Disclaimer: The Sentinel, its characters and concepts are the property of Pet Fly Productions and Paramount/UPN. No copyright infringement intended. Written for fun, not profit.
Summary: Blair bakes while Jim and Steven reflect on their past and present. A late holiday offering served with a dash of angst, a pinch of smarm and lots and lots of cookie dough.
Notes: References to His Brother's Keeper and Vendetta. Rated G, unbeta'd.
I held the small, flat, narrow box in my hand. It arrived the other day, covered in a slick store wrap complete with matching bow and gold embossed seal. It's not hard to predict what'll be inside.
Suddenly it floods me, how far apart we are. How little he knows me now. The things that define me outside of work. My interests, my friends, what I like to do on my days off...
Hard to believe there was a time that deep divide never existed. A time when we knew practically everything there was to know about each other. Our favorite TV shows, most prized possessions, favorite snacks, hated enemies and our secret crushes.
But that all ended one day, courtesy of Dad.
All his pushing, prodding and yelling, showing approval one day and coldness the next. The ever-escalating competition eventually pushed us into separate corners. All in the name of what? Character-building? Yeah right. And let's not forget family unity.
I left. He stayed.
It shouldn't matter any more after all these years, I told myself. What's done is done. No use rehashing the past. I took a deep breath, held it, and put the box aside. And looked over at the polar opposite of my family and my upbringing. The long-haired whirlwind, otherwise known as my roommate, my partner, my Guide, who possesses the singular knack of turning order into chaos.
There's a huge mound of dirty bowls and plates in the sink, bits of dough stuck to the counter, greasy fingerprints on the refrigerator door and a light dusting of flour over everything else. Including his glasses.
And it's not even noon yet. But when I concentrate on the warm, homey smells coming from the oven, I find my mood lifting. Like stepping from cold shadows to warm sunlight. So instead of bitching, I'm kicked back on the couch, watching an old Christmas special, and letting Sandburg make a mess. It'll be worth it. There are already two kinds of brownies, fudge and pecan, sitting on the counter. And he's now in the midst of decorating some star-shaped cookies with those little round silver balls.
"Did Naomi teach you to bake?" I asked once.
"Not really," he replied. "Actually my aunts did. They made the best stuff around the holidays. Butter cookies, gingerbread men, truffles, and apple cake, mmmm. Did I tell you about the time we were making brandy muffins and I decided to tinker a bit with the recipe? So instead of adding two tablespoons of brandy, I ended up putting in almost..."
The first time I came home and found the kitchen turned upside down, I just about had a heart attack. But before I could start my tirade, he just shoved an oatmeal raisin cookie in my mouth, turned me around and pushed me back out into the livingroom.
"Go watch TV," he said waving a chocolate-covered spatula at me. His hair was tousled, his glasses had smudge marks on them, his fingers were coated with dough and he had flour on his nose for god's sake.
Just my luck, I thought. Instead of Martha Stewart, I get what looks like a demented elf or the Cookie Monster on a bad hair day running amok in the loft.
Later, while his back was turned, I stuck my finger in the mixing bowl. I could feel practically each and every sugar granule in the fluffy, caramel-colored dough. Then I stuck it in my mouth and savored the sweetness.
I hadn't done that since I was a kid, when Mom would give Stevie and me each a wooden spoon to lick clean.
This morning, I got into the bag of milk chocolate bits he'd left sitting out.
"You are a menace," he said, shaking the half-empty bag.
I just grinned at him as I shut off the TV, then got up to snag my jacket, gloves and keys to the truck.
I could still hear him opening and closing cabinet doors as I stepped into the elevator. Then came a muffled curse. "J-i-m!"
He's just discovered what's left of the bag of butterscotch bits I found yesterday.
As I drove to the grocery store, I thought about how different the holidays have become to me.
It seemed to be more about juggling schedules than anything else, while I was married to Carolyn. Trying to figure out when we'd take time off to see her folks and her siblings, let alone entertain friends. Put shopping for Christmas gifts on top of that, along with our normal workload and last-minute shift changes and you have a guaranteed formula for major stress. What should have been a time of peace and goodwill, was anything but.
After the divorce, I put up only a few token reminders. A wreath on the door was usually the extent of it. Never had the inclination to get a tree, let alone decorate it on my own. There didn't seem to be a point to it. Especially when all it did was emphasize the fact I had no one all that special to share the holidays with. Aside from my colleagues at the station.
Which is where I usually spent Christmas day.
Of course, there were the usual round of parties. Simon hosts one almost every year, as does Joel. As for family, I saw my dad only sporadically and Steven was either out of town, or out of the country.
For me the holidays were just a passing blur of carols on the radio, colored lights in the windows and the annual trek to the mall for office gifts.
But Sandburg's changed all that.
It's still not hassle-free, but he tries his best to make things go smoother.
He tracks our working schedules on his laptop and warns me what's coming up ahead of time. Sure beats flipping through Carolyn's bulging day planner or deciphering my hurried scribbles on the wall calendar.
Last year, he tried to entice me into the world of on-line shopping, but I balked. So what if Mr. Smarty-Pants got his gifts done ahead of time. I still had visions of cyberspace hackers like Freeman, wreaking havoc on my credit card. But Blair just rolled his eyes then had the gall to wave his mug of hot tea at me as I rushed off to the local mall to fill in the missing gaps on my list.
