6. Christian
SIX
CHRISTIAN
When I walked out of the house on Sunday morning, I had the envelope from Milo in the inside pocket of my coat. My parents exchanged curious glances when I announced I didn’t know when I would be back, saying quietly that Christmas Falls suited me. I didn’t argue with them, although I didn’t think it was the town that made a difference. The fact that few people even knew I was back was the first clue that it wasn’t my geographical positioning that suited me. It was something else entirely.
Milo kept me busy. He had little errands for me when he was too preoccupied with the store. And I liked feeling useful more than anything. It was precisely what I needed to keep myself from facing the gloomy emptiness in my life. So long as I dropped off the groceries at someone’s doorstep or carried or asked around for a babysitter that might be available on short notice, I didn’t have to admit to myself that I was missing something so immense that the space where it was supposed to be looked like a black hole.
It seemed to me that Milo had an endless list of tasks. Today’s was a simple walk near Remy’s house. The envelope was one item that Milo would have dropped off by himself had he not had a big order to deliver to Kody’s pub. Getting a sizeable order was crucial to Milo’s shop, so I didn’t even question it. I was ready to help. Townspeople were dropping off their little trinkets at Remy’s place all evening last night and I had to make an early start to put Milo’s item there. But the other thing I carried was my own. It was a leather bracelet, one of the two Milo and I had bought at the Arts and Crafts Fair many years ago. It had been safely kept in a box of memories under my bed, and it was time it served a new and noble purpose.
When I passed Remy’s house, the arch was in place, and it was full of decorative items people dropped off. Lockets, decorations, figurines, a little key that opened something secret and unknown to me. Now, Milo’s envelope and my bracelet had a place there, too.
This morning, when I rummaged through the box of memories, I looked through the doodles from school and trinkets from my childhood. There were many Christmas cards, birthday cards, and cards from different places around the world that my aunt had been sending while on her travels. More often than not, the cards had arrived with a five-dollar bill to spend at éclair . The bills were long gone, but the cards remained.
Among them, almost as if I had forgotten that it existed, was a Christmas card that made my heart drop. It depicted the warm glow of a pastry shop on a quiet, snow-covered street. The back of the card was filled with text written in my best friend’s small, delicate hand.
Dear Christian,
I should have written sooner. Four months flew by quickly after we moved. The new school is alright. I think I’m making friends already, and the teachers are pretty cool.
We have a nicer house. It’s got two floors, and my room is upstairs, so I get the whole floor to myself every night.
It sucks that you’re not here.
This is my address so we can keep in touch.
Your friend,
Milo.
The guilt that welled in me after seeing the card was insufferable. Receiving that card from Milo was the beginning of a totally different life. It wasn’t the last one, but it was the most important. The second one was just as cheerful. It came to me in early spring, telling me how he had friends and how teachers liked him. He’d gotten a phone by then and put his number on the card.
The final one, though, was not in my box. I remembered it as soon as I let my mind turn in that direction. I remembered it as if it was right in front of me.
Dear Christian,
I’m not sure if my cards are getting delivered to you. Remy got his. And Kody, too. Maybe the postman was jealous of our friendship, so he’s throwing them out. Or maybe not.
Not sure if you want to hear from me. If yes, I’m still at the same address. No more moving for us. And my number is the same.
Milo.
I had read it a thousand times before throwing it away. And that moment was when the memories stopped playing out before my eyes. They had to stop. I didn’t want to spend another heartbeat trapped in ancient history.
I walked back to Milo’s shop and let myself in despite the CLOSED sign on the door. The bell announced my arrival, and Milo popped out of the kitchen wearing a black apron, a white shirt with rolled sleeves, and a pair of black pants.
“Did you do it?” he asked eagerly.
“Yes, sir,” I replied.
“And nobody saw you?” Milo asked.
“Unless someone was looking out the window, we’re in the clear,” I said. Knowing the nature of small towns, there were probably several people who found themselves near their windows at any given moment, glancing precisely when there was something happening outside.
“Great. Everyone’s apparently staying anonymous,” Milo said, shrugging.
“It’s a sweet gesture,” I said. “Now, do you need help? How big is the order?”
Milo smiled and shook his head. “Nah, I can manage it here.”
“Liar,” I said. “Let me do the dishes.”
“Would you?” The way his face lit up told me enough. He cleared his throat. “I mean, no, don’t bother yourself with it.”
I smirked and passed by the counter, moving into the kitchen together with Milo.
