Our Christmas Songbook - 5. The Labors of Advent

The Labors of Advent

By Cole Matthews

“Five Gold Rings”

“Why should I forgive you?” Tate asked sharply. “You didn’t just lie to me once, but several times.”

“They were just little white lies,” Damien answered. “Not real, serious lies.”

“Little lies become big ones eventually. First you go out and tell me you’re home alone. Then it becomes just making out with someone. Finally, you hook up and that’s not a big deal. I mean, we’re not married, right?”

“I didn’t do anything with anyone,” his wiry-haired boyfriend whined back. “I just went clubbing with Sam and Teri. They’re just work friends.”

“Then why did you lie to me about it?” Tate asked again. “And what about when you went to Dreamboys with Simone, and told me you were sick?”

Damien couldn’t answer him. Not because he was being evasive, but because he couldn’t really articulate how he felt. This thing between them had been going so well, he just didn’t know what to do about it. It was beginning to feel a bit concrete, stabilizing, settling, and he panicked.

Well, he’d panicked at least a couple of times. First, he’d went out with coworkers, then by himself, and finally, he’d met up with his old crowd, just for old times’ sake.

Tate was probably right.

“I’m sorry, okay? I just need a little time away.”

“If you need time away, then take it,” Tate answered in that reasonable tone he usually adopted when he knew he was right. “I’m not demanding you come over every night or spend every waking moment with me. I just want a person to trust and rely on.” Tate shook his head sadly. “I’m not sure we have that. I thought we did.”

“We do,” Damien whined back again. He tried to embrace the dejected Tate, but the man shrugged him off.

***

“Tate was really pissed at me, and I don’t like that side of him,” Damien said to his brother. Kyle was unloading the back of his truck with the poinsettias he’d picked up to decorate the church. Damien jumped into the truck bed and began pulling the plants at the front towards the back.

Kyle tossed back his long, auburn locks and snorted. “If Haley did that to me, I’d be pissed as hell too!”

Damien looked up, his mouth dropped open, and he stared at his brother in shock. “What do you mean?”

“Why are you lying to him?” he said, grabbing two more large, blue-dyed plants and carrying them to the awaiting cart.

“I’m not lying to him,” Damien said, grimacing painfully.

“You told him you were going home and instead you went out, and it was only when he caught you, you confessed. I’d kick you to the curb,” Kyle said, turning and arching his six-foot two frame backwards, stretching, and grunting as he did so.

“That’s not exactly how it happened,” Damien said, pushing a bright pink poinsettia towards his brother, who grabbed it and another and carried them to the cart placing them amongst the others.

“Whatever, little bro. I know you, and you lied. Then you tried to wiggle your way out of it. Not cool. Not cool at all,” Kyle said, striding forward again.

“What am I supposed to do now?” Damien asked, sitting back on his butt, legs crossed in front of himself, and scowling.

“You have two choices. Either ask for forgiveness or give up on the relationship. If you’re lying about an innocent drink with coworkers or friends, you’ll lie about much more, and that’s a problem. Tate’s too much of a stand-up guy.”

Damien pondered his brother’s advice. It was pissing him off.

***

Tate was just staring at Damien as the young man again, begged for mercy.

“I promise I’ll never do something like that again. I swear on a stack of Bibles or something,” Damien pleaded.

Tate didn’t speak for a moment, teeth set. Then, in a moment, his face softened, his chin relaxing. A gentle smile spread across his face.

“So, you forgive me?” Damien said, brightening to his boyfriend’s reaction, finally.

“Not yet,” Tate said, a flush arising on his pale cheeks. Damien wasn’t sure, but there was a twinkle in the blond man’s eye. “But I’ve got a plan that I think may get me what I want.”

“Come on, Tate,” Damien said, frustrated.

“You know I love you, right?”

Damien nodded and added, “I love you too.”

“Okay, then I’ve got a plan for you to prove you’re ready for a commitment. A real commitment between us.”

Damien immediately agreed, finally feeling the heavy burden of guilt begin to lift.

