Remembering Christmas (24 page)

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Authors: Drew Ferguson

BOOK: Remembering Christmas
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Theo nodded, too surprised that Rob actually knew that piece of information to reply verbally.
“Whatever you call yourself, dude, I'm always gonna think of you as Teddy Roosevelt Franklin.”
And whenever I think of you that's who I am.
After a few seconds Theo realized that he was actually standing in front of someone he hadn't seen in years, someone he never thought he'd see again, and all he was doing was staring at him blankly. It was time to speak and in full sentences. “Thanks to my history buff of a father.”
“You remember what I always said?” Rob finished his question by repeatedly jabbing a finger into Theo's chest.
I remember most everything you ever said to me.
“About what?”
“Your name!” Rob replied, a bit shocked that Theo couldn't read his mind. “It's a good thing your last name wasn't Cleveland, your father would've called you Grover.”
Yes, Theo remembered that; he also remembered exactly when it occurred, in ninth grade during American history class. But Rob had never said it; he wrote it on a note and passed it to him, he risked getting into trouble just to share a joke with him. “Of course I remember that!” Theo exclaimed. “It made being Theodore Roosevelt Franklin, Jr., a lot easier to bear.”
When Rob smiled, Theo noticed for the first time that there were some crinkles around his blue eyes. The eyes themselves were still youthful, still projected a boyish spirit. The surrounding frame, however, had aged a bit, not much, just enough so that there were some cracks, some wear, nothing substantial, just evidence that the shell wasn't invulnerable, that it had to work a bit harder to maintain its youthful resilience. Theo knew what that felt like.
“So, um, sit down,” Theo said. It was the most obvious thing to say and yet the most difficult. It was also exactly what Rob had been waiting to hear.
“Thanks.”
With the expert skill of a frequent flyer, Rob picked up his tote bag stuffed with Christmas presents and his overcoat in one hand and with the other gripped the handle of his suitcase, spun it around, and timed it perfectly so he sat on the yellow chair at the same time that he compressed the handle back into its slot. He tossed his coat onto his suitcase, placed the tote bag next to it, and leaned back into the chair with the same casual ease Theo remembered. Rob never looked like he exerted himself; everything he did, whether it was make the final basket of a championship basketball game, answer every multiple choice question correctly on a pop quiz, or just sit down, he did effortlessly. It was a gift, and as Theo watched him cross his ankles and fold his hands in his lap it was clear that it was a gift he still possessed.
“I don't think you've aged a day since the last time I saw you,” Rob said, the skin around his blue eyes crinkling even more than before.
Theo didn't respond immediately. He wondered if Rob really was thinking about the last time they were together. He glanced down at Rob's lap and noticed the wedding band wedged in between his clasped hands; he was still married, though Theo had learned from experience that nuptial vows couldn't always prevent a man from remembering things his wife would probably want him to forget. Theo looked closer, saw Rob's fingers were different, still thick and blunt, but the nails were smooth, even, each one identical to the next as if they had been perfectly manicured.
Stop staring, Theo, say something.
“You either,” Theo said. “You look great.”
And it was true. Rob looked a bit older, but even under the harsh lights of the airport lounge he was unmistakably handsome. Except for the few wrinkles around his eyes, his skin was smooth, his nose just as long and important looking as the day they took their graduation pictures, and his lips just as full and curvy as Theo recalled. The flecks of gray hair above his sideburns were completely outnumbered by a head of hair that was otherwise dark brown, and even though he wore his straight hair parted on the left and swooped over like he had when they were kids, adult bangs actually worked on Rob's face; they looked like they belonged there, softly touching his forehead, skimming over his eyebrows, and weren't just a desperate attempt to reclaim his youth. Effortless.
