Christmas

I can’t wait to show him!

I can’t wait to give John my Christmas present to him.

All of December has been going pretty well, with John’s episodes of manic depression and anxiety getting better, and now it’s a few days before Christmas.

But our talks have been really commitment heavy over these last several weeks—not just to each other, but discussing our future plans with adopt a daughter and buy a house.

So, both are in the works. I have been scouting houses for sale, saving up money and I found a very quaint two bedroom, one bathroom home in our town. Very much in budget.

So, paperwork is in effect. Also… I started the paperwork for adoption. So… I’m very excited but nervous. I know that it’s what we both want. I’m committed to John more than I can even express, so imagining a family with him seems so surreal yet the most beautiful thing I ever wanted. Things could still fall through. Adopting as a single parent is going to be hard sale, but I researched it and it doesn’t sound impossible. Unfortunately, since we aren’t married (we can’t get legally married, gay marriage is still illegal unfortunately,) and the state and country doesn’t recognize our partnership, I am the only one on the adoption forms. But, I do add “Avery” on the mortgage paperwork.

In any case, I’m hoping to at least have the house all secured and ready. I’m on the waiting list for adoption, for a baby girl or boy.

I put down that I preferred a girl, but John and I did discuss boy names if we had a boy.

We were thinking of Arlo or Brandon, but we aren’t sure yet.

Either way, Christmas is going to be great. I can’t wait.

I get home after work and start dinner, when I hear John is calling me.

“Heya baby, how’s it going?” I turn down the stove and stir the toasting rice in the pot. “Are you off early?”

“Well, yes. I got off early. How’s everything? I’m at the store.”

I keep stirring the rice, and place the cellphone inbetween my rising shoulder and ear.

“Good. Making dinner. How was work?”

“We had a couple barge inspections and we were laying down rigging. I had to do maintenance. Boring..”

“Tired? I can give you a massage when you get home…” I flirt and I hear him laugh softly.

“That’s sweet of you but I’m not really tired. I’m just getting all the ingredients for Christmas dinner.” I hear him breath in. “So… Edward, what do most people have for Christmas dinner?”

“Hmm,” I smell the rice and realize it’s almost perfectly toasted and smells like fresh baked bread, so I add the water, and put in bouillon and salt. “Turkey. Mashed potatoes. Pie?”

“But should I get a whole frozen turkey?” John asks me in what sounds like excited nervousness, and I smile to myself.

“Just get a breast. Butterball. Get fresh potatoes, onions, garlic and cranberry sauce. I’ll make a pie. Sound good, honey?”

John lets out a relieved breath. “This is our first Christmas together. Ok? You know? It’s just… so…”

“Real?” I say and he laughs.

“Yeah. Really real.”

“Oh baby, I can’t wait,” I see the rice bubbling and lower the heat more, covering it. “Like a perfect pot of rice.”

“Hmm? Rice? What are you talking about?” John asks.

“You know I don’t measure anything when I cook, John. Well, that’s just it. That’s how most relationships work, I think. We take two strangers and mix them in a pot, hoping that letting them stew and mix together under immense heat and pressure will create a work of edible art that is beyond perfect and beautiful. Sometimes, the humidity outside or dryness of the weather might call for more liquid or more heat, less heat or less water…. But that’s just it. Sometimes, life doesn’t give you exact measurements. You need to go off your gut. Which is what I do. Which is why we work together so well.”

I hear John gasp a little and then he says, “I follow the recipe, you bend the rules and add your heart to it. We are opposites yet we both bring the right amount of everything to the pot. Like a pot of perfectly cooked rice. Right?”

I grin, watching the bubbling rice slowly cook.

“That’s rice, baby.”

John laughs. “I’ll be home soon, honey.”

“Well, I hope you’re hungry. I made rice.”

John giggles, saying in a flirty tone, “I bet you did. And it’ll be perfect.”

“No, it’ll be like us. As in… Even better.”

John sighs happily. “See you soon, baby.”

We hung up and I checked the chicken in the oven. Christmas was going to be perfect, I told myself.

Perfect like this pot of rice.