***

“I can’t believe Tate’s making me do this,” Damien snarled to his best friend, Simone. This was at least the fifth time he’d groused to her about his ‘Labors of Advent,’ as Tate had called them. Tate had laughed when he said it, and called him by his full name, Damien Hercules Jones. He despised his middle name, and Tate making this joke about the ‘Labors of Hercules’ only made him more annoyed. He grunted to her, “The only thing I did was go out for a drink. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“You keep saying that, yet I don’t believe you either,” Simone said, turning her little Ford Hydra right on Hesperides Avenue.

Damien turned and gasped. “What?”

“You lied to me too. When we went out the last time, I asked if Tate was coming and you said you’d asked him, but he was too busy.”

Damien didn’t respond immediately, but then muttered, “You’re as bad as my brother.”

“Maybe you’re wrong, and not everyone else is,” Simone said wryly, tossing back her long purple tresses. “But regardless, you agreed to the ‘Four Labors of Advent’ and I’m helping, so just buck up Damien Hercules.”

Damien rolled his eyes and said, “I think that’s his great aunt’s house, on the right.” He pointedly ignored her little dig.

“So it is,” Simone said. “There, now let’s get this started.”

“Fine,” Damien said, grabbing the blue-dyed poinsettia out of the back seat and emerging from the passenger side door.

Skipping up the steps, he banged loudly with the brass metal door knocker, oddly, shaped like a wild boar. Tate said his great aunt was a little hard of hearing, so he needed to make it loud.

“Come in,” a voice called. “The door is open.”

Damien pushed through and entered the front hallway.

“I’m in the kitchen,” the voice rang out through the house.

Damien followed the direction of the alto-timbred voice and the smell of baking cookies. To his right was an open doorway and standing at a small table was an older woman, probably in her sixties, and wearing an old-fashioned apron, with a ruffle for heaven’s sake. A knife with pink frosting was in one hand and a cookie shaped like a candy cane was in the other. She slathered the naked pastry with the icing and smiled at him.

“You must be Damien,” she said. “Tate’s told me so much about you.” She set the now-frosted cookie on a rack covered in wax paper. “Come in, come in, and have a cookie.”

She gestured at the kitchen counter and nodded at him. “Put the plant over there and come sit with me.”

‘Oh God,’ Damien thought. “Sure,” he said.

“Tate certainly didn’t lie when he said you’re quite the looker,” she said, taking a seat at the table and placing the knife in a metal bowl. “He said you’re the most beautiful man he’s ever met.”

Her eyes twinkled, kind of like Tate’s did.

Damien felt his skin grow warm. “Tate’s very handsome too.”

“My name is Naomi,” she said, handing him a cookie. “And my great nephew is a lot of things, he’s a very good man, but not necessarily handsome, you know, classically.”

Damien almost choked on the cookie. “Tate is amazing. I think he’s gorgeous.”

“Do you?” she asked, and the twinkling eyes seemed to glisten even more brightly. “He’s always been a bit sensitive about his skin, you know, his acne scars.”

Damien grunted, and said quickly, “That only makes him more rugged looking. More masculine.”

“Really?” she said, tilting her head, and smiling broadly now. “Well, I think so too, so we have that in common, I guess.”

Abruptly, she stood and hurried out of the room. When she returned, she had a brown paper bag in her hand. It was very small and crumpled. She handed it to Damien and said, “Can you give this to Tate for me? I’m so busy with the cookies, and I wanted to get it to him today.”

Damien assured her he would, and he noticed Naomi seemed to get back to her task of frosting cookies. Her back was turned to him, almost dismissively. He bid her goodbye and left the house wondering what the hell that was all about.

***

Damien and Simone sang Christmas songs along with the radio as they headed to the next ‘labor’. Simone seemed in really good spirits, and Damien decided to just go along with it.

Their next stop was Tate’s younger sister, Jasmine. Fortunately, Damien had already met her so he wasn’t quite as nervous as with the great aunt.

They stopped at the apartment building, and Damien grabbed a bright pink poinsettia out of the back of the car, and pranced across Hippolyta Avenue to the doorway next to the Amazon Bar and Grill. He rang Jasmine’s doorbell, and in a moment, he was buzzed in. He climbed the stairs, lugging the large plant, and finally found her doorway. Damien knocked, and waited.

