Bowl Full of Cherries (6 page)

He heard an “Ow!” and then suddenly Crowley was gone and the cart, which had been moving slowly through the slick parking lot, began to roll faster.

Rell tried to twist around, got just far enough to see Crowley sprawled out on the ground on his back where he must have slipped when Rell knocked him. And then glancing back, he realized he was on his own, in a slow-moving deathtrap. Rell tried to wriggle the cart with his body, forcing it to go the way he wanted, which was
away
from the place where cars were turning into the parking lot.

There was a moment where if things had slowed down enough, Rell could have made one of three moves: freeze up and roll into traffic, have the presence of mind to push himself crab-style out of the cart, or flail wildly and tip the cart over. “Holy shit!”

The cart went crashing to the right, Rell’s head narrowly missing the bumper of an old Cadillac by inches. Somewhere in the lane, a car laid on its horn. He groaned and laughed at the same time. Honk, honk, honk—
did you know you fell?
Yes, thank you, car.

“Are you okay?” Crowley yelled, running up to him and helping untangle him from the cart.

Jesus. Rell felt like such an ass. Crowley had just startled him. Not with any sudden movement, but just by
being
so nearby.

“I’m okay, Owl. I’m sorry I jerked like that. Uh… but you? Did you hit your head? Or break something?”

“Nope, you?”

Rell laughed, standing up. “My pride would be broken if I had any to begin with!”

Crowley quietly righted the cart, moving out of the lane so a car could pass.

“I guess we should maybe not do cart rides.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Rell argued. “We’re going to be buds for a long while, right?”

“Sure.”

“We’ll do cart rides in the spring.”

As Crowley walked in front of the cart, Rell noticed, with some embarrassment, that Crowley’s whole backside was wet from the grimy pavement snow. Little bits of gravel stuck to the back of him.

“Hold up,” Rell said, and as he passed, he ran a hand in quick strokes from Crowley’s shoulder down to the seat of his pants, brushing away the bits.

“Psst,” he whispered, “Your butt is wet.”

“But… no holes, right?”

He meant in his pants. In the fabric. But as soon as it came out of his mouth, Rell snorted like the twelve-year-old he was. Thank God times a million, Crowley snorted too.

“Jeez, that was charming.”

“Are you sure you’re really
the
Crowley Fredericks?”

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked, his smile still in place.

“I just mean, Tyler doesn’t usually have such good taste in friends. So I’m wondering if you’re a con man or something, here for my… well, I was going to say vast fortune, but—”

“I might be after your figurines.”

“I knew there was something off about you, Owl.”

The automatic doors swooshed open for them and both men, despite trying to stay cool for one another, broke into little-boy grins as they set foot inside the giant toy store.

C
ROWLEY
DIDN
’
T
consider himself overly shy, but neither was he the sort who would grab random guys at Christmas parties and sweep them into kisses under the mistletoe. He fell somewhere in between. Social enough that he could enjoy a quiet party and keep conversation going, but unskilled to the point where, even disregarding any “sweeping” that might have occurred, Crowley Fredericks had never managed to get a real date.

He glanced out of the corner of his eye as he and Rell drove back into the valley. He’d been doing this for the better part of the last hour, sneaking glances at Rell’s face without letting on that he was looking at him. Rell was good-looking.
Really
good-looking.

Sometimes, Rell would look up and then Crowley would smile like a dork and have to scramble to find something to say. Tyler hadn’t ever said much about his brother’s sexuality. Crowley thought maybe there’d been a girlfriend at one point. But even if, by some Christmas miracle, Rell Lang were bi, Crowley couldn’t imagine that Rell would be interested in someone like him. He tried to play it smart—and safe—and not make his crush
so
obvious.

