The Geek Who Saved Christmas

“Eh. Nothing better to do. Jim can catch snowflakes.” Uninterested in that suggestion, Jim flopped at our feet. I’d taken her on enough of a walk on the way over that she wasn’t restless and was probably wondering why I wasn’t in my warm basement office like usual. I was wondering that too. “I can dream up new ways to break in my bed better here.”

“But now we’ll both be cold,” he complained, but there was a pleased undercurrent to his tone. Car traffic was woefully sparse, not nearly the usual steady stream the neighborhood saw this close to Christmas.

“Yup. We will.” Winking at him, I took his glove-covered hand under the blanket. “We can squeeze into my shower together after.”

“This is true. I’ll duck home to check on Butterscotch and grab a change of clothes.” He pulled out his phone to use the voice recorder feature to add a reminder to his calendar because, of course, he did. Note done, he glanced my way again. “Why’d you really come?”

Damn him and his way-too-smart brain. “I can’t be worried you’re gonna turn into a human ice pop?”

“That’s sweet.” He patted my knee. Near us, a car slowed for the driver to push a few cash bills through the slot in the drop box for money donations. “But you have more nervous energy than a poodle. Even your dog is concerned,”

“Ha. She’s fine.” Jim’s head was currently resting on my boot, swishing tail catching Gideon’s calves. Not seeming reassured in the least, he continued to stare me down until finally, I cracked. “Okay. I’m worried I’m going to forget some important piece of the plan.”

“Ah. We’re down to days away from the arrival and your nerves are hitting.” He gave me a fond smile, but there was something else there. At some point, we probably needed to chat about this thing between us, the regular dinners and sleepovers and decorating projects that were more convenient excuses at this point. But things were going so well, and I had a lot of history to say I sucked at having important conversations. Better to not jinx things, but I did need Gideon to know how appreciated he was.

“You’ve done so much to help me. You’ve saved my whole darn month.” I patted him again, and his smile deepened. “But I’m not like you with the spreadsheets. It’s a lot to keep track of. Plane times. Food. Presents, of which I’m still lacking an engagement one.”

“Breathe,” he ordered, pulling out his phone again and removing one glove long enough to type around. “Here.”

My own phone dinged in my pocket. “What’s that?”

“Now you have a copy of the planning schedule. I’ve updated it with a food shopping list and the menu you settled on and the arrival times you mentioned.”

“Thanks.” I exhaled hard as I leaned forward. “You kept track of all that? Wow. I thought you’d be done with the spreadsheet after the last strand of garland.”

A strange look flitted across his face. “Of course, I took notes. I like to plan.”

“You’re good at it.” Another car pulled up, this one with a toy for the box on the table. Gideon fetched the donation, then returned to squeeze my biceps.

“This is going to be fine, Paul.” He gazed deeply into my eyes, the steady calm I really needed right then. These nerves weren’t like me at all. “He’s probably going to be so happy to see you that he won’t notice if you miss a step on the plan.”

“Yeah.”

“He doesn’t know, does he?” Gideon asked softly.

“Know what?” I wasn’t playing dumb. Sometimes Gideon’s brain made these big leaps I couldn’t quite follow.

“How hard it was on you. Him moving away.” His voice was as warm as his grip on my arm. Grounding.

“It wasn’t,” I protested weakly.

“Paul. It’s just us here. You don’t need to pretend.”

“All right. It sucked.” I studied my thick gloves before gazing off into the frigid night. A few more snowflakes filtered down. “And no, he doesn’t need to know. He went off on his grand doctoral adventure. It’s all I ever wanted for him. Him to reach for the stars, maybe catch one.”

“You’re a—”

I held up a hand to cut him off. “Good brother. I know. I just did what needed doing. What else was I supposed to do? I couldn’t leave him.”

“No, you couldn’t.” Gideon grabbed my hand, held it tightly. “You did the right thing, but that doesn’t make it any less hard or sucky for you.”

“Yeah.” I wasn’t sure I’d ever admitted this aloud before and my voice was scratchy. “It was hard.”

“You did good. I bet he doesn’t have a clue how difficult it was.” Gideon’s tone was more admiring than pity. Understanding. Which shouldn’t have been a surprise. If I’d learned nothing else over the last month or so, it was that Gideon was the master of putting on a cheerful face even when highly stressed.

“And that’s a good thing. I kept food on the table. Found a safe school for him, although that meant a tinier apartment. It was bad enough he lost his folks. Didn’t need a daily struggle too.”

“Paul.” Gideon tilted my face toward his. “You lost your parents too.”