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“What the fuck is that?”
Marvin stands at the doorway of the two-bedroom apartment he shares (although share is applied loosely here) with one Whizzer Brown. Living together already and they’ve only been seeing each other for just a few months. Well, officially anyway.
They’ve been fucking for a hell of a lot longer than that.
It was only after Trina threw him out of the house that he had to find a new apartment of his own. As Whizzer was, in his words ‘between homes,’ it seemed smarter to pool their resources and get a place in the Village together. And by pool resources, Marvin means he pays for everything thanks to his cushy salary and Whizzer takes advantage of it.
Though Marvin admits he’s one hell of a good cook. A good thing, that. Aside from bringing home bacon, Marvin is shit in the kitchen.
But there are rules in their apartment: no words of love and no commitments.
Somehow, though, Marvin has never walked in on something unconscionable. Something that completely defied explanation. Something that left him speechless with an utter sense of betrayal.
Until now.
Stepping into their apartment, it looks like Santa Claus threw up over every single solitary surface.
Tinsel is strewn around like silver snow drifts and Marvin smells the popcorn before he sees a huge bowl on the coffee table with a few garlands piled up beside it. He spots a coil of lights by their front window and piles upon piles of discarded boxes, tissue paper, and other assorted garbage litter the floor.
Thanks to this explosion of Christmas cheer, there’s not a single surface for any of his decorations.
Sure, it isn’t much. It’s not like the world makes a fortune marketing an eight-day holiday to a smallish subsection of the population. Hell, all of his Chanukkah decorations fit neatly into one box with room left over. There’s the small set of blue mini lights that he was going to string up around the window and some of the first papercraft Star of David cutouts Jason ever made. (Yes, he knows Trina will be livid when she realizes he took them when he left. Too fucking bad.) The small bowl ready for the gold-wrapped chocolate coins and last, but certainly not least, the stupid gag gift his psychiatrist bought him one year.
Why on earth Mendel thought a garden gnome eating a bunch of latkes with the caption ‘shalom gnome’ was amusing is beyond him. Clearly Mendel needs to work on his sense of humor. Not to mention naming him Moishe is just… bizarre. Who names a statute? And, more importantly, who remembers odd details like that?
Maybe Marvin needs a new therapist.
At least his menorah wasn’t relegated to be a background player. Mostly. On the bookshelf, next to the menorah that has been in his family for years, is a wooden nativity scene sans baby Jesus.
He and his holiday have to share a bookshelf with a deranged looking goat and three wise men. Lovely.
But that’s not the worst part. Oh no. Far from it.
No, the worst part is the giant fucking tree taking up valuable real estate in the middle of the floor.
“WHIZZER!”
He appears when summoned, a red and green elf hat perched jauntily on his head. Whizzer has more of those popcorn garlands around his neck and carries several boxes of ornaments in his arms.
“Oh, hey babe.”
Oh hey babe he says so breezily, like Marvin was asking about the weather. So casual. As if he didn’t even notice that the goddamned North Pole had taken up residence in their apartment.
Marvin is infuriated.
“Don’t ‘hey babe’ me,” Marvin seethes.
Marvin crosses the room in several strides, tripping over boxes as he goes. He stumbles, sliding on clear plastic wrap and Whizzer steadies him before he can crash to the ground. Rather than leaning into the embrace and the kiss like he wants to, Marvin shoves Whizzer away from himself with half a snarl.
“Okay, so what is your goddamned problem?” Whizzer asks, plucking a piece of popcorn from the garland around his neck. He tosses it into the air, catching it in his mouth with ease. Marvin wonders, briefly, how much of the popcorn Whizzer consumed over the course of his decorating if the bowl is half-full and there’s only a few garlands lying around.
Maybe the bedroom? Oh god.
Nope. He doesn’t want to see what their bedroom looks like. Sleeping inside something that looks like Santa’s wet dream has never been one of his kinks. He’ll take the couch.
“Haven’t you heard of holiday spirit?” Whizzer continues, ignoring the silent temper tantrum Marvin is throwing. “Peace on earth and good will toward men?” Whizzer’s lips quirk in a half-smirk. “And I know exactly what sort of good will you can show toward this man in return for shouting at me.”