But God, that trip to the toy store? It could have been a date. They’d pressed the “Press-Me” buttons on a long line of talking bears, gone head-to-head on the Wii-U demo station, and yes, found those great big bouncy balls with the grip in the middle, racing them down the aisle. And they’d filled a cart’s worth of toys for kids aged baby to ten, three boys, one girl, and it was
fun
. They took their time. Instead of pushing and shoving, they waited until parents got into fights with other parents, and then Rell would swoop in and grab whatever toy they were fighting over. And in the line, Rell took pictures with Crowley’s phone, about twenty of them—of the store, of the shoppers, of the giant tree decorated in toys, of the cranky-looking cashiers, of Crowley, and he forwarded each and every one of them to Tyler with a note that said, “Wish you were here!” until Tyler finally called Crowley and told him to tell Rell that if he didn’t stop, he wasn’t getting shit for Christmas.

“Well, you tell him,” Rell had said with a sarcastic smile. “That I’m not really into shit this year, and I’d much rather if he brought me piss-all instead.”

A mother nearby had turned and glared.

O
N
THE
drive back, they sang more and talked about their preferred characters in
Rain Queen
. Rell ran a troll and a priestess, and Crowley played mage exclusively. There was never a moment where the conversation lulled. He was so into their talk (and the sound of Rell’s voice and the curve of his lips), that Crowley entirely missed when they pulled into a picturesque neighborhood.

“So here it is.” Rell smiled. “701 Esther Street. If you wander away and can’t find your way back…. Just look for Mrs. Claus’s unmentionables.”

“Wow, that’s really….”

“Tacky? Mom knows. Mom
wants
it to be.”

“But the rest of the decorations are so nice. They look really expensive and—”

“Oh, yeah, they are. Mrs. Claus’s butt is there to piss off the woman at the end of the street. It’s an ongoing tradition.”

Crowley laughed. “How many years?”

“Um… longer than I’ve been alive. Thirty-something? Mrs. Claus wasn’t ours at first. It was our other neighbor’s, Mrs. Holsey. She really liked it.”

“Okay.”

“So, Mrs. Holsey and the woman at the end of the street, who might be an immortal, just sayin’, get into it one year in the eighties over this cutout. I think Mrs. Holsey’s daughter made it or something. And it turns into this whole thing with the homeowners’ association and then some vandalism and the cops were called out—”

“Wow.”

“Right?” Rell drummed on the steering wheel. His dark blue eyes sparkled as he spoke. “And it all ends in a lawsuit and basically Mrs. Holsey wins. It stood on her lawn for a couple of years, until she got sick and stopped putting out the decorations. Well, lady down the street called Mom some pretty ugly names because she had Jes before she and Dad were
technically
married. Somehow, tacky Mrs. Claus panties are like the best revenge for an angry old lady calling Mom a hussy? Not sure. Can’t remember a year the cutout hasn’t been on the lawn.”

“That’s… actually a really cool story.”

“Oh, my friend, you will find that
all
of my stories are cool stories.”

“I’
M
STARVING
,”
Rell lamented loudly as he shoved his way through the front door. Crowley followed quietly behind. “Mom! I’m here! I’ve got Crowley! And—”

“Would you shut up?” A woman with long red hair stood in the entryway. It was obvious to Crowley that she was normally very lovely. Right now, though, her button nose was red, her eyes puffy, mascara ran down her cheeks, and she was glaring, glassy-eyed, at the both of them.

“Oh, hello, Katie. I see we’ve had our first ugly cry this Christmas. Crowley, this is my sister Katie, Katie, this is—”

She gestured wildly and stomped away without giving him a chance to finish.

“What’s wrong? Is she okay?”

“Oh yeah.” Rell nodded. “It’s kind of like this every single year. When we’re all together, someone is going to end up crying. And not just a little. Like a full-on ugly cry. Usually Jes or Katie. They tend to alternate. I’m man enough to admit, it happened to me.
Once.
But I was still a kid, so don’t judge me too harshly.”

“Tyler too?”

Rell grinned wickedly but didn’t answer.

The house was noisy with unfamiliar voices, and yet it reminded him a little bit of home. Maybe a lot of people’s holidays felt like this. Walking in the door after a long trip, being warm, being surrounded by the boisterous noise of people. From somewhere nearby, another woman hollered at them to shut the door because the fire was going to blow out. Rell rolled his eyes. “They’ve been bossing us around since we could walk.”

