Hazard and Somerset Gregory Ashe (the little red hen ebook txt) 📖

A child shot through the room like a meteor.

“—trash,” Noah said, “but you’re the ones hung up on this Santa thing.”

“Hey, my mom’s on a limited income. It’s not her fault.”

“We aren’t hung up on anything,” Hazard said.

“Definitely not,” Somers said.

“Oh,” Noah said, “so you agreed on the Santa thing.”

“Yes,” Hazard said.

At the same time, Somers said, “We compromised.”

“We didn’t compromise,” Hazard said. “I refused to do it on ethical principles.”

“We agreed to disagree,” Somers said.

“No, we didn’t.”

Somers took a big gulp of sangria; a flush ignited in his cheeks. “We disagreed to disagree.”

Hazard was smart enough to leave that alone.

“I don’t get it,” Noah said, sticking his fingers back under the spray. “What’s the big deal, Emery? It’s half an hour, max. If it fit me, I’d do it, but we got the suit for you. The kids love it. Every year they go crazy for it. Even Robbie and Raquel have fun with it, and this year, Evie’s going to love it.”

“The Santa myth perpetuates—” Hazard began.

“Anglocentrism and socio-political hegemony,” Somers blurted, his cheeks bright, and then gulped more sangria.

Hazard frowned; when Noah turned back to the water, and with Rebeca focused on the steamer, he reached for the stem of Somers’s wineglass, but Somers slid it out of reach.

“Yeah, yeah,” Noah said, “but, like, really. Why won’t you do it? Kids don’t know anything about cultural hegemony, and don’t give me that line about parents lying to their kids. Every parent lies to their kid at some point.”

Cheeks heating, Hazard decided not to say anything here either.

“Leave him alone,” Rebeca said. “Now you’re pressuring him.”

“I’m not,” Noah said. “I just want to know why. I mean, here’s how I see it: you’re actually hurting Evie by not giving her a Santa experience.”

“Excuse me?” Hazard said.

“He didn’t mean it like that,” Somers said, touching the back of Hazard’s hand. “Cool it.”

“Uh, not hurting her, but, maybe, um. Becs? A little help?”

“No way. This is your mess.”

“I just meant,” Noah said after a glare at his wife’s back, “that it’s nice for kids to fit in. If she doesn’t believe in Santa, if you tell her from when she’s little that he’s not real, she’s going to, I don’t know, be different from the other kids. They might even resent her, you know, if she’s the one telling everybody there’s no Santa, ruining it for them. What? Becs, it’s a valid point.”

“Ree,” Somers said, trying to catch his sleeve again.

Hazard drained the glass of sangria, knowing the wine would kick pretty hard in a few minutes. “I’m going to check on Evie.”

IV

DECEMBER 24

MONDAY

6:26 PM

INSTEAD OF SEEEKING out his daughter, though, Hazard found himself standing on the porch. In the clear night sky, hundreds of star burned. Exhaust drifted across the skyline, puffing out of flues and vents as home furnaces struggled to keep up with the cold. Mrs. Kasperick’s house across the street leaked light from every window, and behind the sheers, the silhouettes of men and women and children moved. Normally alone, tonight Mrs. Kasperick was enjoying the company of her large extended family. Christmas was a time for families.

Hinges squeaked behind Hazard, and then the sound of the door shutting. Soft footsteps moved across the cement porch, and then Somers was standing beside him, bundled against the cold and holding up Hazard’s coat.

“Oh. Thanks.” Slipping into the coat, Hazard said, “I’m fine.”

“Ok.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Great.”

“You don’t have to stand out here.”

“Very good news.”

Then Somers slid an arm around Hazard, pressing against him, head resting on his shoulder. A moment later, Hazard slid an arm around Somers and pulled him tight. Down the street, a porch light flicked on, and then a door opened, and a man stumbled out, laughing, obviously drunk, while a mousy shadow came after him, calling thanks back to the house they had just left.

“Do we know them?” Hazard asked.

“No, I think they’re just somebody’s guests.”

“I mean the people who own that house.”

“I don’t know them.”

Hazard took deep breaths: the frigid air had its own taste, a mineral cold that made him think of snow, but then he could smell Somers too, his hair and skin and cologne, but also the sangria—wine and pineapple and pear.

“Just so we’re on the same page,” Somers said, “I am not at all worried about Evie becoming a pariah because you don’t indulge capitalism’s behavioral-control fantasy.”

“Noted.”

“I’m being serious. I just think Santa is fun, and while I understand the objections, I don’t agree with them.” He shivered under Hazard’s arm. “That’s ok, right?”

“What?”

“If I don’t agree with you?”

“Of course. Since when is it not ok for you to have your own opinions?”

“Uh, we got engaged this morning.”

“Somehow,” Hazard said, “I get the feeling that a ring isn’t going to keep you from telling me exactly how boring you find the Napoleonic Wars, or why gorgonzola is a bastard cheese, or how low I should wear my running shorts.”

“You’ve got a great ass,” Somers said with a shrug. “People deserve to see it in all its fully-molded-Spandex glory.”

“It sounds like you’re still perfectly able to voice your opinions.”

“Here’s my vote: we duck out early, before they get into the Santa stuff. Then it doesn’t even have to be a thing with Evie. I’m not going to reinforce it at home, but I know Cora talks to her about it, and they do it at school, so I’m not going to go against them either.”

The comment hung in the air; when Hazard exhaled, it turned into a laugh, the breath frosting in the air just like the exhaust from the flues. “Ok, message received.”

“What message?”

“I’m not going to say anything, John. I won’t ruin it for her. It’s not fair to her, to make her an outsider like that.”

“Stop it.”

“And it’s also not fair because she’s already heard about Santa from her parents, from her teachers, her friends. It’s ok. Contrary to popular belief, I can keep my opinions to myself.”

Somers made a noise.

“Don’t be a