Whizzer grabs his ass and Marvin bats his hand away, glaring at his lover.
“I’m Jewish.”
“And I’m half-Jewish,” Whizzer replies with a shrug. “What’s your point?”
“My point is that a nativity scene isn’t Jewish. You know since we don’t believe Christ was anything but a prophet? We celebrate the the Maccabean Revolt and reclaiming of the Second Temple and the subsequent miracle wherein olive oil that should have only been able to light a candle for a single day continued to burn for eight long nights in order for a fresh supply to be made. Thus became what is colloquially known as the festival of lights and an important Jewish holiday that is observed with the lighting of that menorah that is apparently supposed to represent some star given its position next to the nativity scene.”
Whizzer’s mouth drops open at some point during Marvin’s diatribe. “Wow, and here I thought your pedantic explanations were only for Trina. It’s even worse being on the receiving end of it than just having to listen to you.” Whizzer takes a step toward him, anger flashing in his eyes. “Because yes, tell me just how much of a religious Jew you are. When is the last time you went to Temple? Or even just observed Shabbat, Mr I-Work-Ninety-Hours-A-Week-and-Only-Come-Home-Before-Midnight-on-Friday-When-My-Boyfriend-Begs?”
Marvin doesn’t have an answer for that.
“So stop picking and choosing what religious things you’ll get on your high moral horse over when we both know it’ll be a cold day in hell before you actually believe in god.”
Marvin swallows hard at Whizzer’s rebuke, taking a step backwards. Whatever ire Whizzer had seems to leave him in a long-suffering sigh as he closes the distance between them once again. Marvin is powerless to stop Whizzer from draping a spare popcorn garland around his neck and doesn’t pull away from a kiss when it’s offered either.
“Also, for the record, the two holidays are not mutually exclusive either.” Whizzer points out. “Especially since Christmas Eve and Chanukkah start on the same day for the first time since 1940. Just because they rarely line up doesn’t mean they never do and shouldn’t be celebrated concurrently.”
“I know, but—”
“And since Trina is going to her parents’ because of your whole divorce thing, you get to have Jason for the holidays.”
“Yes, but that—” Marvin tries to get a word in edgewise, but Whizzer keeps cutting him off, much to Marvin’s annoyance.
“And since it’s our first holiday together with Jason, I thought it’d be fun to show him both of our heritages in a… rather secular sort of way even if he doesn’t know the real reason. His dad’s crazy roommate wanted to do something fun and different.” Whizzer bops Marvin on the nose, only further infuriating him. “And, for the record, you lost any sort of leg to stand on with how important Chanukkah is to you when I found birthday candles in the box when I unpacked it. Hot pink ones, too. Don’t even try to tell me they were Trina’s either. So rather than be a jackass, you could instead say thank you for the proper candles since I picked them up when I went shopping for my decorations.”
Marvin’s cheeks burn. Okay, so he’s far from the most religious guy on the planet. He can barely remember his own Bar Mitzvah and he thinks the only time he can remember lighting candles outside of Chanukkah is on Yom Kippur. Most of his memories involve doing things with Trina because that’s what a good Jewish husband does for his good Jewish wife when they have to keep up appearances for their good Jewish home.
Back when he had a home to make with someone.
But does he have a home to make with Whizzer? Hell in the last ten minutes, Whizzer has both called him his boyfriend and said this was their first holiday together. That speaks of commitment, something Whizzer has been adamant he doesn’t want with Marvin.
Or maybe Marvin is just reading too much into all of this.
“I know, I know. You’re right about all of this. It’s just…” Marvin sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just that Trina and I—”
Whizzer’s eyes narrow to slits. “Are you honestly about to compare whatever holiday celebration you and I choose to do this year to what you did for years with you ex-wife?” Whizzer crosses his arms in front of his chest, cocking his hip to one side. “I’d answer this carefully if I were you and you have any intention of having sex tonight.”
Marvin purses his lips. They’re best when they fight and the makeup sex is usually his favorite kind of sex with Whizzer. When they paw and tear at each other’s clothes and it’s nothing but hard and fast and rough, leaving both of them panting, sweaty, and sated. He probably shouldn’t enjoy riling Whizzer like this, but it’s so much a part of their not-relationship that to stop feels like giving up an integral part of them.