Pulling open the door, Tate’s sister appeared and flashed him a grin. “Damien,” she said happily, “it’s so nice to see you again. Come on in.”

Damien stepped across the threshold and followed the short petite woman as she led him down a long hallway. “Tate told me you’d be coming by. But I didn’t know you were bringing me a plant.”

“It’s from Tate,” Damien said, holding it out to her.

“From my cheapskate brother,” she guffawed. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“No, it’s from Tate. He said pink was your favorite.”

She took the poinsettia and looked carefully at it. “This is a nice one. Are you sure it’s from Tate?”

“Yes,” Damien answered, puzzled. “He picked it out and asked me to bring it by.”

“Well, that is something, isn’t it?” she said. “Usually, I get something from a gas station because he forgets or is just too mean about money to spend anything on a gift.”

Damien felt a rush of annoyance. “Tate’s always been generous to me. He wouldn’t let me buy a dinner until our fourth date or something, until I made him let me pay.”

“Really?” Jasmine said, squinting at him. “Maybe he’s changed.”

Damien said quickly, “No, Tate’s always the first to offer to help, and he gives generously to the Brendan’s Wellness Project.”

“Huh.” Jasmine snorted. “Can you wait a minute? I need to get something out of the other room.”

“Sure,” Damien said. He waited for a few moments until Jasmine reappeared. She had a small plastic container in her hand.

“Can you give this to Tate for me? He’s been asking for it, and I don’t want to make a special trip,” Jasmine said, placing it in the man’s palm.

“I’m seeing him tonight, so I guess so.”

“Thanks,” Jasmine said abruptly. “And thanks for delivering the plant. I need to get ready for my date now, so if you don’t mind?”

Damien didn’t mind and left her without a comment.

As he exited the building and crossed the street, he saw Simone was peering into the little brown bag.

He opened the passenger side door and slid in. “What is it?” he asked, tossing the little plastic tub to her as well. “Apparently I’m the Johnson Family courier today.”

“I don’t know.” Simone looked up and wrinkled her nose at him. “It’s a damaged piece of wire, I think.”

“Weird,” Damien said, settling into his seat.

“Onto your next chore?” she asked, starting the engine.

“Tate’s high school girlfriend.”

“Yikes!” Simone said, grinning at him.

“Let’s go,” the man said, softy.

***

After driving down Cretan Boulevard, they turned north onto Hind Street and Damien pointed out the apartment building where Tate’s ex-girlfriend lived. He’d actually gone to a party at her apartment a few months ago. Cillie was a sweet girl and had gossiped with Damien about Tate’s constant tardiness and horrible driving habits.

They stopped the vehicle, and Damien saw the odd name of the building, the Diomedes Arms. He thought Cillie’s apartment was on the top floor of the old brownstone. Damien pulled out his phone and texted her number. He climbed out of the car and reached into the backseat to grab the bagged box with the Christmas cactus Tate had sent for her.

Darting across the street, he looked at the lights festooning the front lobby. A large, brightly-decorated Christmas tree sat by the glass front. By the time he got to the front door, the woman with long blonde locks tied up into a ponytail, had the door open for him.

“Damien,” she greeted him. “Come on up.”

Damien followed her up three stories to her apartment. It was a silent walk, with only his growingly labored breathing filling the space.

“What a wonderful boyfriend you are, to lug a plant up these stairs for me,” she said, ushering him into the living room after they emerged from the stairwell into her apartment.

“Not a big deal,” Damien lied, continuing to puff just a little over the exertion.

“Here, I’ll take it from you,” she said. “So, what is that wacky ex of mine up to?”

“Not a lot. We went to A Christmas Carol at the Hale Theater,” Damien offered, with a toothy grin.

“Old Tate bullied you into going, huh?” she said. “He always gets his way, you know. I remember--”

“I wanted to go. It was a great show, and we had a wonderful time,” Damien interrupted. “Tate even took me out for a nice steak dinner beforehand.”

