Page 23 of Snowballing

“Trey!”

“Oh, he’s smart alright, but he also played soccer, swam, and ran track,” Nancy explained further.

“Wow. He sounds like Captain America,” I joked.

Trey didn’t laugh - he just leveled me with a look - though Nancy humored me. “Oh, he’s definitely that!”

“You can say he’s a hunk, honey. You’re not gonna scandalize Eli. He’s bisexual, remember?”

Leave it to Sam to be blunt. I had to laugh. I’m not sure a hunk was the type of manny Trey needed, but the smarts and the sports sounded great. Maybe his looks would be for my benefit?

“Thanks, Sam.”

He had a gay younger brother and was not afraid to defend the ‘gays’ as he called them.

I made a bit more small talk with Nancy for a while, but once I saw Sam yawn, I knew it was time to go. We had stayed long enough, anyway.

“Let’s go, Trey. We can squeeze in a movie before bed.”

* * *

Christmas

My little future hockey star-in-the-making - not that I was putting him under any sort of pressure - had started to sleep in. I chuckled at the memory of the last practice where the kind of dad I didn’t want to be had a screaming fit at the coach. Trey had lectured me on the way home that if I was going to be at future practices and games that I was never to be that embarrassing. I told him I was well aware of nightmare parents. My dad had given a few coaches an earful in his day.

While I was thankful for these new experiences, I couldn’t help but miss some of the old ones. Gone were the days of Trey running into my bedroom, before the sun had risen, to jump up and down on the bed to wake me up. He’d yell that the cookies and milk were gone and that there were hoofprints in the snow outside, and I’d tell him to make sure the front door was shut or the snow fairies would steal all his presents.

I couldn’t complain about the extra sleep, but sometimes I missed the simplicity of childhood.

Shit! A burning hot splash of grease hit my bare foot and took me out of my reverie. I turned the burner down and refocused on the assortment of pans currently creating our breakfast.

I wasn’t sure if it was the sizzling of the sausages or the smell of my coffee that finally woke him up, but Trey emerged from his bedroom a little after nine.

“Santa came,” I said, before dropping a little piece of sausage on the floor for Bear.

He smiled and headed to the fridge. “You say that every year like I don’t know who’s responsible.”

“Aw, can’t your old man enjoy his favorite holiday?” I watched him grab the Dr. Pepper. “Soda? For breakfast?”

Trey shrugged. “It’s vacation.”

“You still have practice.”

“It’s one glass, Dad.”

I humphed but gave in anyway. “That can be your first Christmas present.”

“Oooh, just what I’ve always wanted.”

“You’re lucky I love you. Otherwise, I’d kick you out in the snow.”

“It snowed?”

I nodded. “Started after you went to bed. The streak continues.”

Every year since we moved to Massachusetts, it had been a white Christmas. We often joked it happened because of us. Nancy had noticed it, too. I shot her a text this morning, but hadn’t heard anything.

“Hey, Dad?” Trey asked, in between mouthfuls of eggs, sausage, and toast.