Still, Whizzer has a point. Damn him.
“No, you’re right.” Fuck he hates admitting that. “I’m not. If… if this is how you want to celebrate our first holiday together and make it special for Jason. I won’t fight you.”
“Mark this day on the calendar. December 23rd, 1978. Marvin freely admitted I was right about something.”
“Oh, fuck you.” Marvin loops his arms around Whizzer’s neck, raising himself up on his toes to steal a kiss.
“Is that a promise?” Whizzer asks, hands sliding down Marvin’s back to rest on his ass, dragging their hips together.
“Only if you teach me how to trim your tree.”
***
“What on earth is that?”
Like father, like son apparently.
Marvin smirks at Whizzer as if to say Yes, though we know Christmas traditions, Jews are thrown when they see things like mistletoe and twinkling lights of more than just blue. Because, really, who thought hanging a bunch of leaves over a doorway for the sheer purpose of catching someone under there to steal a kiss was a good idea?
If you wanted to kiss a person… why the need for some silly pretense of ‘oh look, mistletoe!’?
Then again, Whizzer certainly doesn’t need permission to kiss him, but even so, Marvin keeps finding sprigs of the annoying plant cropping up all over the place.
He refused to oblige the one tucked in Whizzer’s belt buckle.
“You’ve made your point,” Whizzer says to Marvin, rolling his eyes skyward.
“What point?” Jason asks, looking back and forth between the two men. “What’s he talking about, Dad?”
“Nothing at all,” Marvin lies.
Marvin immediately puts more space between himself and Whizzer. He doesn’t really know how much Trina has told Jason prior to the signing of their divorce papers. He’s fairly certain that having a two bedroom apartment that Whizzer ‘graciously gives up’ whenever Jason stays over has kept his secret and his son is none the wiser as to his father’s preferences or the true nature of his relationship with Whizzer. He’s always been so careful when Jason spends the weekend with him. Either Whizzer takes the opportunity to go out and fuck or they make up a bed on the sofa for Whizzer to graciously offer a bed to Jason. Even if the sofa bed is only used in the wee hours of the morning to hide where Whizzer actually spent the night.
Plus Marvin has demanded no sex when Jason is around.
He’s not… entirely ashamed of his sexuality. (He still has his moments and they may occur on a fairly regular basis but he’s trying, goddamnit. Give him some credit here.) But just because he’s learning to accept the fact that he likes men doesn’t mean he wants his nine-year-old son to know. Hell, how do you even explain something like that to your kid? ‘I know Daddies aren’t supposed to love other Daddies but I do.’
Of course, the whole ‘daddy’ business opens another can of worms he isn’t about to look too closely at either.
Whizzer, for all his faults, has never argued with how Marvin chooses to raise his son. He’s never argued that the boy has a right to know or that lying to his son by omission was wrong. He plays the role of dutiful roommate and Jason seems to adore the hell out of the man. So, as far as Marvin is concerned: win/win scenario and he’ll cross the whole ‘Whizzer and I are together’ bridge when they came to it.
Jason pokes at some of the decorations Whizzer has strewn about the place. Somehow, he’s managed to cram even more ridiculous chotskies into this apartment. Marvin wonders if there’s some sort of a temporal displacement (or whatever it was Star Trek called those things) that allows for the apartment to be bigger on the inside.
Marvin thinks it looks horrible.
Whizzer seems overly proud of himself for this awkward blending of holidays.
Jason… looks so very, very confused.
***
As he stands over the menorah to light the first candle, Marvin hesitates. For the first time, he’s the one leading the prayer and the blessing and the song afterwards and he can’t for the life of him remember how it goes. He doesn’t know the words or the melody or the cadence. It strikes him then that Trina’s always been the one to do this. Trina always made sure everything was practically perfect.
Whizzer stands beside him, shoulder to shoulder, and is of no help whatsoever. Either he’s as clueless as Marvin is about how to begin, or he wants to prove a further point about there being no rational basis for Marvin’s religious temper tantrum from yesterday. Regardless, Marvin feels a bit of sweat pooling between his shoulder blades despite the cool temperature of the apartment.