His easy beauty spilled out onto his clothes too. Theo had spent more money than he cared to admit on his own wardrobe, so he knew without touching the fabric that Rob's suit was made of an expensive, lightweight wool and impeccably tailored. Even in this relaxed position, the navy blue material fit perfectly around his shoulders and down his arms, the cuffs rising just enough to reveal a powder blue cuff link, designed to look like some kind of intricate sailor's knot, the color perfectly matching the thin blue stripe of his yellow shirt, a shade of yellow much more appealing than the harsh hue of the chair that he sat in. And then there were the trousers.
My oh my. From ankle to waist the material was smooth despite Rob's languid pose; the suit was a perfect fit around his calves, his thighs, his lap, not too tight, not too loose. Rob was like a gym-fit Goldilocks, the fabric falling across the dips and curves of his muscles perfectly, not hiding or enhancing what lay beneath, just presenting it as it was, not that it mattered—Theo knew what was there. Then Theo realized that Rob knew that Theo knew what lay there too and suddenly his stare made him self-conscious.
In an instant he was transported back to high school gym class, and he was desperately trying to keep his eyes forward, focus on his locker in front of him as he undressed, not steal a glance left or right to optically salivate over a glimpse of a classmate in his underwear or better yet at that perfect moment when all he's wearing is his jock and he's bent over reaching for his gym shorts, but he can't find them because they're buried in the back of his locker underneath some books, so he has to bend over even further and his ass rises just a bit more to reveal the dark hairs that are beginning to spread across the small of his back and in between the crack of his ass like little curly flowers with an aroma that's both pungent and pretty. That was exactly how Theo felt gazing at Rob's crotch. “And your suit looks great too,” Theo stuttered, his eyes finally rising to meet Rob's eyes. “Brooks Brothers?”
Rob smiled, the wrinkles around his eyes deepening. “You can still do that! It's like you're this retail psychic or something.”
Shrugging his shoulders, Theo actually felt his ears grow warm and knew they were turning red. “Just a knack.”
“Freakin' sixth sense is what it is,” Rob declared, lengthening his arms, so his clasped hands traveled away from his lap and toward the insides of his thighs. “You should write a book about it and go on
Oprah,
get all rich and famous.”
“What makes you think I'm not already rich and famous?”
Theo's spontaneous quip made Rob do that thing with his face that he always did, ever since they were kids and he was greatly amused. He raised his shoulders so his head looked like it had been lowered a few inches, at the same time his eyebrows shot up, his chin dropped, and his lips formed a little ‘o'. They referred to it as Robface, and it always made Theo laugh, like it did now. “And I see that you can still do that thing with your face.”
Feigning innocence, Rob asked, “What thing?”
“You know what I'm talking about,” Theo said. “Robface!”
Of course the second Theo mentioned the expression by its formal name, Rob's face became a blank mask, his voice for some reason British. “Teddy, I haven't the foggiest notion what you're blabbering on about.” A perfectly timed second later and Robface emerged, making Theo laugh harder than he had in weeks, making him laugh so hard he didn't care that he was making little sounds, snorts through his nose, making his face scrunch up to advertise every line and wrinkle. Vanity had been replaced by nostalgia.
“You laugh just like my daughter does when I do that face,” Rob announced.
Theo stiffened involuntarily, his hand clutching the rough yellow cloth of the chair, not because Rob had compared his laugh to a little girl's, but because he ruined the privacy of their moment by bringing in an outsider. Robface was theirs, it was something between the two of them and wasn't supposed to be shared or enjoyed by another, regardless if that third party was bound to one of them by blood. “Right,” Theo said, affording the word three syllables. “I heard you had a daughter.”
Rob pushed himself up in his chair; now that the conversation had abruptly shifted to talking about his children, it was time he sat like an adult. “Yeah, a son too.”
“Yup,” Theo replied. “I heard about that too.” Feeling the need to move, Theo crossed his leg like a less seductive and more appropriately dressed Sharon Stone. He then felt the need to speak, thinking his last comment might have been construed as a bit rude. “Him, I mean, you know, your son.”