Plenty of appliances were on, although I didn’t know their purpose. What I did know were the white elephant chocolates lying on trays and waiting to be packed. Elephant molds were laid out on most surfaces, and dishes were so piled up in the large sink that I had my work cut out for me.
“Thank you,” Milo said. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
I decided that it was a rhetorical question, so I didn’t tell him that he was more than capable of doing things by himself and that my help was pretty unimportant. The mood was too good for me to spoil.
“Let’s get busy,” I said heartily and picked up a spare apron. It was a little stained with chocolate, but I didn’t mind that. I tied it around my waist and approached the sink.
Milo’s shop had a sizeable restaurant-grade dishwasher that disinfected the dishes, but everything had to be thoroughly rinsed. It didn’t require a lot of skill, so it was a great match for my capabilities. I soaked, scrubbed, and rinsed the pots, plates, accessories, and trays one after the other, sweating in the hot steam rising from the sink and stuffing the dishwasher to its maximum before turning on a quick cycle. It was like working on an assembly line. I would pack a plastic crate with dirty dishes while the washer worked, swap the clean ones for the dirty ones, unload the freshly washed crate, and start over.
Milo continued working on his white elephants, making several variants based on the same mold. All were made of white chocolate, but Milo combined it with pistachios, coconut cream, or strawberry bits. The flow of dirty dishes was constant, but Milo was completely in the zone, and watching him be so absorbed in his work was the most magnificent thing I had seen in ages.
My gaze kept jumping to him. His white shirt was snug, and it hugged him around his shoulder and upper back. It was tucked into his pants, although the constant movement pulled most of it out, and Milo’s hands were always gloved and stained with chocolate, so it remained tardy. The pants he wore suited him perfectly. The fact was, Milo was as beautiful as the rays of sunshine in spring, and only a fool would pretend not to see it. He was so beautiful that it sometimes confused me. In moments when I was distracted or lost in my thoughts, I would look at him and completely lose myself in his delicate features. From his golden curls to the perfect Cupid’s bow of his lips, he radiated elegance and androgynous beauty. Only remembering that this was Milo Montgomery, my friend, lifted the hex from my eyes.
“Was the arch decorated this morning?” Milo asked without turning around. He was pouring velvety chocolate into the molds.
“Oh yeah,” I assured him. “I barely found room for our trinkets.”
“Our trinkets?” Milo asked. “I only had an envelope.”
“But I added mine, too,” I explained. “The braided leather bracelet. Remember?”
Milo looked at me over his shoulder, his eyes wide with wonder. “The same one?”
“Yep,” I said, smiling softly.
A moment of silence passed, and Milo lifted the corners of his lips into a small smile. “I didn’t realize you still had it.”
“Of course I do,” I said.
He cocked his head slightly to one side. “I lost mine. About a year after we moved. Cried myself to sleep.”
“What?” I gasped. “Why?”
“Clumsy. Sorry,” he said weakly, shooting me an apologetic look.
“Not that, silly,” I said. “Why did you cry?” I wiped my hands on a kitchen towel and walked over to be closer to him. The hurt was all over his face.
He pushed a filled mold to the side and took his gloves off, wiping his hands on his stained apron. “I dunno. It was like losing something we had all over again.” He let out a forced chuckle. “I was a sentimental kid back then. Had too much time to feel sorry for myself.”
“But why?” I pressed. I didn’t think it was a smart way to do this. I didn’t think we should be having this conversation yet or at all. Why couldn’t we just move on and pretend that the past had never happened? Why couldn’t we go on with our lives like the last fifteen years had been a dream?
The need, the urgency in me to get answers out of him worried me. I sounded desperate to know the truth that lay at the bottom of it all. But to hear the truth from him, I needed to face the truth in myself.
“I was lonely, Christian,” Milo said reluctantly. “After we left, I was always lonely. And losing it in the lake the summer after was the worst thing ever. It felt like I lost more than a bracelet.” He shook his head.
“You wrote to me,” I whispered, my voice tight with unbearable guilt. “You said you found new friends.”
Surprised flickered on Milo’s face for the shortest of moments. Hurt followed. Then, he softened his expression and blinked. “You got the card,” he said in a low voice, confirming an ancient suspicion and wishing he didn’t. It was plain as day in his downcast gaze.
“Yes.” It was a heavy word to get over my lips.
Milo blinked twice in quick succession and looked at me, his face torn between apology and accusation. “I lied.” For a moment, he was silent, then said, “Everyone wanted to be friends with you. I didn’t worry about you in Christmas Falls. But it was embarrassing to admit—to you, of all people—how lonely I was. It was embarrassing to tell you I didn’t have a single friend months after we moved away.”