“It’s okay, Dad,” Jason says then, wrapping an arm around his father’s waist. “I know how mom does it. At least… I think I do. I hope, anyways. So… can… can I? Since mom isn’t here,” Jason’s babbling now in that way he always does when he’s nervous. “She had said she’d let me do it this year if I practiced.” He’s so hopeful that Marvin doesn’t have the heart to say no.
That and he’s not really sure if he even has his old torah (given to him at his bar mitzvah) in the apartment for reference. So at least with Jason leading this they stand half a chance to get through the candle lighting before midnight.
Marvin steps aside, slightly closer to Whizzer to give Jason the helm. Jason’s voice is soft and hesitant to start; his pronunciation leaves a lot to be desired compared to Trina’s dulcet tones, but Jason fumbles his way through the first blessing. His voice is stronger for the second — even if his pronunciation is just as abhorrent. He’ll have a lot of work in a few years before his bar mitzvah to be sure.
All the same, Marvin’s hands shake ever so slightly as he strikes the match, lighting the shamash and carefully passing the candle to Jason.
“I never realized how much Jason looks like you,” he hears Whizzer whisper in his ear.
Marvin isn’t sure if that’s a compliment or a complaint. A reminder that Marvin had a life before Whizzer. But, on the same token, Whizzer has a life that doesn’t always include Marvin.
When they take up the Haneirot Halalu after Jason returns the attendant to its rightful place, Marvin is surprised to hear Whizzer’s tenor voice join in the song. The three are off-key, but Marvin can’t bring himself to care. For the first time, he feels like he might be able to carve out a sort-of life with his lover and his son — even if his son doesn’t know Whizzer is anything more than a roommate.
He feels the lightest of touches on his shoulder and Marvin turns his head, exchanging a smile meant only for Whizzer. It’s more than just the glow of the two lit candles that warm him to the very tips of his toes when Whizzer returns it without hesitation.
***
After the Jewish portion of the evening — Whizzer’s words, not his — they set off for Rockefeller Center. Whizzer is bound and determined to show off the other side of this holiday for Jason and, after the almost-family scene earlier, Marvin doesn’t protest or even bitch.
Much.
Talk about a Christmas miracle.
They come up from the subway into a veritable throng of people. Most are tourists, bulky cameras around their necks and carting black umbrellas that bump into each other, failing to keep anyone dry. Marvin flicks his collar up against the crisp wind, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Now outside in the cold and the rain, he’s miserable. Fuck this holiday. Fuck Whizzer. Fuck everything.
Beside him, Whizzer and Jason walk practically arm-in-arm. Marvin should be happy his lover and his son get along so well for that eventuality where he confesses everything to Jason, but right now he doesn’t trust their easy friendship.
What if Whizzer doesn’t stay?
What if his son falls for Whizzer and then the man waltzes out of their lives because he doesn’t want commitment and he doesn’t want to be a father and he just doesn’t love both of them enough to hang around?
He’s in a bad mood as they walk down the few blocks from the station. As they approach the monstrosity that’s the Cathedral, Marvin’s attention is more fixed on the people coming and going from St Patrick’s than anything else. Whizzer and Jason go inside — Marvin notes that he was not invited to come, though he would have stayed outside out of spite — Whizzer wanting to… do something. Explain about three wise men and the tale of there not being enough room in the inn and the so-called Messiah being born in squalor amongst sheep shit and hay. Though he doesn’t put any stock in religion, at least the origin of his own holiday has a bit more magic to it than a couple of dudes following a star, taking oil and herbs as baby gifts.
At least gold was useful.
The longer they’re inside, the more pronounced his scowl becomes. He’s cold and wet and tired and just wants to be home in bed with Whizzer. He doesn’t know why it bothers him so damn much to share this holiday with Whizzer when it should be a celebration.
Maybe it’s because Marvin was forced to compromise against his will. He is a man-child who never mastered the playground lesson of sharing his toys.
Finally they return just as Marvin’s patience wears thin.
“So did you have fun?” Marvin asks, hoping this means they can go back to the apartment and get out of the rain.
