The Christmas Deal

Logan said, “A celebratory glass of milk? Not scotch?”

Seth wrinkled his nose. “Milk goes way better with cake. You want?”

“Sure. Cake too. Glad you like it.”

“Mmm.” Seth cut off two big wedges and ran his finger along the dull part of the knife, licking up the frosting. “So creamy. Sweet, but not cloyingly so. It really is an excellent cake.” His tongue darted out to grab a stray bit of chocolate from the corner of his mouth. “Logan?”

“Uh-huh.” He realized he’d been staring as Seth licked his finger clean. “Um, thanks.”

They stood by the island, eating cake and sipping milk, a Christmas song filling the air with a gentle melody about snow and mistletoe. Logan didn’t want to think about it too much yet, but he couldn’t help saying, “That was nice of her—about jobs. Might not lead to anything, but…”

“But it just might! I think we have every reason to be optimistic. If anyone can get something done, it’s Angela Barker.”

Logan watched Seth lick milk from his upper lip. We.

Seth frowned at him. “I know you’re afraid to hope, but I really think you can look on the bright side here.”

“Yeah,” Logan said. “We’ll see. But thanks.” He ate a big forkful of cake and gulped his milk, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Should turn off the lights outside.”

His socks were quiet on the hardwood as he returned to the front door and flipped the switch. In the sitting room, he leaned over the golden little tree in the window, switching it off. He could see the car tracks down the driveway being filled in already with fresh snow, the mailbox in the distance with a fluffy lid of flakes.

“Oh, that reminds me,” he said, walking back into the kitchen. He opened one of the drawers on the island where he’d stuffed the mail. “When I came in earlier, I noticed the mailbox was overflowing. Probably mostly fliers and crap, but here you go.” He dropped the pile on top of the island with a thwap and took his last bite of cake.

Seth was frozen with his fork halfway to his mouth, staring at the mail with a strange expression. Logan watched, swallowing his cake with a gulp. He realized it was fear on Seth’s face, clear in the shallow breaths he was taking and the way his gaze was locked on the mail as if Logan had dropped a big hairy spider there.

“What is it?” Logan asked. He eyed the flyers and letters, trying to see the problem and wanting to fix it. He didn’t like seeing Seth like this. Not at all.

Seth tried to smile, ripping his gaze away and blinking at Logan. “Hmm? Oh, nothing.” His voice was high and tight.

“Bullshit. Tell me what’s wrong.” Logan looked at the mail again. He still had no fucking clue what it could be. “Are you expecting bad news or something?” Most mail these days was junk anyway. Did anyone still write bad news that wasn’t delivered online or over the phone first?

Seth closed his eyes for a moment and exhaled heavily. He shook his head and pushed away his plate before reaching for the pile. Part of Logan wanted to move closer and touch him—maybe squeeze his shoulder or something—but he stayed put. Best not to crowd him.

“It’s silly,” Seth mumbled. He stood straighter and determinedly leafed through the flyers, a few envelopes sprinkled throughout. His hand froze, and his bitter smile sent a shiver of dread down Logan’s spine. Seth lifted the square, red envelope.

Logan could see the delivery address had been crossed out, and return to sender had been scrawled across the front in huge letters. It looked like a Christmas card or something. He couldn’t make out who it had been sent to.

Seth answered the unasked questions. “My parents.” He flicked through the mail, drawing out two more identical red envelopes. He held them up. “My brother and sister.” Dropping the three cards on the island, he added, “I don’t bother trying with my grandparents or my aunts and uncles and cousins anymore. But every year I still send these three. Hoping…”

“Fuck. I’m sorry.” He should have just left the mail alone. Stupid.

Shaking his head, Seth attempted a laugh. “It’s the definition of insanity, right? Doing the same thing and expecting a different outcome?” He ran a fingertip over one of the red envelopes. “The cards have always come back on the same day, as if my family has marched to the mailbox together to return my pathetic little olive branch in tandem disgust.” His gaze ran over the pile of mail. “Not sure which day it was this year. I haven’t checked the mail for two weeks. Last year…”

After a few dull thuds of his heart, Logan quietly asked, “What?”

Seth picked up one of the envelopes, staring at it. “They came back on the twenty-third. I’d almost convinced myself it would be the year my family kept the cards. It would be the year that maybe we could find a way to have some peace between us. Even if they’d just kept the cards, at least I’d be able to believe they don’t wish I was dead.” He dropped the envelope back to the counter with a soft slap.