Page 110 of Offside

Griffin: Three ish.

I set the phone down and stared at my coffee. Outside, the Scottsdale morning came in pale gold, the kind that came in sideways this time of year, longer and warmer than anywhere I’d lived, the saguaros throwing long shadows across the street. I’d grown up with Christmas in the desert and had never wanted anything different. My mother put lights on everything. My father watched football and burned at least one batch of something every year without fail. Griffin came home from wherever he’d been easy and loose the moment he walked through the door, like the house reset something in him.

Ryan’s parents were in Sweden.

I thought about him in his apartment this morning. The kitchen I’d started to know, the shelves, the quiet of a space that didn’t have anyone else in it. I thought about what it felt like to be somewhere people knew you were coming, and what it felt like when they didn’t.

I picked up my phone.

Maren: Merry Christmas

Ryan: Merry Christmas.

Ryan: Griffin told you.

Maren: He did

Maren: For what it’s worth the thing my mom is making is extremely good

Ryan: What’s the thing

Maren: If I tell you it ruins the experience

Ryan: I’m Swedish. I have strong opinions about Christmas food.

Maren: Then you’re going to want to have a snack and maybe get drunk when you get here

Maren: I’m happy you’re coming

Ryan: Me too

Ryan: Also…

Maren: Yes?

Ryan: Do you know what I want for Christmas?

Maren: For the Sidewinders to win the cup?

Ryan: Okay, yes, that. But also…you.

Ryan: So my Christmas wish already came true.

Maren: Have you been drinking already?

Ryan: Of course not. I’m already drunk.

Ryan: On you.

Maren: That was so cheesy, I might sneak you a kiss under the mistletoe.

Ryan: Jackpot.

I was smiling at my phone in my empty living room at eleven-thirty in the morning and today I didn’t care. Not on Christmas.

He arrived at three on the nose, about ten minutes before my brother. When I spotted him, he was coming through my parents’ front door holding a bottle of wine and a small poinsettia.

“Ryan.” My mother materialized from the kitchen with the velocity she always had for people she was glad to see. “Merry Christmas.”