Hazard and Somerset, Gregory Ashe [ebook reader with internet browser TXT] 📗

so that she burst out laughing. “He’s getting a surprise ready. Go find your boots.” And then he put her down, swatted her bum, and said, “Scoot.”

Evie ran down the hall screaming, “Surprise!”

Sweat trickled between Hazard’s shoulder blades; he couldn’t quite meet his boyfriend’s eyes.

“I’m going to cut you a little slack at this moment,” Somers said, “and I won’t point out that you lacked the balls to either tell the truth or lie to your daughter, and instead, you made me lie.”

“Thank you for not pointing that out.”

“Just minutes after you gave that impassioned speech about how lies inevitably disrupt the fundamental parent-child blah blah blah.”

“Relationship of trust,” Hazard said, the words getting smaller one by one as Somers shot him a glance.

“Oh?” Somers said. “Now you want to say something? Should I have Evie come back?”

“I’m not proud of what I just did.”

“Instead of focusing on your most recent debacle, let’s talk about narratology.”

Even through the cloud of shame, Hazard recognized what was happening. “You’ve been planning this for weeks. You did research.” He couldn’t tell if he was horrified or excited. “You’re using research against me.”

“You are currently in disgrace, so please, no more interruptions.” Somers pulled a notecard from his pocket. “According to Vladimir Propp’s account of fairy tale syntagma, the Santa Claus story executes the following seventeen of his thirty-one possible functions. Number one, absentation, when Santa Claus—why are you looking at me like that?”

“Did you take notes?”

“I mean, yes. I have a good memory, but I couldn’t keep all of this straight in my head.”

“You did research. You sat there with a pencil behind your ear. You made notes with those big, elementary-kid letters you use.”

“Hold on, my handwriting isn’t—wait. What’s going on?”

“Come here for a minute.”

Somers drew back.

“Just hold up the notecard,” Hazard said. “Furrow your forehead like you’re thinking really hard. Tell me again about narratology. Did you use more than one notecard? Did you have to organize them?”

“Oh my God,” Somers said with a groan. “You’re sick, you realize that? You’re legitimately messed up.”

“Push up your sleeves and mess up your hair a little. Like you’ve been up all night studying, but you finally figured it out.”

“Sure. As soon as you promise to—” Somers glanced up the hall. “You know. Put on the suit. Fifteen minutes. I bet we could shave it down to ten.”

Hazard bared his teeth. “John, I am not going to inculcate a lie.”

“Are you sure?” Somers stretched, waving the notecard. “Because I had to take a lot of notes. If you play Santa, I could tell you about them. Show you. I’ve got this pair of reading glasses that slide down my nose.” Somers mimed pushing the glasses back up. “And I’ll wear a big chunky sweater and play with the sleeves. I’ll even let you guess which style guide I used for the bibliography.”

It took longer than Hazard liked for him to say, “No. You’re the devil. No, I’m not doing it.”

“Suit yourself,” Somers said, fanning himself with the notecard.

Hazard couldn’t help it; he called after him. “Did you use sub-topic headers for the cards, John? Can you at least tell me that?”

III

DECEMBER 24

MONDAY

6:02 PM

STOP PRESSURING HIM,” Rebeca said to Somers.

“Yes, John,” Hazard said, giving his boyfriend a flat look. “Stop pressuring me.”

“I’m not pressuring him. I couldn’t pressure him even if I wanted to.”

“Ha,” Noah said from where he was tending a steamer on the stove.

“Ha,” Rebeca said as she poured sangria.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Somers said.

Invitation to Christmas Eve dinner with Noah and Rebeca had come as a surprise, but, Hazard had to admit, a welcome one. He enjoyed the married couple’s company, even if their house did always sound—and smell—like a middle school PE class was in session. As though in sync with his thoughts, half a dozen kids tumbled through the kitchen, the whole herd moving toward the basement. Evie was suspended among them, one moment in Raquel’s arms, then in Robbie’s, then seeming to float on a cloud of hands and shoulders like in a Peanuts cartoon.

“Be careful with her,” Hazard said, pushing away from the counter.

Somers caught his sleeve.

“They’re going to drop her,” Hazard said.

“Don’t drop the baby,” Noah shouted.

For some reason, that made the entire herd burst into laughter as they shot down the stairs.

“I’ll just go check,” Hazard said, trying to work Somers’s fingers free.

“Take a drink,” Somers said as Rebeca carried over the glasses. “They’re having fun.”

“They’re obsessed with her,” Rebeca said. “Honestly, all of them are. I thought it was just Raquel, but Robbie is carrying her half the time, and Rocio talks about her nonstop.”

“I’m sure ‘having fun’ will be a huge consolation,” Hazard said, “when she’s got a cracked skull and—”

“Drink,” Somers said, dragging on the sleeve so that Hazard’s hand drifted toward the glass. “And then take a breath.”

It was pretty good sangria, so Hazard had a second drink.

At the stove, Noah fiddled with a steamer. The smell of cooking masa, pork, and achiote steamed up the small kitchen.

“You’re going to burn yourself,” Rebeca said between sips.

Noah shot her a look. “It’s this cheap pot. The lid doesn’t fit right.”

“Just leave it.”

“It’s not on right. Too much steam is leaking out.”

Half a minute later, Noah swore and jerked his hand back from the pot. Rebeca rolled her eyes and grinned.

“Did she roll her eyes?” Noah said, wringing his hand. “Tell me if she rolled her eyes.”

“No,” Somers said.

“Yes,” Hazard said.

“Come on, Emery,” Rebeca said, swatting his shoulder. “Help a lady out.”

“Becs,” Noah said, still shaking out his burned fingers. “How could you?”

Elbowing him toward the sink, she took over at the steamer while Noah ran cold water over his fingers.

“Don’t smirk,” Noah said, pointing an unburned finger at Somers. “You’re just as bad.”

Somers, as he handled everything, took it with the perfect mixture of shocked indignation and guilty good humor; he grinned as he pointed at himself in semi-disbelief.

“Yes. You two are laughing at us because Rebeca’s mom got us