Quite a Spectacle (2 page)

He carefully didn’t say his dad had upgraded because Michael had dented his Beamer.

As they got closer, Michael could fully see the car, and his eyes almost popped from his head. It was a sleek silver Jaguar XF. “Oh my god,” he said. Max nudged him. He shot Max a glare; he wasn’t going to make the mistake of asking to drive this one.

Mrs. Stewart beamed when she saw Max and hustled over to him, throwing her arms around him and pressing kisses to his cheek. “Oh, I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you could make it out this year!”

Max let go of his suitcase to wrap his arms around her in return. He lifted her off the ground as he hugged her. “Mum,” he said, “it’s great to see you.” When he set her back down, she stepped away with a wide smile on her face and set about straightening her designer pantsuit.

Her smile for Michael was smaller, more contained. “Michael,” she said, bussing his cheeks. “It’s lovely to see you again.”

“It’s lovely to see you as well, Mrs. Stewart. How have you been?”

She waved her hand around and said, “Oh you know.” He smiled and nodded, as if he did indeed know.

Mr. Stewart was hugging his son, clapping him on the back of his shoulder and pulling back to shake his hand. “Max,” he was saying, “Good to see you.” He turned to Michael and held out his hand. “Michael.” Michael shook his hand and tried to smile pleasantly.

He was pretty sure it came out more of a grimace. “Mr. Stewart.”

There was awkward silence. Michael fidgeted. Max wrapped an arm around his waist.

“How was the flight?” Max’s mother finally asked.

Next to Michael, Max released a low breath, smiling at his mom. “It was good, not that rough. Long.” He chuckled.

His dad motioned to their luggage. “Let’s get that put away and we’ll head out.” He reached for both their suitcases and went to put them into the trunk himself. Michael made to protest, but Max squeezed his side in a clear message to let his father do it.

“We need to stop for food on the way, Dad. Michael needs to eat.”

Michael could feel his cheeks heating as Mr. Stewart turned to look at him. “That can be arranged,” he said after a moment.

“Thank you, Sir,” said Michael.

He watched as Mrs. Stewart’s lips twitched a little, and he could sense Max rolling his eyes beside him.

As they slid into the car, Max whispered to him, “He’s not a drill sergeant. Loosen up.”

“Easy for you to say,” Michael muttered back. Both of Max’s parents were lawyers. The best in their fields. His mother was a criminal prosecutor, and his father owned his own corporate law firm. To say they were intimidating was an understatement.

He listened to the small talk as Mr. Stewart started the car and pulled out. He was an aggressive driver, very jerky and fast, as he weaved in and out of traffic.

Michael clutched Max’s hand where it rested on the seat between them. He closed his eyes, feeling his stomach lurch.
No, no, no
.

Max said, “Oh no.”

Michael’s stomach said, “Oh yes.”

T
HE
DOOR
whispered open and then clicked closed. Soft footsteps made their way across the room, and a warm hand came to rest on the small of his back. Michael didn’t look up, keeping his palms firmly over his eyes. A hand rubbed his back, little tiny circles going clockwise.

After a few minutes, the hand moved to cup the back of his neck, squeezing lightly, just the barest hint of pressure. The body next to his shifted, brushing along his side as the tap was turned with a squeak and the sound of running water filled the restroom.

Michael’s hands were pried from his eyes, but he kept his lids firmly closed. Cool water splashed his face, fingers running over his forehead in a soft caress. A paper towel was yanked from the holder and patted over his face, soaking up water and sweat. His hair was brushed back from his face, fingers combing through it.

“How do you feel?” Max finally asked, his voice low and soft.

Michael just shook his head.

Hands moved him, pushing him up and back from where he’d been hunched over the sink. He let himself be moved, still keeping his eyes shut tight. He heard shuffling as Max hopped up onto the counter and then he was being pulled back and down, his face coming to rest in the crook of Max’s neck. He nuzzled in, running his nose over Max’s cool skin, inhaling the calming vanilla scent that was Max.

Arms wrapped around him, holding firm, and Max’s chin rested on the top of Michael’s head, a sharp point digging in.

“He’s not mad, you know.”

“I threw up in his luxury car.”

“It’s not like you did it on purpose.”