Even without Tyler nearby, Rell was an “us.” Crowley wondered what it would feel like to be that close to another person. He loved his sister Alice, but the Lang brothers had shared a womb.

“C’mon, let me show you the best spot in the house.”

Rell led him into the kitchen, where Mrs. Lang was waiting to greet them. Her apron was covered in flour, but she swept them both up into a big hug. Her arms felt nothing like the arms of his own mother, but the hug was nice, all the same.

“Anything for lunch?” Rell asked as Mrs. Lang pulled back.

“Depends,” she clipped pleasantly. “You, uh, made the purchases?”

“She means presents, Crowley, not crack. If you wondered.”

Mrs. Lang gave him a dark look and said, “
Little ears
are nearby.”

“Then yes, Mom, I ‘made the purchases.’”

“Good.” Her smile looked a lot like Rell’s. “Then I made grilled cheese. It’s still warm, I think. Come on, Crowley, I’ll fix you a plate. I use Velveeta, real butter, and mayonnaise. It’s a heart attack waiting to happen.”

“You’re just a little bit too proud of that,” Rell told her. She beamed at him.

“Uh, actually….” Crowley cut in. “I’m really sorry, Mrs. Lang, but I’m…. Could I trouble you for a salad instead?”

She looked momentarily uncertain, as if she’d never heard of someone passing up her gourmet grilled cheese for salad, but then she recovered, patting Rell on the back. “Averell will definitely make you something. He’s my little helper this Christmas. I’ve got to go deliver my pies.”

“Little helper? More like indentured servant,” Rell muttered.

“What’s going on?” Crowley asked as Mrs. Lang hummed her way out of the room, an honest-to-God basket of pies on her arm. It was so domestic.

“Have to earn my bedroom. No big deal. The Toys “R” Us was part of it, too. And I have to clean the garage. I’ve just got a feeling she’s going to keep piling on more.”

“Do you live here?”

“Sort of.” Rell grinned sheepishly. “I’m kinda squatting for the moment.” And then quickly he changed the subject. “So, you want something green to eat, then?”

“Trying to eat healthy.” Crowley patted his belly. He wasn’t exactly
good
at sticking to eating healthy, but if intentions equaled weight loss, he’d have been a stick. “Got to get rid of the bowl.”

“What do you want on your salad?” Rell asked. “And what do you mean, ‘the bowl’?”

Crowley listed off the basics and then said, “Y’know, like the poem. ‘Full of cherries.’”

“What?”

“’Twas the night before Christmas…? You know. Santa’s gut is like a bowl full of cherries.”

“Bowl full of
jelly,
you mean?” Rell asked.

Oh Jesus! That was the line, wasn’t it? Crowley laughed weakly. “A bowl full of cherries would be a whole other thing. Some kind of weird virginity euphemism….”

For a moment Rell’s gaze lingered on Crowley’s midsection. He’d been pulling salad fixings out of the refrigerator and putting them onto the counter, but now he just sort of studied him. And then slowly his gaze rose, up over Crowley’s chest, across his shoulders, down his arms. Everywhere Rell looked, Crowley felt as if he were being touched. And judged. He wished he had a heavy jacket.

Finally, meeting Crowley’s eyes, Rell’s beautiful smile broke across his face and he said, “Don’t see a bowl, cherries, jelly, or otherwise, sorry. You’d have to eat a lot less salad and a
lot
more of Mom’s grilled cheese before you’d come close to a bowl.”

Rell went back to arranging the salad toppings on the counter.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I can just… ya know, if you show me where the stuff is, I’ll take care of it.”

Rell tossed a grin over his shoulder. “Well, I just thought I’d seductively eat the grilled cheese in front of you while you try to be all ridiculous and healthy.” The way Rell’s well-defined lips turned up at the corners made Crowley’s stomach do flip-flops. “Unless, you’re, y’know, lactose intolerant and then I’m really an asshole. But the whole ‘bowl’ thing makes me think no.”