“It’s… different,” Jason says thoughtfully. “Lots of statues. But the windows were neat. I bet they’re really pretty during the day.”
“We can come back any time you’d like,” Whizzer offers, ignoring the death-glare Marvin lobs in his direction.
“So can we go home now?” Marvin asks before Jason can reply, sounding like the whiny and petulant child he is.
“Not quite yet. Jason didn’t come all this way not to see the tree!”
“And what, we’re walking down to Macy’s afterwards to go see Santa?” Marvin mutters under his breath.
“Didn’t know you were so hard up to have a lap to sit on,” Whizzer says. “Mine not good enough for you or are you into fat, old guys now?”
Marvin’s glare turns to panic. He hurriedly glances at Jason who seems oblivious to the lewd talk of his sexuality. It’s the first time Whizzer’s ever done this and if not for the sounds of sirens and people talking and the general noise of New York, he’d have been faced with a few uncomfortable questions. Marvin visibly relaxes. Thank god. As they weave through the crowd of people in the crosswalk, Jason slips a hand into his own and presses close to his dad’s side. Marvin appreciates the rare moment of affection for what it is.
Then, like the Red Sea parting, the crowd opens up before them. Marvin hears Jason’s audible gasp over the sounds of the city and smiles in spite of himself. With Saks Fifth Avenue and it’s merrily decorated windows to his back, the Rockefeller Center tree shines like a beacon with all its splendor before them. He’s lived in the city for nearly all his life — not counting college in upstate New York — and he can’t remember the last time he actually visited this landmark let alone on Christmas Eve.
And unless Trina’s taken him, Marvin knows Jason hasn’t seen it in person either.
“What do you think, kiddo?” Whizzer asks, with one arm around Jason’s shoulder.
“It’s… it’s really cool,” he replies in awe. “Like, really cool.”
“You already said that,” Marvin says with a chuckle.
“Let the boy have this. You don’t have to be the dad with a stick up his ass 100% of the time. Shoot for 95% and it’ll be a vast improvement,” Whizzer says as they cross the street once again.
A cab buzzes by them, clipping Marvin’s thigh and he retaliates by punching the trunk of the car in anger. Asshole. He could have hit someone.
As they weave through the tourists and few New Yorkers who decided to make the pilgrimage to the most famous Christmas tree, Whizzer’s fingers brush Marvin’s. He glances at his lover and, after a moment of hesitation, weaves his fingers with the other man’s. There’s enough people nearby that he hopes the show of affection is hidden, all eyes on the tree rather than them.
They stand at the front of the tree now, Jason’s attention split between the tree itself and the pack of skaters on the rink below.
“We should come do this sometime!” Jason says, bouncing onto the balls of his feet.
“Not a chance in hell.”
“Any time, kiddo.”
Marvin’s and Whizzer’s warring responses overlap and Whizzer bursts out laughing.
“Tell you what, kid,” Whizzer says, ruffling Jason’s hair. “You name the date and I’ll make sure your dad gets here. Then we both can laugh and take bets on how many times he falls on his ass. I’m guessing at least thirty.”
“Forty!” Jason grins at the two men, then turns back to watching the people below.
Marvin shifts closer to Whizzer so they’re shoulder-to-shoulder and fights back a grin the moment Whizzer’s arm wraps around his shoulder. It’s almost romantic and, not for the first time tonight, he indulges in this newly created tight-knit family. It doesn’t matter that he’s only been with Whizzer a few months, he knows this is the only man he’ll ever love.
He bites back the words and simply lets himself be swept up in the moment.
Maybe Christmas isn’t so bad after all.
***
There isn’t much to do besides look at the tree and the skaters and get wet so they don’t stay for much longer, bundling back into the subway to return to the apartment. Jason curls up on the seat beside Marvin, head resting on his father’s shoulder as he snoozes. Whizzer takes the opportunity to let his hand rest on Marvin’s thigh and, once more, that image of a perfect family comes to mind.
Maybe Marvin can have it all.
Jason’s half-asleep by the time they get upstairs and Marvin tucks him into bed. Marvin doesn’t bother with pajamas, just makes sure his shoes are removed. By the time Marvin makes it to the door, he can already hear his son snoring.
