Christmas Tales - Brandon Witt Page 0,18

have come knocking earlier. Somehow, when he was bitching about you, he forgot to bring up there was a Kevin Costner look-alike next door.”

Despite that horrid word, I couldn’t help but be pleased. And I was glad to hear Raymond sounding more like himself.

Though his tone didn’t darken, he looked at me seriously. “And you? Your story. Why are you here, now? Did you have a wife or husband in your past?”

If he’d have asked me that same question an hour before, it would’ve hurt too much, and I wouldn’t have answered, but after hearing Raymond speak, I couldn’t begrudge him. I also couldn’t tell if I felt lucky to have avoided going through a husband’s death or jealous that I’d missed a love that had lasted so long.

“Nah. No husbands. And for sure no wives.” I debated for a moment how much I should tell him. I quickly decided there was no reason to hold details back. He could find me lacking if he needed to. “I left here to go to Joplin, where I figured it was safer to be gay. And it was. Though I always hated the city. I had several boyfriends over the years. Most lasting a few months to a year or so. I had one, Mick, who stuck awhile. He was the most recent, actually. Well, if you can count seventeen years ago recent. He hung around for about six years. Then that seven-year itch came, and man, did he enjoy scratching it. I guess you can say I’m kind of a failure in the whole love-relationship department.”

I waited for a comment. For him to confirm or to rush ahead with the “it was them, not you” speech. He didn’t. Which I appreciated.

“I came home, back here, less than a year after he left. My dad was gone, and Mom was getting close herself. I’m glad I got that time with her, but, honestly, I’d have come back either way. I like it here. There’s a lot of quiet. It’s peaceful. And beautiful. My little slice of heaven, I guess. Or, roots, like you call them.”

Raymond smiled, just a bit, gave a nod, but again didn’t make any judgments, positive or negative. I was glad for that too. After a few more bites, he spoke again. “Have you heard of the three loves theory?”

I nearly choked on my food. “Uhm, no?”

He cocked a brow at my flustered tone. “Well, I don’t really know what it’s really called, but that’s how I remember it. It’s actually offered me a little comfort after Robert. I think it really had more to do with divorce than death, but still….”

“Okay. Well, I’m glad something helped.” I had no idea what I was supposed to say.

Maybe nothing, as Raymond kept right on going. “It’s this idea that each person has three people they’re supposed to spend their lives with. One person for their young adult lives, and they grow apart. Another person to have a family with, and then grow apart. Again, it’s more about divorce and straight people, but still. And then, finally, a person for your golden years. Three different people for different stages of life.”

I still had no idea what to say. “I’ve… never heard that.”

He smiled, though somewhat sadly it seemed this time. “I think I like it. Gives me hope that maybe I’m not all done yet.” The smile morphed into something more cheerful and teasing, though it was the first one that seemed rather forced. “And, no, I’m not offering marriage, Mr. Phipps, so calm down.”

I’d not even considered that, but now that he’d said, it did rather seem like he was announcing he was looking for the final option.

“I wish you could see your face right now. Adorable and hilarious.” He cleared his throat. “So, tell me about these Swedish Black Hens who lay golden eggs or some shit.”

We finished eating and then cleaned up the table and washed the dishes. Each moving together like we’d done it a million times. The silence was warm and safe. The sound of his breath, comforting.

The occasional brush of the back of his hand, or arm, and once even his thigh, was new. Kind of exciting, but warm more than anything. The snow was blowing outside the house, building up on the window seals, but I was warmer than I remembered being in a long, long time.

When the dishes were dried and back on shelves, the silverware arranged in the drawer, and the leftovers