The Cardmaker and the Caretaker - 17. Chapter 17 Family Sunday Morning

As Peter had predicted, morning brought a small body wriggling in between them and settling down with a satisfied sigh. When Patrick opened his eyes, he found two wide-awake blue orbs trained on his face. Michael didn’t say anything, but when Patrick smiled and whispered ‘Good morning’ the boy grinned back and repeated the greeting.

“Good morning, Papa.” His voice was almost inaudible and he held a finger to his lips to tell Patrick they needed to be quiet. The cardmaker nodded; his breast swelling with pride at the considerate behaviour of such a young child. A glance over at Peter showed he was still fast asleep. Looking back at Michael, Patrick noticed the boy had brought a small car with him. He was driving it up and down the slope of the duvet and Patrick moved his arm to provide an alternative, steeper route.

They spent several minutes playing a silent game where the cardmaker created ridges, dips and swells for the car to navigate. It ended when he managed to surprise Michael with a sink hole which made the car disappear. The delighted giggle of the boy woke Peter up, and the grumble and movement as he turned on his side, got their immediate attention.

“Far, Far, Papa fik min bil til at forsvinde,”[1] Michael complained, but his tone of voice told both adults he was simply telling his Dad about the game rather than actually resenting the sudden loss of his toy.

“Sorry about waking you up, babe. We were having fun.”

“Fun, fun car, fun game, fun Papa.” Michael grabbed on to an English word he knew, and Patrick admired his effort to combine it with other simple words to be part of the conversation. The boy’s genuine appreciation of their connection warmed his heart.

“Yes, we had a fun game with the car. Here it is,” he replied and Michael reacted with an exuberant hug, before grabbing the toy. He sat up and began driving the car on both duvets, seemingly oblivious to the talk of the two men.

“Did you sleep well?” Patrick enquired.

“Mmhmm, someone wore me out last night. What’s the time?”

Patrick turned to look at his alarm clock. “Nine-thirty. Time to get up I guess.”

“Yeah, I could do with some breakfast.” A muted rumble of Peter’s stomach underlined his words and Patrick chuckled. Michael’s giggle joined in.

“Breakfast? Morgenmad! Pandekager?”

“Ja, morgenmad. Er Moster oppe?”[2]

“Ja, men hun vil i kirke.”[3]

“OK. Michael says Moster wants to go to church. We’ll have to make our own breakfast.”

“She doesn’t expect us to go with her?” Patrick turned to Michael, who was trying to get his attention. “Yes, OK, pancakes. Panekaer,” he said, trying to mimic the Danish word. It earned him a happy squeal and a hug.

“You’re spoiling him, but I don’t mind as long as I get pandekager too.”

“Of course, my hungry hunk. Anyway, what about church?”

“No, she knows I’m not religious, even if I’m still a member of the Lutheran Church, like most Danes. I think she’s going with Mr. Archibald; they were discussing the difference between Church of England, Scotland and Denmark yesterday afternoon.”

Both men got out of bed, and Michael took the opportunity to have a quick bounce. He pushed their duvets into a pile, made a few jumps and dove face-first into the soft mountain while laughing happily. Seeing him so exuberant and with a pink flush on his cheeks, it was hard to imagine he was seriously ill. This time Peter didn’t stop their son’s antics the way he had when the cardmaker had shown them his room. Was it only a week ago?

Patrick went over to his closet and pulled out the luxurious bath robes he’d bought for them. Handing Peter the dark blue one he donned the green robe. “I’ll go make some panekaer for us.”

“OK, I’ll get the little scamp dressed.” Peter scoped up Michael and carried him off with Patrick following. Twenty minutes later they were enjoying a leisurely meal of pancakes, fruit and whipped cream. Patrick instigated another game, where they would take turns to point at something and say the Danish or English word, and then repeating after each other.

‘Plate – tallerken.’

‘Gaffel – fork.’

‘Spoon – ske.’

’Kniv – knife.’

“Oh that’s similar,” Patrick observed, and Michael looked at his dad who translated. The boy nodded and looked back at his papa for the next word.

‘Glass – glas.’ They grinned at each other at the similar word pronounced almost identically.

The game went on and kept the boy at the table, rather than running off to watch TV. Michael would eat small bites whenever Patrick gave him the fork with a piece of fruit or some pancake. Peter was visibly pleased at the amount Michael ate and drank, included a large glass of milk. He showed it by leaning down to kiss his fiancé on the way to get more coffee.