Marvin pads out into the living room, yawning, and met with the sight of Whizzer kneeling beside the tree. Not only that, but a pile of presents have materialized under the Christmas tree in the ten minutes it took him to put Jason to sleep.
“You didn’t—” he hisses, staring at the stack. “Whizzer for crying out loud.”
“Look. We’re celebrating both holidays. And Trina probably won’t be with her mom next year nor would she take too kindly to my doing this again.”
“But I don’t—”
“Didn’t I tell you to stop arguing with me? You have eight gifts for him of varying sizes over the next few nights. I get one day as the cool guy his dad lives with. Let me have this, okay?”
So says the man who doesn’t want a damn commitment. He’s talking about them having a future together. Talking about what happens in 1979 and beyond.
“Not to mention,” Whizzer continues, setting the last wrapped box under the tree before rising to his feet. “There may even be a thing or two under the tree for you.”
“Is that a fact?” Marvin asks, giving up. What’s the use of arguing when he knows he’ll capitulate and Whizzer gets his way? He picks up one of the numerous sprigs of mistletoe Whizzer’s left around the house. He twirls the stem in his fingers before holding it above his head. “Oh, look. Mistletoe.”
“You should have held it over your cock. I’d rather start there.”
“You can be patient,” Marvin says, tossing the mistletoe to the floor and pulling Whizzer down for a kiss.
All the pent up frustrations from the day exhale the moment their lips touch. Marvin knows he’s playing with fire, especially out in the open like this. But Jason was so tired and already snoring and… what could possibly be the harm?
Marvin pulls back just enough to pop open Whizzer’s shirt, buttons scattering across the hardwood floor. He runs his hands over Whizzer’s chest, fingertips rubbing the smattering of hair between his pectorals. Whizzer’s hands slide down his back, cupping his ass and drags their hips together. Marvin groans into Whizzer’s mouth, already feeling his lover’s hard length rub against his.
“I need you,” Marvin whimpers against Whizzer’s lips.
“I know.”
“Fuck me.”
“Not yet. You have to say the magic word first,” Whizzer intones, already working on Marvin’s belt buckle.
“Fuck. Me. Now,” Marvin emphasizes every word with a kiss or a nip.
The cough is so soft, at first he thinks he imagines it. Then there’s a voice and his world shatters.
“...Dad…?”
Oh god oh god oh fuck oh god.
Marvin springs away from Whizzer as if the man’s touch scalded him. It’s too late; there’s nothing he can say or do. He’s half undressed, pants undone, and was caught kissing another man by his nine-year-old son.
“...Jason, I can explain.” Marvin’s voice is weak. Whizzer is silent.
He wishes Jason would say something. Do something. But the look of hurt in his eyes is enough to cut Marvin to his very core.
“You lied to me!”
“Jason, I didn’t lie,” Marvin pleads, trying to pull himself together. How can he salvage this?
“I don’t want to hear it!” He shouts. “I hate you! I never want to see you again!”
Before either Whizzer or Marvin can stop him, he runs out of the apartment, bare feet and all. Marvin is too stunned to process what just happened, other than his son catching him in the arms of another man.
Like mother, like son — at least this son didn’t catch him balls deep in Whizzer’s ass.
“I told you this would come to bite you in the ass sooner or later,” Whizzer says, picking up his discarded shirt and slipping it on. How can he be so nonchalant? “Apparently it was sooner.”
“You never told me that,” Marvin shouts, temper rising. “You never said one fucking thing to me about how I chose not to tell him. You never complained. You never argued. You never told me I was wrong or that I made a mistake. You kept your goddamned mouth shut.”
“Because he’s not my son.”
The image of his perfect family shatters in those five words.
“Fuck. We have to go get him.”
“We? There’s no we, Marvin. You got yourself into this so you can get him out.”
Marvin turns on his heel, grabs his coat from where he tossed it over the couch and darts out of the apartment. He has half a mind to go back, tell Whizzer to pack his things and leave — but he’s already wasted enough time. Jason could be anywhere by now.