“He’s going to have to upgrade again. He’s going to have to get a million-dollar car to top this one.”

Max’s legs squeezed him where they bracketed his hips. “Don’t be absurd. You know he sent me in here to ask if you were okay.”

“No, he didn’t.”

Max huffed, ruffling Michael’s hair with his breath. His scalp tingled. “He would have if I hadn’t been going to do it anyway.”

Michael snorted into his neck, and Max wiggled. “Gross,” he said, “I can feel where you just spit on my neck.” Michael kissed his neck. “That’s better.” Michael held tight to him.

“We can’t hide in here all day,” Max said.

Michael didn’t say anything to that.

Max forced Michael’s head back and held his face, framed by both of Max’s hands. He waited ’til Michael reluctantly opened his eyes. Slowly he leaned forward and kissed his forehead, then both his cheeks, the tip of his nose, and his lips, just a quick brush.

“I love you,” Max said. “I love you, and it’s all okay.” He smiled a bit. “Technically this whole thing is my dad’s fault for driving like an asshole. He knows it; I know it; my mum knows it. Nobody is mad at you.” His grin broadened just the tiniest bit. “And your aim was superb. All on the floor mat. He can just toss it and buy a new one. No damage to the car.”

Michael groaned.

“It’s Christmas,” whispered Max. “I want to enjoy it. Where’s the spirit, huh?”

“I threw the spirit up,” said Michael.

Max rubbed their noses together, then shoved him back, hopping down from the counter. “Come on, Mr. Mopey. You’re going to go out there, and you’re not going to apologize anymore, and my father isn’t going to behead you. We’re going to go home and sleep, and tomorrow will be a brand new day, yeah?”

Michael stared at Max’s earnest face and his hopeful smile, the dimple on the left side of his mouth, and the crooked incisor on the right. He looked at the crinkles around Max’s eyes and the wrinkles in the skin on his forehead. “Yeah,” he said, grabbing hold of Max’s hand.

This was just one blip. A tiny little thing. His stomach was much better now, and he doubted Mr. Stewart would be driving so crazily again. He could do this. He could give Max the Christmas he wanted.

They left the restroom hand in hand and made their way out to where Max’s parents were waiting for them by the curb. Michael could see the floor mat poking out from the trashcan on the corner of the street. He turned his gaze away and fought down the apology he could feel rising in the back of his throat.

He had already apologized. Another one wouldn’t fix anything.

He couldn’t stop the blush, though. He could feel his cheeks heating right up, the warmth suffusing his face. A speck of snow landed on his face, and he could feel it melting, the little drop of water sliding down to his jaw.

There wasn’t any chitchat, no exchange of pleasantries. Max’s parents got right in the front seats and the two of them in the back. The drive was silent; the faint sound of the radio on some talk station filtered through the car, but Michael wasn’t paying attention.

He curled up on the back seat, his head in Max’s lap, and closed his eyes. He made sure to kick his shoes off before he put his feet on the seat. Max’s hand burrowed into his hair, alternating between lightly tugging on the strands and scratching his scalp.

Michael had to keep shifting his body, as it was a tight fit. He was tall and the backseat fairly cramped. His head never left Max’s lap, though.

Despite the ache in his body from the weird ways he was contorting himself, he felt much better, and the drive passed much more quickly. He waited to sit up ’til after Max’s parents had vacated the car.

“Are you ready?” asked Max, moving his hand to rest on Michael’s shoulder.

Was he ready to greet Max’s siblings and other assorted family members? No.

“Yes,” he said, smiling tightly. “Who all is in?”

“Just my brother and sister, and my aunt and cousin. Everybody else is coming tomorrow.”

Doable. It was all doable, he told himself as he slid from the car after Max. They grabbed their bags from Max’s father, and Michael made sure to thank him as he took his. Mr. Stewart nodded at him and led them inside.

They had to stop in the entryway to wipe their shoes off and set them aside. Coats went next and were shaken under the doorstep awning to remove any snow that lingered on them. They were hung on pegs in the wall.

The Stewarts’ house was large and spacious and not at all decorated for Christmas. As they made their way into the family room, Michael could see there wasn’t even a tree.

Mrs. Stewart must have seen the question on his face, because she said, “We were waiting for Max to get here. All the children can help decorate. It’ll be like old times.”