“Aaad, kys,” Michael intoned, and Patrick did his best not to blush or laugh. He simply replied ‘eeew, kiss’ and went on with the language lesson.

‘Mouth – mund.’

‘Næse – nose.’

‘Eyes – øjne.’

When Michael finally refused to play and eat more and went off to watch his beloved cartoons, Peter told Patrick to relax and let him deal with the tidying.

“I’ll go get dressed and bring my laptop to write an email for Fiona.”

“Good idea. I’ll get dressed too.”

After several aborted attempts to explain his reasons for contacting Fiona, Patrick decided to keep his message simple and wrote:

Dear Fiona
This is your cousin Patrick Kern, Elizabeth and Charlie’s son. We met at my parents’ funeral. I’m sorry for not getting in touch with you before now. I would like to have a talk, if that’s OK with you. We can meet at a place of your choosing, or you can call me at the number written below.
Best regards
Patrick

He added his mobile number and the contact details for the card shop. Looking up he found Peter sitting across the table nursing another cup of coffee.

“Would you like to read my message to Fiona?”

“If you want me to.” At Patrick’s nod, Peter put his cup down and came around to stand behind him to read. His strong hands kneaded the cardmaker’s tense shoulders and Patrick sighed and relaxed into the warmth of his lover’s touch.

“It’s short but to the point and lets her decide what she wants to do next. But you realize she may turn up, unannounced, at your shop?”

“Yes, but that’s OK. I’m comfortable there, and I doubt she would make a scene. We’ll hardly be able to do more than polite greetings and arranging to have a talk later.”

Peter had moved back to sit across from him and nodded his agreement. “By the way, I never said, but I’m grateful you’re not going to the shop today.”

Patrick had hung a note on the door before they left for the restaurant, proclaiming the shop was closed all Sunday, but he could be contacted by email or phone. He wanted to have a whole day with his family before Michael started his hospital stint.

“You’re welcome. I look forward to spending time with you and Michael, and Grethe of course.”

He sent off the message to Fiona before he could lose his nerve and closed his laptop.

“There, all done. What a relief.”

“I guess I ought to call my mother,” Peter said, making a face. “She should be back from church now.”

“Is she religious?” Perhaps this was being the inability to accept her son marrying another man?

“No, not particularly. But her two best friends sing in the choir at the local church, and every other Sunday she goes there to hear them and have lunch with them afterwards. It’s been a tradition for years, and I know they’ll be at her place today.”

“Won’t she be too busy to chat with you if she has guests?”

“Yes.” A certain grim satisfaction showed up in Peter’s eyes.

“Oh.” Patrick didn’t know whether to laugh or feel sad.

“Besides, one of her friends is my godmother, and I can ask to say hello to her.” He dug out his cell phone and glanced at Patrick for permission. The cardmaker nodded and reopened his laptop to signal his intent of occupying himself elsewhere.

“Hej Mor, det er Peter,” the Dane said, and Patrick could easily translate the words to ‘Hi, Mum, it’s Peter.’ The subsequent short conversation was clipped, included Michael’s name, and had Peter listening more than speaking. Soon, he clearly asked to talk to somebody else, and his voice lost its tension when he greeted the other person. He even laughed a couple of times before ending the phone conversation with a “Det skal jeg nok. I må hygge jer.”[4]

As Peter put the cell phone back in his pocket Patrick got up and went over to him. This time, the blond man was the one to lean back and gradually relax as his lover massaged his shoulders.

“How did it go?”

“About as expected, and the presence of my godmother helped. I simply told Mum we were engaged, but our focus right now was on providing Michael with the best possible health care, so all discussion of visits to Denmark or marriage was on hold. She took the hint and went into her ‘concerned grandmother’ role which is one she likes to display in company.”

“But surely she genuinely cares about Michael?” Patrick wondered why Peter seemed almost sarcastic; it didn’t fit his generous nature.

“Yeah, you’re right, she does. But she also likes the sympathy and interest the topic creates, and I’m sure she’s been milking it for all it’s worth. ‘My poor little boy having to go through all this in a foreign country among strangers and if things go wrong I may never see him again. But of course even if Michael gets well, Peter seems determined to abandon his family and live in London, and I miss them so much already, but what’s a helpless mother to do?’ And she’ll wipe her eyes and look all dejected, and her friends, who’re kind and patient, will coddle her and spend all afternoon trying to cheer her up.”

