’m not cold anymore. My body has broken out in a nervous sweat. Am I finally going to do this?
* * *
? ? ?
?When the parade ends, we make our way to the nearest bar, an Irish pub between Penn Station and Herald Square. Our only criterion is that it has bathrooms, which we sprint to on entering.
Even though it’s Christmas and the bar caters to the commuter crowd, it’s doing solid post-parade business. There’s a fireplace in back, and the warm, beer-tinged air has fogged the front windows creating an aura of coziness. It’s so warm, in fact, Theo has stripped down to his Santa pants and suspenders and is holding court half-naked at the bar beside Priya, looking like the December page of a charity fireman’s calendar.
Every ten minutes, someone interrupts their conversation and asks to pose with Theo for a photo. The first to ask is a middle-aged waitress. She shimmies into his lap, juts her chest into his face, and whispers what I can only imagine is a proposition into his ear. Theo throws his head back and laughs at whatever she said as the bartender snaps a picture.
I watch from the booth where Theo abandoned his Santa coat in a pile with the girls’ purses and reusable shopping bags filled with everyone’s street clothes. I’m being held captive by Keith, who changed out of his Chicky costume into a pair of too-wide jeans and a threadbare red flannel. Keith is a mechanic in Mount Kisco, which I learn is up in Westchester County.
“I didn’t see myself becoming a parade person,” he tells me. “But my wife liked it. She passed from ovarian cancer five years ago, and I keep coming back. It makes me feel close to her, I guess, and it’s not like I have anything better to do on Christmas.”
“I’m sorry about your wife,” I tell him.
He waves off my sympathy and dives into a detailed history of his rise through the parade’s ranks. We’re on year seven, the year Keith held one of the Snoopy balloon’s strings.
“It was windy that year. Terrible balloon weather,” he says. I’m having trouble mustering any enthusiasm for his story. He’s a nice guy, but I’m annoyed I’m stuck babysitting him. Hannah went to get us drinks, and has been flirting with the bartender, a tattooed guy with an Irish accent, for the past fifteen minutes. Knowing Hannah, he’s in a band. I think about abandoning Keith, but I can hear my mother’s voice in my head telling me to mind my manners and respect my elders.
While Keith continues his 1998 parade play-by-play, my gaze wanders to Theo’s half-naked body at the bar. His broad, muscular chest is tanned from two weeks in Bondi Beach earlier in the month. I’m also keeping an eye on a trio of twinks further down the bar who showed up thirty minutes ago and are also eyeing Theo appreciatively. I’m not sure if they wandered in off the street or if Theo summoned them on Grindr, but either way my window to talk to him is closing.
I need to choose my moment wisely. I don’t want to wait until the end of the night and risk either of us being drunk, but I could use some liquid courage before I’m ready to bare my soul. It’s a delicate balance.
One of the twinks gets up from his seat and heads in Theo’s direction. Fuck it. I have no choice but to be rude to Keith, plus I’m pretty sure I’ll never see him again—I’m a one-time parader—so what does it matter if he thinks I’m a jerk?
“Keith, I’m so sorry, I’ve got to go over there and talk to Theo.” I catch myself. “Wait, no, I mean Liam, about something real quick. Would that be okay?”
“Oh, you go on. I’ve been holding you captive with my silly memories for too long anyways. I should be making my way to Grand Central and getting a train home.”