Page 120 of The Warmth of Our Closest Star

When the time came, Peter’s parents bagged their gifts, and Peter and I carried their luggage to their car. They had other family they wanted to stop by and visit before the holiday was over. Peter and I exchanged hugs and “goodbyes” with them, waving from the porch as they drove away. Once they were out of sight, snow began to fall once again, and Peter and I rushed inside, chilled to the bone, shivering and laughing.

Surveying the Christmas carnage in the living room, Peter and I heaved a sigh. Who wants to clean up a mess on such a festive holiday?

“Are you going to stay tonight, too?” Peter asked, his voice hopeful.

I shrugged. “I thought I would stay through New Year’s Eve. If that’s okay with you.”

He simply grinned.

“Tell you what,” Peter said. “If you will make coffee and something yummy, I’ll build a fire in the den. This mess isn’t going anywhere.”

“Deal,” I agreed enthusiastically.

Peter headed to the den, practically skipping with excitement as I made my way to the kitchen. I made a pot of coffee and arranged leftovers on a tray, gathered two coffee mugs, and the accoutrement needed for a Christmas lunchtime picnic in front of the fire. Before I carried the tray and coffee into the den, I dashed up the back stairs to our bedroom and retrieved two gifts I’d stowed in our closet.

Back downstairs, I carried the food and coffee into the den, asking Peter to drag the ottoman in front of the couch so we would have something to use as a table. Then I retrieved the packages from the kitchen and carried them into the den. When I entered the room, Peter was setting the tray of food and the coffee on the makeshift table in front of the sofa. He looked up with a smile, his eyes landing on the packages, and his eyes lit up.

“More gifts?” Peter asked like a child seeing that Santa had arrived.

“Well,” I said, “they’re for both of us. For our house.”

“Does that mean—”

“We’re working on it,” I reminded him.

Peter nodded. “Well, are we going to eat first or open gifts first?”

I sat down on the sofa and handed the two packages to him.

“I’ll let you open them,” I said. “Or we can eat first if you want.”

Giggling maniacally, Peter ignored the food on the ottoman and tore into the packages, practically unwrapping them simultaneously. When he was done shredding the wrapping paper, and the two gifts lay on his lap, I could tell Peter was trying to seem excited by what I’d given him. I wanted to laugh at his confusion, but I was equally interested to see what would happen when he realized what he’d been given. Of course, I was also nervous that what I thought was a good gift wouldn’t be seen the same way by him.

Maybe I tried too hard? I thought to myself.

“Oh,” Peter said, his forced happiness giving his voice a lilt, “pillows. For…for the sofa?”

“I thought they would look nice here in the den,” I said. “Since it’s our favorite room.”

“That’s very thoughtful, babe,” he said, leaning over to give me a quick kiss. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” I said.

Peter gave me a quick second kiss, then turned his attention back to the pillows in his lap.

“It’ll be nice to have a touch of you in here, too,” he said, smiling down at the pillows. “It’ll make the den feel more like—”

When he stopped, I knew he had finally realized what he was looking at in his lap. Peter paused; his mouth still formed to say the words he had been thinking. Then he blinked. Blinked again. His head turned slowly to look at me, an unreadable look on his face.

“What?” I asked innocently.

Peter looked back down at the pillows, stared at them for a few moments, then gently removed them from his lap and set them to the side on the sofa.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Enzo,” he said.

He stood from the sofa, his hand going to his face to shield his expression from my eyes. I didn’t say anything as he walked out of the den. A bit nervous, but knowing he would eventually return, I poured coffee for the two of us and made little plates of food for both of us. When he came back, we would eat. I wouldn’t say anything about what had happened unless he said something first.

When Peter finally did come back into the den—five or ten minutes later, I wasn’t sure—he was sniffling and it was obvious he had been crying. He sat down next to me without a word and wrapped me in his arms, pulling me into him. Peter held me against him for what seemed like forever, then pulled back and gave me a lingering, soft kiss on the lips.