I swallowed the tightening knot in my throat. “I thought you were doing great.”
“And that’s why you never got in touch?” Milo asked. He was done being apologetic; it was time for accusations.
I shook my head. “No. I…”
“Because I thought you hated me then,” he said, his voice quivering. “I thought a million things. I didn’t stop thinking about it for ages.”
“Look, I should have…”
“Damn right, you should have,” Milo said, his tone growing more passionate and fiery but still emotional. “I believed that we hadn’t even been friends, that I’d gotten it all wrong. Then I thought you figured it out and hated me for it. Then I thought you were too busy making new friends to send me a card or call me once in a while. Do you have any idea what that was like?”
“Figured what out?” I asked.
“It doesn’t matter,” Milo said, inhaled, held his breath, and exhaled slowly. “Look, I was going to pretend it didn’t happen. You had a rough patch, and this whole week seemed like living in a fairy tale. Part of me knew you got the cards. And I told myself to just ignore it. Water under the bridge, right? But I can’t. You had to have a reason, Christian. If you kept the bracelet, there had to be some kind of logic in it.”
“Milo, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice growing tighter with regret. “If I could go back in time, I would have done everything differently.”
“But you can’t,” he said.
To see him so hurt by something I had done so long ago was both devastating and completely right. I deserved to see it. I deserved to witness just how much damage I caused to everyone I cared about.
“So?” he whispered. The hope to have an answer was so bright and heartbreaking that I couldn’t take it.
“I missed you,” I said, the words tearing away from me. “You have no idea how much I missed you. When you moved away, I had nothing here. You say I had friends, but that’s not true. Sure, I ran with other boys, and I took girls on dates, but none of them were my friends. I only ever had you for those few years. And when that was gone, it was like someone took half of my soul to another state.” I tried to swallow, but my throat hurt. “Part of me hated you for that.” Not really, though. I’d bizarrely resented him for his ability to be my everything and have the nerve to leave me behind. “And part of me hated the idea that you made friends so quickly when I couldn’t. But the worst of all was that my childhood was over when you left. I wasn’t an adult yet—and I’m hardly one now—but the innocence was gone. The safety, the happiness, the pure joy of going over to your place in December and building snow forts, it was all gone with you.”
Tears rolled down Milo’s slender face, and he looked away from me. “I didn’t know,” he whispered.
“I fucked up,” I admitted. “There’s no mistake about that. I fucked up bad, and I went on fucking up for fifteen years, Milo. But you have to believe me, for the sake of those boys, the only reason I didn’t want to write to you was because it hurt too much.”
“I know,” he said quietly. “I remember how much it hurt.”
I let the silence settle between us for a little while. Then, thinking about the boy who had left Christmas Falls fifteen years ago, I said, “I could never hate you, Milo.”
“I thought…” He faltered and shook his head.
“You thought I figured something out,” I said, trying to avoid sounding suspicious.
He swallowed and sighed.
“What?” I asked.
“Since we’re in the truth-sharing mood,” he said reluctantly and paused again, crossing his arms on his chest. Once he looked at me, he seemed to be hugging himself protectively. “Christian, you were my first crush.”
Silence.
“I don’t blame you for not knowing,” he added. “I worked hard to hide it from you. But you’re the reason I realized I was gay. And I was in love with you more most of those years.”
Shock must have shown itself externally, but deep down, hidden beneath the layers, something unfolded. Obvious , I thought. It’s obvious . It was something that I would have known throughout my life had I allowed myself to consider it.
The real truth of the matter was that I wasn’t shocked at all.
“I didn’t know,” I said, but I wasn’t entirely sure that was true either. I had kept it away from myself, yes, but had I really been oblivious?
“After leaving, I was afraid that you somehow put it together and you just didn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore.”
“Milo, I would never…”
“I know,” he cut me off. “But you can’t prove that to a lovesick fourteen-year-old.”
We were quiet again for some time. Neither of us moved away.
Milo glanced away, then looked into my eyes. “I don’t want to make things awkward, Christian. That was fifteen years ago…” His voice faded as he looked away again, a blush creeping into his cheeks. In a breathier tone, he tried to say, “Ages ago.”
But I didn’t believe it. Not for a second did I believe it was just some old fling he’d had and left behind in his childhood.
“But I was in love with you.” Milo, his cheeks red and glowing under the brilliant white light of his kitchen, chocolate smeared over his apron, and one wonderful, irresistible drop of it specked on his chin, looked up at me hesitantly.