Maybe Michael was paranoid, but it felt like there was an unsaid “before you took him away” tacked on there. He smiled despite that, making a little “ah” sound. Max beamed at his mother though and dropped his bag to hug her. “What a lovely idea,” he said, “We can introduce Michael to all the old family traditions.”

“Yes, won’t that be interesting?” muttered Max’s father.

Michael looked the other way as if he was examining the wall. “Are we staying in Max’s old room?” he asked after a moment.

“Yes,” answered Mr. Stewart. He looked like he was about to say something else, but footsteps thundered down the stairs and suddenly Max was being lifted into the air in a tight hug.

“Oi!” he shouted, his hands clapping down on his brother’s shoulders. “Put me down, wanker!”

Michael smirked, watching the two of them tussle like children. Max’s sister, Catherine, came to stand by his side. Out of all the Stewarts, other than Max, she was the one Michael was the most comfortable with and the only one he really talked to.

She nudged his side with her elbow. “I’m surprised to see you here.”

He nudged her back. “You’re not the only one.”

They watched as Max moved on to greet his aunt and cousin. Their voices were loud and bouncing off the walls in their excitement. Max’s brother—Darren—came over and thrust his hand out. “Michael,” he said.

Michael shook his hand, well aware of just how much Darren resembled Mr. Stewart. “Darren,” he said, “Good to see you.”

Darren dropped his hand, looking him up and down. Michael withheld his sigh and let him look. “Dad said you threw up in the Jag,” Darren finally said.

Michael closed his eyes. Catherine hissed, “Darren!”

Rubbing his temple Michael was about to try and defend himself when Max came over and joined their little group. He shoved Darren out of the way with his hip and gathered Catherine up into his arms. “How’s my favorite sister?” he cooed at her.

She snorted, squeezing her arms tight around his neck. “I’m your only sister.”

Max slanted Darren a look and pressed a kiss to Catherine’s forehead. “You’re right. I should have said favorite sibling.”

“Hey now!” Darren whacked Max’s arm, causing Max to jump away and chuckle.

He maneuvered himself so he was between Michael and Catherine, an arm around both their waists. “Were you bothering my man?” he asked Darren.

Darren had the grace to look sheepish as he rubbed his fingers along his jaw. “I asked him about the Jag. Dad said something….”

Michael watched as Max’s eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. “Dad said something? When did he even have the time?”

Darren shrugged. “He texted me. Let me know you were running a bit behind.” He turned more toward Michael. “He didn’t mean it in a mean type of way or anything.”

Michael waved his hand carelessly through the air, doing his best to keep his face blank. “It’s all fine.”

Going by the tightness in Max’s face, it wasn’t all fine. Michael squeezed Max’s side and leaned his hip into him. Catherine was looking at them both with concern, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth.

Oblivious to the tense atmosphere, Max’s aunt and her son made their way over. His aunt was beaming wide as she went up on tiptoes to bestow a kiss on Michael’s cheek. He blinked in shock, his hand coming up to touch the skin of his cheek briefly.

“Hello,” he said, surprised.

She was still smiling widely up at him. “You must be Michael,” she said. “It’s so good to finally meet you.”

Max withdrew his arm from around Catherine so he could motion with it. “This is Mary. My mum’s sister.”

Michael was more than a little relieved he’d never met her before. Here was someone whom he could make a good first impression on. He took her hand and brought the back of it to his lips, pressing a brief kiss to the slightly wrinkled skin. “Pleasure to meet you,” he said.

Beside him Max was rolling his eyes and Catherine looked amused, but Mary was blushing and her eyes were crinkling at the corners with her smile.

Michael beamed at her, and her blush grew even darker as he let her hand go. She swatted at Max. “You’ve got yourself a charmer there,” she tittered.

Max shot him a sidelong look. “Yes,” he said, “I apparently have.”

Her son stepped forward, his lips quirked in amusement. He held his hand out for Michael to shake. “I’m Joe. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Michael shook his hand, chuckling a little bit. “All good I hope?”

“Max sings your praises,” Joe assured.

Turning to Max, Michael pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You sing my praises, huh? That’s good to know.”

Groaning, Max clapped his free hand over his eyes. “God, why did you have to tell him that? Now his ego is going to be massive!”