Patrick had no way of knowing whether Peter’s depiction of his mother’s behaviour was accurate or fair, but he decided it didn’t matter. Why should he defend a woman he had never met, who might never accept her son’s love for him or play an important role in their lives? His job was to support Peter and make him feel better.

“What about your godmother, what did you tell her?” To his relief the change of topic made Peter sit up straighter and laugh.

“Oh, Rebecca is a terrible gossip but also romantic and she was gushing all over the place about us. I had to promise to send her photos of you, us, the rings and Michael. She promised me to be there for Mum and give her positive input and brighter thoughts about the future.”

“Is she a therapist or something?”

Peter laughed again and pulled him down for a kiss. “Close enough, she’s the local vicar’s wife and involved in charity work, self-help groups and support for people who have lost a family member. Apart from you and Grethe she’s the kindest person I know, and I’m grateful my dad suggested they chose her as one of my godparents.”

“You have more than one?” Patrick wasn’t sure, but he thought that was unusual.

“Yeah, I have four, which is the usual number in the Danish state church. Only, we use another term, fadder, which means a witness of the christening, not godmother or godfather. We do have similar words, gudmor or gudfar, about the person who holds the child and answers for them, but nowadays that’s usually one of the parents. But Rebecca has been close to the family all my life, and I see her as an extra aunt, so calling her godmother seems appropriate.”

“OK, that makes sense.”

“What about you? Do you have a godmother or a godparent?” Peter asked casually, but Patrick knew he had to be honest.

“Uhm, no because I’ve never been christened, only named.” To his surprise the Dane met the declaration with curiosity rather than censure. Patrick had been warned by his parents to think twice before volunteering this information, which was why he’d pretended with the nosy neighbour when she asked which church he belonged to.

“OK, does that mean you’re not a Christian or what?”

“I guess you could say so, although my dad was Church of England. But my mum wasn’t and he respected her wishes. It was part of what made his family furious with her and him. My parents didn’t have a church wedding and they never had me christened. When I was old enough to understand they explained and said I should make my own choice. But by then I knew I was gay, and it didn’t make sense to join a community which has been less than enthusiastic about LGBT people.”

“But what about Christmas? I remember us discussing the differences in British and Danish traditions.” Peter was more bewildered than surprised, to Patrick’s relief.

“We celebrated Christmas, and Easter too, but religion didn’t really feature into it. My mum always said most of the traditions around those holidays were more pagan anyway, and she didn’t have anything against Jesus, only the church.”

“In Denmark, the early Christian church tried to introduce the word Christmas, Kristmesse in Danish. But the old term Jul persisted in the Nordic countries, similar to the word Yule, I guess. I agree about the traditions, by the way. Santa Claus, Christmas trees, gifts and lots of food and sweets are more about fun and indulging, not that there’s anything wrong with that.”

“Yule sounds better than Christmas. I’ll have to learn all the Danish words for those things.”

“Michael will be more than happy to teach you. Especially juletræ med julegaver, the tree with the gifts underneath.”

“Speaking of our son, let’s go see what he’s doing; it’s awfully quiet in there.” Patrick loved the huge smile, hug and kiss Peter rewarded him with every time he called Michael ‘our son.’

When they walked into the living room, they found out why there were no cartoon sounds. Michael had muted the television and was napping on the sofa. He was clutching the small car from earlier in his hand, and three other cars were lined up next to him. Patrick retrieved the remote and switched off the TV. Peter sat down on the other sofa and beckoned, and the cardmaker joined him. They sat there quietly with their arms around each other, content with watching their sleeping boy and each other’s company.

Eventually, Michael stirred and opened his eyes. When he saw his dads he smiled and held out his arms. Peter went over and picked him up and brought him back to sit with them.

“Hvad skal vi lave i dag?”[5] Michael said, and Patrick had heard the question often enough to know the boy was asking about their plans for the day.

“Hygge os med hinanden,”[6] his dad replied, and then grinned at the man next to him. “Be together and ‘hygge’ all day and night is what I like.”

The heated look left Patrick in no doubt the ‘cosy time together’ would include more of the steaming hot sex they’d enjoyed the previous two nights. He agreed completely with his lover’s plans, but decided to add a word of caution.