My vision narrowed until he was all that remained. The hum of the dishwasher faded into silence, and the beating of my heart was all I heard. The warmth of all the appliances keeping the chocolate liquid was chilly compared to the heat that thickened between us.
Don’t do it , I heard myself say in the depths of my consciousness. Perhaps I should have heeded my own advice. Perhaps I should have pulled away from him. Nothing bad would have happened if I simply stepped back and told him how nothing could ever change the fact that he was my best friend, then, now, and forever.
That would have been a wonderful way to end this conversation. It wouldn’t have been risky or damaging to anyone. It would have been a reckless display of curiosity.
But I was curious. Simply looking at him made me feel like all the pieces were in place. And the way he looked back was too hopeful to ignore. I couldn’t pretend that I didn’t see it—he’d been looking at me that way for years. It had never occurred to me that there was more to this soft, longing look than I had always thought.
So when I took a small step toward Milo, all my instincts were overpowered. My brain might have protested, but the inevitability of this moment felt like it had been written in the stars.
The little step brought my body inches away from Milo’s. He could have moved away if he’d wanted to. He had every chance to step back, to ask me not to, but all I saw was a boy who was in love with me today as he had been fifteen years ago.
When my hand reached the back of his head, our gazes locked. We paused for one infinite moment as if giving one another a chance to change our minds. Neither of us did. Holding my breath, I leaned in, my heart filled with excitement and my mind spinning over the possibilities. How would our lives have turned out had he never left? Would he have been my prom date instead of Nellie Shamway?
Would we have remained friends?
Would the timing be completely wrong, and would his admission freak me out so much that I would run?
My mind spun and spun and spun as I slowly leaned closer to him, the warmth of his body now overwhelming all other sensations, followed quickly by the aromas of chocolate, coconut, and strawberries.
My lips touched Milo’s lips; my fingers ran through Milo’s hair. The moment was terrifying and beautiful in a way where the two coexisted in perfect harmony. I shivered all over as I pressed my lips harder against his.
And now? I wanted to ask him. Are you in love with me still? He had told me once, just a few days ago, that he had been in love with someone who could never love him back. He couldn’t love me the way I wanted , he had said.
Milo sighed and parted his lips a little more, pressing his body against mine with a yearning he was barely able to hold back. His entire being came closer to me, hands rising to my upper arms and holding on to me like a great, terrible wind would blow him away if he let go. And I curled my fingers in his hair, holding his head in place as I kissed him.
Him…
The realization shot through me like a lightning bolt.
This was Milo I was kissing. Not only was he a guy—something I’d never been even remotely curious about—but he was my best friend. I had already hurt him and lost him once before. I had already lost this friendship because of reckless, emotional decisions I had made.
Was this really a way to preserve the only good thing I had in my life?
Fear made my muscles tense, and Milo, ever the one to understand me when I didn’t understand myself, felt it. He felt it and pulled back. The reluctance in the way he stepped away from me fractured something deep in me, but the action was enough to wake me up from this strange dream I had been dreaming.
I stepped back abruptly, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand and dying a little inside. “I’m sorry,” I said hastily. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
And it was true. There were a million reasons why this was a mistake. We were friends, for one thing. For another, I wasn’t gay. And most importantly, Milo had had a crush on me a decade and a half ago. Nobody was so great and wonderful to be loved constantly from afar for that long. Nobody, least of all me.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “This was a mistake.”
The hurt rippled over his face, but he smoothed it in an instant. “It’s okay.” His voice was hoarse, so he cleared his throat and forced a smile. “It was all very emotional.” He turned away from me. “Forget about it.”
There was a blaze in me that I didn’t know how to put out. It burned so brightly that I was sure it would leave nothing standing after it was done. It consumed me, yet I didn’t know how to move on from its path of destruction.
“I should pro…”
Milo touched the edge of the counter where the countless pieces of elephant-shaped white chocolate rested. “I know,” he said in a tone that practically pleaded for an end to this conversation. “You should probably go.”
“Milo,” I whispered.
“It’s okay,” he said, giving me his best smile. “We can talk about it another time.”
He was giving me a graceful exit, and it was more than anyone could have asked of him. Not taking it would have made me an even bigger asshole. And maybe I should have stayed. Maybe I should have let us go through the hard conversation right now, but I couldn’t.
My heart hammered. My fingers trembled. I took his offer and walked out of the kitchen, running to the safety of solitude, chased closely by the unresolved things that threatened to catch up sooner or later.
I’d disappointed him again.