Patchouli For Christmas by Bren Christopher Page B

His eyes were wide and serious. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Michael felt it in the warm fluttering in his belly and in the rapid beat of his own heart. Excitement. Anxiety. Hope for connection. Fear of falling too fast and too hard.

Chapter Three
     
    Michael paused on the stoop of the old brownstone in Brooklyn. A green wreath with red bows decorated the door. He could hear the kids arguing and the TV in the background. It sounded like it usually did when he visited.
    After staying the night at Jude’s, he’d left early in the morning and then spent the day getting caught up with work. He felt tired, but last night had certainly been worth it. He felt less certain about the dinner date they’d made for that evening.
    Knowing he’d have a few hours free early in the evening after he wrapped up some things and before picking up Jude, he’d left one more message on Lauren’s phone to let her know what time he planned to visit. That gave her the opportunity to call him back and tell him not to come. Or to be gone when he got there. He still worried he might come across as stalkerish, but then again, what kind of friend didn’t offer to help when someone they knew was going through a hard time?
    True, he and Lauren weren’t exactly BFFs. They only saw each other on family occasions, but they had always gotten along well. He appreciated that she accepted him as he was and encouraged the kids to spend time with him.
    Anyway, he wasn’t just a friend. He was the uncle of those kids screaming at each other about hogging the PlayStation. Smiling, he recalled the fights every Christmas over whose new game got to be played first. Then his smile faded. Would he be there this Christmas morning when they opened their presents? Would their father?
    He rang the bell. The door opened almost immediately. Did that mean she’d been watching him from the window? He winced inside. He sure hoped not. No telling what his face had looked like.
    “Hey,” she said. She didn’t smile at him. She seemed even more tired than he felt. “Come on in.”
    He hung his jacket in the hall closet and followed her into the living room past the Christmas tree in the corner. The kids sat on the couch in front of the TV, playing games.
    The older one spotted him first and ran to him, yelling, “Uncle Mike!”
    Dougie threw his arms around Michael’s waist. Michael ran his fingers through the kid’s hair affectionately. They were the perfect ages. Doug Jr. had just turned nine and his little brother, Davie, was seven. Old enough to do fun stuff, but not yet at that phase when they didn’t want to be seen in public with parents—or uncles.
    By then the other one was on him too, and they had his waist locked in a stranglehold.
    “Ugh.” His breath left him with a gasp as they tightened their grips. “You guys are getting too strong. You’re gonna squeeze me to death, like those boa constrictors we saw on TV last time I was here. Remember?”
    They did, and Davie went to get his rubber snake to throw on him while he pretended to recoil in horror. Then they pushed him onto the couch, and before he knew it, he had a controller in his hands and was battling the monster du jour. He didn’t even know what they were playing, but they explained what he was supposed to do in extremely loud voices. They shrieked with laughter every time he got his butt kicked, so he guessed that made it worth looking like an old idiot uncle.
    As he played, he saw Lauren out of the corner of his eye as she passed through the living room now and then, carrying laundry or bringing them snacks. Did she think the kids would distract him all afternoon? He wanted to speak to her, and she knew it. If she had led him straight to the living room in an effort to avoid that, it wasn’t going to work for long.
    He wanted to talk to the kids too, to see how they were coping and to give them what reassurance he could that both he and their father would always be there