He tumbles out of the building and onto the street, still tugging his jacket on as he hobbles down the street. Marvin calls out Jason’s name over and over, but the the streets are eerily quiet. He flicks his collar up against the rain, hoping the direction he picked was the right one. Up ahead at the closest intersection, Marvin sees a group of people huddled near the crosswalk. His stomach sinks.
It couldn’t be…
Is it?
“Was a taxi,” he hears someone say.
“But the kid wasn’t watching where he was going,” someone else chimes in.
“Didn’t stand a chance.”
He pushes through the growing crowd of onlookers — almost eleven at night on Christmas Eve and there’s still a ton of people milling around — and sees a tiny body laying in the street. In that moment, Marvin’s life flashes before his eyes. He hears someone let out a gut-wrenching scream and realizes it’s him. Marvin shoves anyone in his way aside, falling to his knees beside his son’s barely-moving body. Jason’s arm sticks out at an awkward angle from his body and there’s a nasty gash on his head, but at least he’s breathing.
Faintly.
“Someone call an ambulance!” he shouts, afraid to move his son, but needing to hold him in his arms.
This is all his fault.
All of it.
***
The hospital is a nightmare.
His first call is to Trina but there’s no answer at her parents’ house. He has no idea where they are but, maybe, it’s a good thing he can’t reach her. It buys him time to figure out how to explain what happened to ex-wife. Christ, she’s never going to let him see his son again after this.
He’s a terrible father.
His second call is to his own apartment. Whizzer picks up on the sixth ring. Marvin’s both surprised and relieved to hear his lover’s voice. He barely manages to get out the words ‘accident’ and ‘hospital’ before Whizzer is demanding the name of the hospital and says he’ll be there as soon as he can.
But until he gets there, all Marvin has for company is the sound of beeping machines and whatever else that’s currently keeping his son alive. He’s yet to regain consciousness and needed fourteen stitches to close the wound on his forehead. His arm is in a cast all the way up to his shoulder, resetting where the bone was broken in multiple places.
The doctors say Jason’s lucky to be alive.
Marvin will only believe that when he opens his eyes and Marvin can spend the rest of his life trying to earn his son’s forgiveness.
Sitting vigil by his son’s bed, Marvin brushes his fingers through Jason’s hair. He prays to whatever deity that’s listening for Jason to pull through the night.
Praying. Funny how the moments he chooses to believe in god are the ones where life and death hang in the balance.
Make that almost believe in god.
***
In the two hours since Whizzer’s arrived there hasn’t been a change in Jason’s condition. There’s no apology that passes between the two men; Whizzer’s presence here is more than Marvin expected. Whizzer doesn’t say much, just stays close. He gets coffee for them both and greasy snacks out of the vending machine.
They don’t say much and after a while Marvin feels like he’s sitting beside a stranger. Periodically Whizzer tries to take his hand but Marvin doesn’t want the gesture of comfort. He wants his son to open his eyes.
Seconds click by in an endless march, morphing to minutes, and into hours. The longer Jason stays unconscious, the more often doctors come by to check on the boy’s condition. Marvin doesn’t have to be a doctor to know the possibility of brain damage is very real.
So is the possibility of his son never waking up.
Some goddamned holiday. Two religions intersect for the first time in almost forty years and neither god can find time to descend from high atop their… whatevers and save a dying child. What sort of god leaves a child’s life to chance?
This is why he doesn’t believe in god.
***
At some point during the night, Marvin must have fallen asleep in his chair. He tried so hard to keep vigil but the stress of the night and having to shoulder the burden of the sole parent weighs on him like a heavy weight. The body sleeps when it needs to and even Marvin is immune from such necessities.
He awakens with a start, even more confused when there’s a blanket draped over him. He blinks his eyes blearily; the clock on the wall reads sometime after nine in the morning.
Christ… almost twelve hours and Jason still hasn’t come to yet?
Trina’s going to kill him.
Doesn’t matter that it was an accident. Trina is still going to kill him. Which may be a blessing because Marvin won’t have to live long with the guilt that his actions caused the death of his son.
“So you’re both…?”
It was the sound of his son’s voice that drew him from his slumber. Then he realizes just what his son asked.
“We are.”
