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This is a true story! I've changed the names to protect the guilty!
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I stand with my arms crossed, glaring at my partner, Blair Sandburg, who is currently writhing on our living room sofa. The tears from his laughter stream down his face and his arms are wrapped around his stomach while the deep sounds burst from between his lips.
Now don't get me wrong, usually I like it when Sandburg laughs. He has this deep chuckle that tickles my funny bone. Usually I said, but not when I'm the target of his mirth. Admittedly, he has a good reason to laugh, but still, a guy has to have some dignity. Meaning me, not Sandburg. After all, I'm the one who was stiffed by his own father for Christmas.
I rub my hand down my face and shake my head. Stiffed. Yeah, right. In reality, I didn't have any reason to expect my father to give me gifts at Christmas or at any other time. I'd have been happy for a handshake and a smile from the man. Hell, for many years, I'd have been happy for an acknowledgment of my existence. Now it seems that my old man has accepted me back into the family fold, along with my hairy, talkative, adorable and sexy partner. Seems my father doesn't have the least bit of trouble accepting that Sandburg -- Blair and I are a team in more ways than one, if you get my drift. Yeah, yeah, I know. I'm a big, buff, macho cop. You just haven't met Blair. Anybody with an ounce of sense and a pair of eyes can see why I'm in love with the jerk. But I digress...
Christmas. It was an okay Christmas, all in all, in spite of my dad's gift-giving faux pas. But like I said, he doesn't owe me a thing. So, why is Blair laughing his ass off? It is kind of funny, now that I think about it. We'd gathered around the Christmas tree on Christmas Eve to exchange gifts at my old man's place. I was a bit worried about the entire exchange thing anyway because I had a devil of a time buying my dad a gift. Hell, I hadn't given him a thing since I was ten and made him a wooden box with his initials burned into the lid from when I was in the Boy Scouts. Blair tried to help out; he offered to do the honors, but I begged off. I was his son; he was my father. The least I could do was pick out a present for the old coot.
I wandered around the mall for at least two hours. My head was aching from hearing "It's a Holly, Jolly Christmas" blaring from the loudspeakers in the hallways, mixed with the scents of evergreen, holiday shoppers, babies needing their diapers changed, and perfume counters. I finally found a great store called Hat World. I wandered in and looked around. The walls were covered with dozens of great baseball caps. I love baseball caps. Before you knew it, I bought all of my gifts in one place.
Got Blair a nice red one with the logo of the Cascade Timberwolves embroidered on it. They're the local hockey team from these parts. And besides, wolves, you know? I spied one for Steven next: a tan colored one with a red Cobra on it. I chuckled when I bought that one, because Steven and I had a good laugh (after we had a bit of an argument) about what had happened when we were kids. We shook hands and made up. I knew he'd smile over that cap.
With a roll of my eyes, I snagged the white one with a pink kangaroo on it for Connor. I asked the clerk for a pink dingo but the guy looked at me like I was nuts. He said pink kangaroos were weird enough without pink dingoes cavorting around as well.
The next one was for Simon. Black with red letters: Cops Do It With Handcuffs. I laughed my ass off with that one and I knew Simon would get the joke. Joel was next. His was navy blue with a logo of his favorite baseball team, the New York Yankees.
I wandered around, reading the caps. I tossed a navy blue Jags cap on the counter in my growing pile. Mine was getting a bit ratty, so a new one was an early Christmas present to myself. Now for my father... I was sidetracked for a second by the gray Carolina Panthers cap. The black, blue and white logo called to me so without a second thought, I pulled it from the rack and added it to my selections.
It took a few more minutes but when I allowed myself to free associate my dad to a cap (Yeah, I know Blair would have a field day examining how I used free association to Christmas shop.), one kind of leapt out at me. I picked the black Chicago Bears cap from its holder. Studying the red and white letters, I realized that if my dad had an animal spirit, it would have been a bear. With a smile, I carried the last cap over to the counter and paid for the whole mess with my Visa card. Successful, I ran from the place.
So the hat thing was a success. Everybody seemed pleased with their gifts, and I was happy that everybody else was happy. So when my dad passed me and Steven an identically wrapped box, we both smiled and said thanks. Pops told us to open them, so Steven and I tore into our boxes. I pushed aside the tissue paper and saw -- a bath towel. Honest to God, one bath towel and -- one wash cloth. Not a set of two or four, but one towel (and a wash cloth).
I glanced over at Steven and he was staring at the cream-colored terry cloth he held in his hand. Stuffing it back into its box, Steven gathered up enough graciousness to say thanks to the old man. I did the same, and laid the box on the floor at my feet. I turned my attention back to the gift exchange just when my dad handed Mallory, Steven's fiancée, a small, elegantly wrapped gift. She squealed with delight and hugged Pops before she even opened it. But open it she did, to reveal a pair of dazzling diamond earrings. My eyes were almost blinded by the size and I looked away quickly before the Christmas tree lights reflected in the earrings' facets blinded me. At that moment, my eyes met Blair's. He gave me this -- look. It was pure amusement. The bastard. I knew I was in for a world of teasing when we finally made it home. And I was right.
So we're home, and Blair is falling apart from hysteria over my brother and I getting a single bath towel (and washcloth, don't forget, as Blair keeps reminding me).
"Sandburg," I growl in my most menacing tone.
Blair wipes his hands down his face and glances up at me. "Jim... Jim... Man, give me a sec. A bath towel." Again he lapses into gales of giggles.
"I'm going to take a shower," I say huffily.
Blair's head pops up and he stands quickly, grabbing my wrist. "Think about it, Jim. Who gives anybody a single bath towel? Can't you just see it? I'm giving towels to my friends for a wedding present. Do I pick the one with "Mr." or "Mrs."? Maybe just one that says "Ours"? And what happens if it's in the wash? Do you stand and wait for it to come out of the dryer so you can take a shower?"
"Chief!" I watch with a solemn face as he dissolves into laughter again.
Stifling a hiccup, Blair's eyes meet mine. He must see that I'm -- not happy because he says, "Come on, Jim. Your father gave you and Steven each a towel, while he gave Mallory a couple of thousand dollars of carbon. I mean, I actually don't think he thinks he was being insulting or stingy. I think he really had no clue what to give you. Are you upset?"
"No."
My clipped word makes him raise his eyebrow. "Oh, man. I'm sorry. Really, I am, but it's just so -- silly! You need to laugh over it, or you'll make yourself all bummed out. It's Christmas, Jim. Let's enjoy it."
I roll my eyes and start for the bathroom. "Good night."
"Jim?"
I stop but don't turn. "What?" I answer tersely.
"May I share your new towel?"
"You are a dickhead."
Blair laughs and comes up behind me, slipping his arms around my waist and resting his head in the center of my back. "Yeah, I know, but I'm your dickhead. So may I?"
I finally see the ridiculousness of the situation. Turning, I shake my head and chuckle. "Yeah, Chief, you may share my towel." I slip my arm around his waist and together we walk toward the bathroom. I lean over and lightly kiss his temple. "Thanks," I whisper.
Blair gazes at me. "For what?" he asks quietly.
"For wanting to share with me."
"Any time, Jim. Now let's break in that new towel."
The End.
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Acknowledgements: Thanks to Chris and Lyn for the beta, and to Ankaree for the cool art.