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 I remember how easily my father rescinded his love.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.”
Over at the bar, the twink has his hand on Theo’s forearm and points to his friends at the end of the bar. Theo waves at them.
“Your stories aren’t silly. It’s just . . .” I don’t know what to tell Keith. Hell, I might as well tell him the truth seeing as my odds of running into him again are slim to none. “I’m in love with, um, Liam,” I say, stumbling over Theo’s fake name. “The guy dressed as Santa? And I need to tell him. Right now, ideally.”
Keith’s eyes bulge out, betraying his shock. He’s probably some homophobe and now I’m in for a lecture. Instead, he says, “Did I tell you my wife and I got engaged on Christmas?” He smiles at me. Oh god, another story.
“You know what,” Keith says, “that’s a very long story and I should probably go tell it to that fellow over there.” He points to the man talking to Theo and flashes me a wink.
Keith pops up from the booth and makes a beeline to the bar. He’s sprier than he looks. He taps the man on the shoulder and launches into his story. The guy looks confused, but Keith doesn’t give him an opening to object. Meanwhile, Theo looks around, bewildered by his abandonment. He spots me sitting alone in the booth and I give him a shrug.
Is this my moment?
Theo saunters over in his red velvet pants and suspenders. He should look ridiculous, but he looks good. Really good. Meanwhile, I’m wearing a penguin costume, which was not intended for sitting. All the fabric has bunched up in my crotch. Theo plops himself down in the seat across from me.
“I’ve barely seen you all day. I miss you.” He draws out the word “miss” like he’s a balloon deflating. He’s well on his way to drunk.
“I’ve been here.”
“With another man!” He waggles his eyebrows at me. “Do I have something to worry about with you and Keith?”
I laugh, but I can’t tell if he’s flirting or making fun of me. He has a dry sense of humor, and I haven’t learned when I’m in on the joke or the butt of it.
I lock eyes with Theo, going for something between a smolder and a smize, but I don’t think I’m pulling it off. “I was hoping to get to talk to you,” I begin.
“Nothing bad, I hope?”
“No,” I reassure him. Well, that depends on how he thinks about me. Maybe this will be bad to him, having to reject yet another person in what is surely a long line of suitors. I backpedal, “Well, I don’t think it’s bad. Maybe? No.”
Theo cocks his head and squints at me, trying to figure out what’s going on. I’m already messing this up.
“Here goes,” I begin again.
Theo’s eyes light up. His lips purse into a smile.