Unspoken - 22. Babbo Natale

The soft rapid clicking of the wheel was the only sound for a few seconds, slowing as numbers and time passed, before coming to stop on the number 7.

Bryce picked up the little blue car, and moved it seven spaces, looking at the space. It was a Payday space, so Nicolo counted bills from the bank and handed them over. It was then his turn to go. His car was also blue. I chose a pink one just for giggles. Up to this point only Nicolo had gotten married, only Bryce had a decent career, and I had a decent house. We were all ‘winning’ in different little ways. I had a feeling Bryce would end up winning this game too, just as he’d won Clue and Monopoly before this. Normally I won Clue, because I was meticulous in my notes, but Bryce had managed to guess correctly in less than a third of the time the game normally takes. He couldn’t explain how he’d come to the conclusion he did, but he was correct regardless, so that was that. Nicolo normally won whenever Monopoly was played. He’d learned money and asset management from papà Lorenzo, who was the current ceo of the Investimenti Bucello, the family-owned venture capital and investment banking firm. He somehow managed to be both fortuitous and successful, and still maintain ethics and fantastic employee relations. This was why though we discussed all our financial decisions, it was Nicolo who formulated the plans and executed them once we’d come to agreement. This time though, Bryce kicked the shit out of us. We spent most of the game “borrowing” money back and forth to keep ourselves in the game as Bryce took it all. That didn’t work for long.

So now we were playing Life, and we still had Chutes & Ladders, Sorry!, and Mouse Trap to go for this little marathon. We normally played board games together three or four times a month, sometimes with guests, such as Dave and Clara, their boys Justin and Jamie, or Bryce’s other friends Kyle and Ethan, sometimes just the three of us.

It was December 25, and we were doing exactly what Bryce wanted to. Back in mid November, as we explained that we’d be taking a long weekend to Williamsburg for Thanksgiving with my side of the family, we also explained that we normally flew to Italy for the Bucello Christmas Gathering. We couldn’t go this year because under no circumstances were we leaving Bryce behind, and we couldn’t get him a passport until the adoption was finalized. So we asked if there was anything he wanted to do, and what he wanted for Christmas. He just looked at us with his adorable somehow-still-innocent face and said “I just want to spend time with you, I don’t want any gifts. Maybe we could spend the day playing board games?”

So we did. Which led to Bryce absolutely wrecking us so far. The coffee table had been pushed away from the couch and loveseat, and we were sat on the floor around it, Bryce and I on one side, Nicolo on the other. None of us had bothered to dress, we were all comfortable enough in underwear.

We were halfway through Life when Bryce asked us if Santa Claus was real. I mean, perfect time for it, the day of the holiday as opposed to mid July, but Bryce’s upbringing before he became ours being what it was, I don’t suppose there could have been a better time. Nicolo and I shared a look.

“Well, piccolo, in Italia we call him Babbo Natale. But that does not matter. What matters is what you believe. What do you believe?”

Bryce absently shrugged a shoulder as he spun the wheel, taking his turn. “I dunno. Jus and Jamie says he’s real, but Kyle and Ethan say he’s not. He’s supposed to bring gifts to good people and good kids, but nothing showed up for us, and, well, I dunno. I want to think that people who do good things get good things, but how would he tell the difference between people who do good things because they’re a good person and people who do good things because they want a reward?” He trailed off, shrugging again and looking down at his lap. Nicolo and I shared another look.

I reached to my right and tapped the table in front of Bryce, prompting him to look at me. I nodded towards Nicolo, signing ‘B, go sit in his lap.’

He gave me a half-smile, shuffling on knees around the coffee table. Nicolo grabbed him as soon as he was close enough, giving him a little tickle as he planted the boy in his lap, hugging him tight with Bryce’s back to his chest. He kissed the top of his head.

“Mio figlio,” Nicolo began, “when we go to Firenze next year, we will join in on the Bucello traditions, which is when it would normally be explained, ma penso che… I should explain Babbo Natale to you. At least how Il Bucello see him. We speak of Babbo Natale as a person, but we see him and hold him in il cuori, our hearts, more as un aspetto, an aspect of Gesù Cristo. A representation of giving, of famiglia, of amore. There is molto ferito in the world, yes, but there is also molto amore, and Babbo Natale reminds us of the part of us that knows it is better to share and give freely without thought of self gain. Babbo Natale is the part of us that wants to help others. That values giving. That values love. We give our love to you senza condizioni, and you give your love to us anchio senza condizioni. To us, you are as Babbo Natale.” He kissed the top of Bryce’s head. “Capito?”

Bryce’s face scowled up in thought. It was such an adorable scowl I fought not to laugh.

“I… think so. So if… if I bought a gift for Jus and Jamie, and put From Babbo Natale on it… it would mean that it doesn’t matter who it came from? What matters is that it’s a gift from someone who cares?”

I nodded, and Nicolo tickled Bryce again, making him smile and giggle his beautiful smile. “Tu sei ragione, tesoro. As long as you hold that love for others in here,” he pressed a palm to Bryce’s chest, “nel tuo cuore, then Babbo Natale will always be real.”

Bryce turned his head, nuzzling Nicolo’s chest, “Ti amo, papà. Felice natale.” He whispered.

Nicolo kissed the top of his head again, and squeezed him tight. “Ti amo, Bryce. Felice natale.”

Bryce wriggled in his grip until he was released, and he crawled around to me. I turned to him, and he grabbed one of my hands, and held it flat against his warm chest, putting one of his own flat against my chest. “I love you, dad. Felice natale” he smiled at me.

I nodded to him, we released each-other, and I pulled him into a hug too before he could get away, ending it by tickling at his sides.

His laugh was to me, like Nicolo’s, so beautiful and so precious. He turned back to the table. “We need to get back to the game. I’m winning at Life!”

All I could do was silently giggle to myself. Yes you are, Bryce. Yes you are.