“Really?” she said, looking doubtful. “That boy’s really changed then. He was so selfish. Tate only wanted to do what he wanted to. It was infuriating. Hell, most of the time he wanted to stay home and do nothing.”

“We go out almost every weekend,” Damien said proudly. “He really spoils me.”

“Huh,” Cillie grunted. She paused and seemed to think for a few moments, then perked up.

“Wait a minute. I’ve got something for Tate. You don’t mind?” she asked placing a gentle hand on Damien’s arm.

“No, of course not. We’re getting together this evening.”

“Oh good,” Cillie said, and she scampered from the room. Not even a moment later, she returned with a gift, gaily wrapped, about the size of a shoe box. “Here you go. Make sure you remind him we are all going to Tracy’s for a big New Year’s bash.”

“I’ll remind him,” Damien said, hefting the box. It was light as a feather, and he’d swear it was empty.

“Thanks again,” Cillie said, walking him to the door.

Damien was out and down the steps in a few moments.

As he crawled into the car, he saw Simone was peering into the small plastic container. She snapped it shut as he put the present into the back seat.

“What’s in there?” Damien asked, nodding at the container.

“Another piece of wire, or something,” she said. “Here, take a look.”

Damien pulled back the top and looked inside. It was some kind of gold wire, round, but contorted. It looked like maybe a kind of strange part to a radio or a plumbing seal or o-ring. Definitely not a Christmas gift.

“Kind of an odd thing to send to someone, isn’t it?” Simone asked.

“It is.” Damien put the cover back on, placed it with the paper bag, back on the floor in the back seat. “I only have one more stop, and then my “Labors” are complete,” he announced. “Onto his ex-boyfriend, Tian.”

“Off to Tian’s,” Simone said, and entered the address into her phone.

Tian lived in a house in a neighborhood called, Nemean Close and not too far from Tate’s condo. They’d carefully routed these tasks to finish up not too far from the end point. Tate had instructed Damien on how the labors should be accomplished, and what time he wanted to meet.

Damien exited the car and pulled open the back door, taking out a gift bag. The large sack was surprisingly heavy. He hefted it, and then looked up at the house before him.

The outside was decorated with lights and in front of the steps up to the door, on each side, were large white birds, glowing in the twilight that was now falling all around him. He walked up and was about to knock, using the ring in the bull’s nose as a knocker, when the door opened.

“Damien?” the man, barefoot and without a shirt, who stood in the doorway asked. “Come in. I’ve been expecting you.” The guy was drop-dead sexy.

Damien entered the foyer, and watched as the tall, dark-haired, half-naked man led him inside. The man was gorgeous, with wide shoulders, a bubble butt, and triceps that wouldn’t quit. Damien felt tiny compared to this guy. He also felt an attraction, but it was not the kind he liked.

“Let me take that from you,” Tian said, smiling wickedly. He slowly took the package from Damien, and his hand caressed the other man’s.

Damien pulled away, almost dropping the gift.

Tian leaned a little closer, and Damien smelled a spicy, heady scent come off him.

“Would you like a drink?” Tian asked, crowding him a bit.

Damien stepped back. “No, I need to go and meet Tate in just a few minutes.”

“Come on. One drink wouldn’t kill you,” Tian said, his large, meaty hand clasping Damien’s shoulder.

“I’m sorr.,” Damien squirmed away. “My ride is waiting for me.”

Tian took a deep breath, and said, “You know, I really screwed up with that one. With Tate.”

“Yeah,” Damien said, feeling his skin crawl a bit.

“Tate’s too good for someone like me. He’s so set on being a faithful guy, and I’m just not built that way. I like to have fun,” Tian said. “Anyway, I have something for him as well. Can you bring it to him?”

“Sure,” Damien said, feeling even more uncomfortable as the guy padded off down the hallway.

Tian returned with a small vase filled with miniature lilies. A small white card was hanging from the stems, and he handed it to the smaller man. “Tell the big guy ‘happy holidays’ from me, okay?”

Damien agreed. He then skedaddled out of there.