“I’m in favour of your plan, but our son might decide it includes sleeping with his dads.”

“No problem, I’m sure we’ll need a shower before bed.”

“Hvad siger Papa?”[7]

“At du skal bestemme, hvor du vil sove i nat.”[8]

”Yes!” was the boy’s enthusiastic reply, but then he quieted down and looked from one to the other.

“What is it?” Patrick was immediately worried about Michael not feeling welcome in their bedroom. He should never feel he was losing out due to his dad finding a partner. For the first time the cardmaker felt frustrated over his inability to communicate directly with the boy and not understanding what he was saying.

“Hvad er der i vejen, Michael? Du må gerne sove i vores seng, hvis du har lyst.”[9]

”Farmor siger, at det er forkert. Hun siger, at to mænd ikke skal sove sammen, og at jeg slet ikke skal være i den samme seng som Papa og dig.”[10] The boy’s voice was low and uncertain, and whatever he was saying upset Peter enough to make Patrick queasy from the rage and disgust radiating from the blond Viking

Surprisingly, nothing of his fury could be heard or seen when he replied to Michael.

“Hvornår har du talt med farmor om det?”[11]

”Det var mens de der mænd satte opvaskemaskinen i. Hun ringede, men moster Grethe havde ikke tid. Men så ville farmor gerne snakke med mig.”[12]

”Nå, men farmor ta’r altså fejl. Patrick og jeg skal giftes, så det er helt naturligt, at vi sover sammen. Du er vores søn, og vi synes, det er hyggeligt, når du kommer ind til os lige som i morges. Og hvis du er syg, eller ved specielle lejligheder, må du også gerne sove i vores seng, ligesom hjemme i Danmark. OK?”[13]

”OK, far. Jeg vil nok gerne sove i jeres seng i nat.”[14]

”Du behøver ikke bestemme dig nu, vi finder ud af hvad du helst vil i aften. OK?”[15]

As their conversation ended, Patrick saw Michael cheer up and he smiled in relief. When the boy looked over at him for confirmation, he nodded enthusiastically as he instinctively knew he should endorse whatever Peter had said. Delighted smiles back from both his blond Danes showed he had gotten it exactly right.

Just then there was the sound of the key in the door and moments later Moster Grethe called out. “Hello, anybody home?” Michael immediately jumped down and ran out to greet her. Patrick took the opportunity to hug his fiancé fiercely.

Peter spoke fast and with clenched teeth. “My dear mother apparently talked with Michael on Friday and told him two men shouldn’t sleep together and that he shouldn’t be in the same bed as you and me. I think I managed to convince him she was wrong, and he said he would probably like to sleep in our bed tonight.”

“Shit!” That was all Patrick had time to whisper, before Grethe and Michael joined them.

“Good morning – or should I say good day? I hope you didn’t mind me not staying to cook breakfast.”

“Of course not, Mosta, I hope you had a nice time,” Patrick replied.

“Yes, I did, or at least during the service. But I think the lady next door is mad.”

They both stared at her in astonishment, and Patrick stammered, “What do you mean, mad?”

“It’s a long story, let’s talk about it later. Did you have a nice, relaxed morning?”

Now it was Grethe’s turn to stare as the two men broke into slightly hysterical chuckles. But fortunately Michael distracted her.

“Jeg er sulten, moster. I am hungry.” He looked understandably proud at his achievement as they all broke out in praise over him speaking English. Grethe immediately took charge and whisked the boy away to the kitchen for some healthy snacks to tide him over until dinner. They had already agreed to have a hot meal in the middle of the day, because Michael needed to eat light the evening before his first tests.

“Are you OK, love?” Patrick held his man tightly and kissed the side of his head.

“Give me a few more moments, and I will be.”

“Even though I couldn’t understand the actual words, I was impressed with the calm way you dealt with the situation. I could see Michael was happy afterwards.”

“I’m gonna strangle her.”

“Don’t, Peter, it’s no good hating her. She’s your mum, and I’m sure she loves you. She simply doesn’t understand or know better. Let’s not waste any more energy on her prejudices. I want a ‘hyggelig’ Sunday afternoon with my new family. OK?”

“I can never say no to you. I love you, Patrick.”

“I love you too, my darling Dane.”

I hope Team Michael is happy.  
  to Kitt for a fast edit.
 
As a bonus, here is a SATW comic about Scandinavian Christmas traditions: Juletraditioner