And there’s Whizzer’s unapologetic response.
From the way Jason speaks it appears they’ve been talking for some time. He wonders how long his son has been awake. He wants to shout at Whizzer for not shaking him awake but Marvin’s so relieved to hear the sound of his son’s voice, he can almost forgive his lover for not waking him the moment Jason regained consciousness.
Almost.
“Why didn’t Dad tell me?” Jason’s voice is small, hoarse. “Didn’t he trust me? I’m smart!”
There’s a long pause and Marvin wonders if Whizzer knows he’s awake. Is Whizzer is weighing his words more for Marvin’s sake or Jason’s? If so, which truth will win out: the one where Whizzer’s the pretty boy who doesn’t want commitment — or the one where Whizzer curls against him on the couch in those rare moments of domesticity. Marvin tries to control his breathing, feigning sleep for as long as possible, needing to hear Whizzer’s response, whichever one it might be. He hopes that whatever his lover tells his son are how he actually feels, not some carefully constructed lie. He can hold off seeing his son in return for rebuilding some version of his new-found family from the ashes of tonight.
“You are smart, kiddo, but that’s not the reason. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you or doesn’t love you, either,” Whizzer says at last. “He wanted to protect you. Maybe even protect you from me.”
“Are you dangerous? You don’t seem dangerous.”
Whizzer laughs in response. “No, I’m not. I’d never hurt your dad. Or you for that matter. But it’s new for him, he and me together. Plus it’s scary introducing your kid to someone you’re dating when you don’t know if they’re going to stick around.”
“Are you? Gonna stick around, I mean.”
“I hope so,” Whizzer says, and Marvin notes the different tenor to his voice. It’s a tenderness he doesn’t often hear and it makes his stomach flop. “I want to, anyways. I’m attached to him even if he can’t cook for shit.” Jason laughs in agreement. “And I’m kinda attached to you, too, kiddo.”
There’s another pause and Marvin cracks open an eye. He’s at a poor angle and can barely see over the arm rail of the gurney. Damn. But just because he can’t see Whizzer doesn’t mean the opposite is true so he closes his eyes and resumes his ruse.
“But why didn’t he tell me?” Jason asks again.
“Because... he had to do things in his own time, even if it doesn’t make much sense to you. I promise this will make sense when you’re older. Just… know that he would have told you though. I would have made sure of that. So don’t call your dad a liar or hold this against him. He’s still learning to even accept this himself. Cut him some slack.”
“Okay, so why didn’t you tell me, then?”
Whizzer sighs. “Because it wasn’t my place. Your dad is your dad. I’m just the guy he’s dating.” Whizzer pauses again but doesn’t finish the sentence.
“Do you love him?” Jason asks.
The 36,000 question spoken so innocently. Marvin holds his breath, needing the answer to a question he’s wanted to ask for months.
“Sorta-kinda? It’s hard to describe.”
It’s not the answer he wants, but at least Whizzer isn’t planning on leaving in the morning. Marvin can work with that. He exaggerates a yawn then, deciding it’s better to relieve Whizzer of any further burden of explaining his coming out to his son. He can take it from here. He thinks. Marvin stretches, feeling every single bone in his spine crack as he rises from the hard plastic hair. Fuck he’s getting old.
His reunion with his son is subdued, but for the first time in his life he doesn’t pull away from Whizzer with Jason’s gaze trained on them. It’d seem hypocritical now anyway. What is there to hide? Marvin kisses Jason’s forehead, careful of the stitches as Whizzer takes Marvin’s hand once more.
Marvin squeezes it in return, relieved that he didn’t have to go through this alone.
Somehow, he got his miracle of Judaism wrapped up with one of Christianity.
Maybe the gods do care enough to step in and save a man’s life. This serene moment in the hospital with his son awake, alert, and alive isn’t enough to make him have absolute faith in God, but it does put a small mark in the belief column. Ever the pragmatist, maybe he needs to see three miracles before he can call himself devout. He’ll never be a candidate for sainthood but he’s always liked the symbolism in threes.
Or, as Marvin will one day learn, the gods are cruel bastards with no sense of humor.
But for now, he has his son and his lover.
This December, it’s enough.