***

Damien sat in the chair across from Tate. Tate was looking, and smelling, like a dream tonight. He was wearing a dark purple satin shirt. His hair was carefully groomed. He was smiling broadly. Candles were lit between them, cascading light about the room.

“So, what did you think?” he asked, finally.

“I guess it was fine,” Damien said. “I don’t get it. Not really. Why did you have me do that?”

“Let me check on dinner first,” Tate said, suddenly jumping up and disappearing into the kitchen. “I’ll be right back.”

‘That was weird,’ Damien thought, as he sat in the silence.

Damien fingered the ribbon on the wrapped gift. He leaned closer and sniffed deeply, enjoying the scent of the lilies in the vase.

He nudged the little brown paper bag that Tate’s great aunt Naomi sent. What had she said about Tate not being classically handsome? Damien had jumped to Tate’s defense, surprising him, to which she responded.

“Really?” she said, tilting her head, and smiling broadly now. “Well, I think so too, so we have that in common, I guess.”

He wondered what that meant, and in the meantime, looked for Tate, who was still not back from the kitchen.

Damien opened the little plastic container that Jasmine had given him and peered at the misshapen gold wire. His sister, Jasmine, had called Tate cheap and thoughtless.

Damien had responded instinctually with, “Tate’s always been generous to me. He wouldn’t let me buy a dinner until our fourth date or something, until I made him let me pay.”

Picking up the wrapped shoe box, because that’s exactly what it had to be, he shook it and there was a little rattling of some kind. It was faint, and almost not a real sound. What was in there? It made him consider what his ex-girlfriend had intimated.

When Cillie called Tate selfish, Damien remembered his words, and they kind of surprised him.

“Tate even took me out for a nice steak dinner beforehand.”

Fiddling with the small, white card, Damien shivered at how creepy it had been when Tian had hit on him. It had disgusted him, though the man was one large, delicious chunk of man.

He remembered Tian’s words, and they struck a chord now, hearing the words play in his head once again.

“Tate’s too good for someone like me. He’s so set on being a faithful guy, and I’m just not built that way. I like to have fun.”

Damien blinked, and his world tilted a bit. The feelings slid. The ideas kaleidoscoped. Suddenly things brightened in his world, and it was quite amazing, and uncomfortable.

Tate was everything he wanted in a partner, in a boyfriend, in a relationship. Tate was all he’d ever dreamed of, so why did he lie to him? Why did he go out and then tell Tate something so stupid and selfish?

“Why am I scared?” Damien whispered.

“What did you say?” Tate asked, coming back into the room.

Damien looked up at him in wonder, and said aloud again, “I was scared of me screwing everything up. So, I screwed up.”

Tate sat down and started opening up the little brown bag. “I’m listening,” he said, as he pulled out the little gold wire.

“I love you so much, I thought maybe I was getting too close.” Damien felt a tear spring from his eye.

Tate opened the little plastic container, pulled out the second wire, and placed it with the other one.

“I thought if I just slowed things down, maybe I wouldn’t ruin it,” Damien choked out. He wiped his nose.

Tate ripped open the box with the gay wrapping and rustling sound, pulled out a small gold ring, and put it by the other two.

“How can you ever forgive me? You’re exactly who I want.” Damien brushed his cheek dry.

Tate took the little white envelope from the flowers, opened it, and out came yet another gold wire.

“What are those things,” Damien asked, breathing deeply and looking at Tate.

Tate reached into his breast pocket and pulled out another gold ringlet, but this one had a black stone in it. He picked up the pieces and carefully assembled them, fitting one piece with another until a ring formed as if by magic.

“It’s a gold puzzle ring, and I want you to have it,” Tate said, wiping his own eyes. “I bought it a few weeks ago, and now I want you to wear it. Each one represents another piece of you that I love and when it all comes together, it makes me whole. Well, it makes our love whole.”

Damien beamed, and held out his hand.

“So, you forgive me,” he said, his finger trembling as Tate put it on him.

“I love you. I just wanted to remind you, that you love me too.”

“I do,” Damien said, and they kissed deeply, the ring glinting in the candlelight.

And he remembered his words, only days ago, and realized he meant them.

“A real commitment between us.”