In contrast, Rob felt no need to adjust his position. However, he was curious about what Theo had said. “So are you keeping tabs on me?”
If Theo had been standing on the patio at 28 Degrees, his favorite bar back home in Boston, he would, without question, have known that Rob was flirting with him, but here without a Blue Moon in his hand sitting in an airport in Conservative Country, USA, he wasn't sure. Theo uncrossed his legs and brushed away an imaginary thread from his jeans to buy himself some time so he could think of an appropriate and hopefully equally ambiguous response, but the only thing he could think of was that he didn't have anything appropriate or ambiguous to say. So he simply spoke the truth. “My mother fills me in on all the Fairfield gossip.”
“Even now that she's living in Phoenix?”
Oh how quickly the tables turn,
Theo thought.
Now who's been keeping tabs on whom?
Chalk it up to maturity or just that he was still off kilter from being ambushed in the airport, but once again Theo opted for honesty over wit. “She talks to her lady friends from church every day, and she still subscribes to the
Home News,
” Theo explained. “She may live two time zones away, but she still has her finger on the pulse of what's happening in Jersey.”
Rob leaned forward, his clasped hands dangling in between his knees. “Is she feeling okay? My mother said she moved there 'cause of her health.”
Theo forced himself not to sink back into his chair despite the fact that Rob leaned in closer, his clean-shaved face about a foot away from his. His tie swayed a bit, and Theo saw that what he had thought were white flowers against a navy backdrop were actually rows of snowflakes, identical in their geometry. Suddenly Theo realized how completely underdressed he was in comparison to Rob's business attire. His jeans, dark brown V-neck sweater, and matching driving mocs were suitable for travel, but not for such an important impromptu reunion. “She's fine,” Theo replied. “My aunt's the sick one.”
Forcing himself to inject a tone of concern into his voice, Theo relayed the details of his Aunt Clare's respiratory ailments, his mother's extreme devotion to and dependence upon her twin, and the remedy for both their diseases being relocation to the Land of the Neverending Sun. Despite Theo's attempt to sound serious and relieved that a solution had been found, Rob knew Theo too well; he instinctively understood that Theo would have preferred his family stayed put and found a distributer who sold inhalers wholesale. “I think it's a conspiracy,” Rob declared.
“No, I don't think so. I always got along with my Aunt Clare.”
Clearly, Rob's instincts were better than Theo's. “Noooo, Teddy,” Rob said, swinging his hand in front of Theo's face, the nonviolent version of a slap to the side of the head. It was what Rob always did when Theo exasperated him, when Theo didn't follow the flow of the conversation. This time was a bit different: When Rob swung his hand, Theo caught a whiff of cologne that rose off his wrist and swirled in front of Theo's nostrils. The scent lingered there until Theo had no choice but to breathe; he inhaled and was surprised to smell something sweet, like vanilla and something denser, something he couldn't identify, but that he liked much more than the cologne Rob used to wear when they were in high school. Back then he drenched himself in something that smelled like the final dying embers of burning wood, heavy and charcoaley and forcibly masculine; this softer smell was much more appealing. “I mean between doctors and real estate agents.”
Theo still had no idea what Rob was talking about, and he couldn't blame it on the olfactory interruption. “I'm sorry, what are you talking about? What conspiracy?”
Jabbing a perfectly manicured finger in the air for emphasis, Rob went on to explain that he thought doctors and real estate agents had concocted an idea to convince wealthy older people to sell their homes and move to Phoenix as a solution to their asthmatic conditions. “I bet you dollars to doughnuts,” Rob continued, “that when a doctor prescribes a move to the Sunshine State he gets a kickback from a local realtor.”
Pursing his lips to keep them from erupting into a smile, Theo was happy to hear that Rob still had some outlandish ideas. He might look and dress like a responsible adult, but very close to the surface was the goofball Theo remembered so fondly. “Whilst I find your theory possibly plausible,” Theo began, adopting the same British accent Rob had previously, “I have a few problems with it.”

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