“You cooked it; you need to try it. Plus, grits are awesome. Some people eat them with shrimp. I probably would if I liked seafood, but I don’t.” He stands next to me as he places our plates on the only two empty spots on the bar. I lift onto my toes to kiss his cheek. “It looks and smells great. Thank you.”
He presses his lips to mine. “Welcome.”
We take a seat and I mix Marc’s measly sample of grits with eggs and make him try it that way. If he got ideas from Sylvia, then I’m sure she told him how to make them good.
“I don’t know,” Marc says. “It’s weird. Not bad, but weird.”
I laugh. “Would you try it again?”
He nods.
“There just might be an actual Southerner hiding inside of you! I’m becoming more and more convinced.”
He grins. “The day I casually throw in a y’all will be the end of us all.”
“Are you going to try the gravy you slaved over?” He was staring wide-eyed when I poured some all over my biscuit instead of just my rice. Surely, he’s seen people do that befor
e, but I guess not. He’s a sheltered man to be so well-traveled.
He reaches over to cut a piece of my biscuit to try. “Okay, that’s good.”
“It’s good with country fried steak, too.”
“What the hell is that?”
“Oh my god, we just need to start feeding you a bunch of unhealthy foods for a while. I’ll fix it one night.”
“I’ll hold you to that.”
We eat in near silence. Marc, I’ve learned, doesn’t like to stay quiet for too long, not that I mind. Once we’re done, he tells me not to worry about dishes and to sit on the floor in the living room. My phone rings with a call from Scott, but I don’t answer. As soon as it’s done, I text him.
Me: Merry Christmas. I love you. I’ll talk to you after tomorrow. Promise. Tell Sylvia and the girls the same.
Scott: You’re okay?
I glance up as Marc walks in with a bunch of bags. I’m suspicious, but I text Scott back.
Me: I’m okay. Marc is with me. Please don’t tell Sylvia, you know how she is. I’m only telling you so you’ll believe me and not worry. Enjoy your day off with your girls.
“Okay, so, we probably should’ve done this yesterday, but today works, too,” Marc says. He pulls out a three-foot-tall black wire tree. “We have lights and non-Christmas ornaments.”
“When did you go shopping?” I ask. I’m uneasy about this, even though it is a bit anti-Christmas.
Marc looks sheepish. “I didn’t. Meredith did it for me. I’ll put the lights on and you get started taking the ornaments out and putting hooks on them.”
He gets started wrapping lights around the wires, so I start on my job. I snort when I pull out the first ornament.
“Meredith must’ve seen this and thought of you.” It’s a pig. I hold it up for Marc to see.
“She knows how much I love to eat, I know, and I love bacon.”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I meant.”
He turns back to the tree to hide his smile. I don’t know how Meredith found all of these non-Christmas ornaments, but she did. There’s a unicorn, a hockey player, a slice of bacon, a dog, a stack of books, a cupcake, a dinosaur, a gnome, and a mixer. That’s probably all the tree will be able to hold. Seeing the array of ornaments that are definitely not screaming Christmas makes me feel so much better. Maybe I can get through the day.
“I have a present for you,” Marc says once we’ve decorated the tree. “And don’t worry. It’s barely a present because you’ve been giving off a vibe that screamed you didn’t want a present, but this was needed for what we’re going to do next.”
“You really have this day planned?”