I returned a few hours later, loaded to the gills with shopping bags, tissue paper, store boxes and ribbon. And a headache, the size of the mall parking lot. As usual, he had aspirin at the ready, a warm dinner in the oven, told stories, cracked jokes and even helped me wrap. All without saying 'I told you so.'
This year I've finally succumbed. It's Amazon-dot-com for me.
Then there's the full-sized tree in the livingroom, decorated to the hilt. Interspersed with the more traditional ornaments are bright bits and pieces from his past travels. There's a small, carved wooden monkey he picked up in Thailand. And a hand-painted armadillo from Mexico and a blue and yellow parrot from Central America. Near the top is a Zuni bear fetish and below that is a large hoop, covered with bone beads from Central Africa. And he's got a story that goes with each one.
He made fun of the way I strung the lights, but admired the effect afterwards.
Funny how a wanderer like Blair gives me a sense of home now. And family.
What I thought would be a short-lived arrangement at best, has turned into something far more enduring and comforting than anything I might have predicted.
* ~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~ *
Cool. For once I'm pretty much on schedule here. Despite the fact my partner has an overactive sweet tooth. Last year, he almost gobbled up my cookie dough before I could get it on the baking sheets. This year he put a serious dent into my chocolate and butterscotch bits. Next year I'm putting up yellow tape and borrowing Mrs. Kubo's Akita. Keep out of kitchen. This means you, Jim.
Just a little more icing, a few more dragees and I'm done. This batch is going to the crew at Major Crimes, providing it doesn't get hijacked en route by a certain unnamed detective.
Hungry Sentinels aside, I've always liked this part of the holidays. Reminds me of my aunts, Sylvia and Charlotte. Well, they're actually not blood relatives, but close enough to be the real thing.
At any rate, Naomi and I visited them one winter in Boston. I was pretty much bored out of my little thirteen-year old mind, until I wandered down into the kitchen. Syl and Charlie, as we called them, were whipping up a batch of butter cookies, and of course I had to get in the middle of it all.
They had a set of Pyrex cups lined up on the counter. And the idea of mixing and measuring appealed to me no end. They soon had me pouring out flour, salt, baking soda, shortening and vanilla extract. The results were certainly at lot more fun and edible than anything I concocted out of my old chemistry set.
Sure, it'd be easier to buy them at the bakery or the local grocery store, but these hands-on projects allow me to be a bit more personal and creative.
That, and it fits within my budget.
Mainly 'cuz I blew a chunk of it getting Jim a state-of-the-art HEPA filter for the loft. It'll take care of pollen, mold spores, animal dander, dust mites, bacteria, smoke, Naomi's sage and any other allergens that may be floating around.
I don't know if pollutants or plants are the culprits, but his allergies seemed way more severe this past season. Longer bouts of itchy, irritated eyes and swollen sinuses. Which reminds me I should go back over my old notes and compare his sensitivities from three years ago to the present.
Still, it screams practicality, so I'm trying to balance it out with some homemade goodies.
As far as I can tell, he's pretty much liked everything I've made so far. I swear, he looks like a kid whenever he sneaks a taste. Not that I really mind. I think the whole domestic scene reminds him of his childhood. At least the good parts of it. Lord knows he's hasn't had the warmest or kindest of upbringings.
Yet, despite the bad memories, he constantly surprises me. Lets me decorate the loft and fill it with all sorts of gewgaws, including my menorah. Doesn't complain about my messes or the burning candles, willingly goes to the store when I'm out of ingredients and allows me to pick out the Christmas music. The look on his face when I put on Alvin and the Chipmunks was absolutely priceless. "We've been good, but we can't wait, please Christmas don't be laaate." Is that a classic or what?
Underneath the gruff exterior, he's really a very generous soul. Much more giving than people realize. I should know. With the exception of galoshes, I now own the most complete winter wardrobe this side of L. L. Bean. In fact he's probably gotten me just about every kind of parka there is. From microfiber to gore-tex. If I end up getting a cold, it won't be for lack of silk thermals or fleece jackets.
Never had anyone watch over me the way he does. Not even my own mother. Truthfully, I kinda like it. Except when he takes his Blessed Protector gig a bit too seriously.
Not that I'd trade my childhood years with Naomi for anything, but with Jim, there's this whole other side to life that I've just begun to experience. Long-term friendship, loyalty, security and a sense of stability. Things I never had growing up. Living here with him has given me a real sense of purpose as well. I feel like I'm helping make a difference not only in his life but his tribe, Cascade. How cool is that?
So, I've got the practical and the homemade covered, but I still wanted to give him something a little extra, from the heart. Which meant turning on the ol' Sandburg charm this year. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, but it wouldn't hurt to have a little back-up just in case. Syl and Charlie, don't fail me now.
* ~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~ *
This is the first time I've ever visited my brother at home. And I have to admit I'm a bit nervous.
I parked the Lexus and looked up out the front windshield. The neighborhood's not bad. Dad wouldn't care for it, but the real estate value has been on the rise lately around this part of town. I'll bet Jimmy got a good deal on it when he first moved in.
After all this time, it'll be interesting to see what his place is like. My old girlfriend, Adriana, is an interior designer, and she always said you could get a pretty good glimpse into someone's personality through their choice of decor.
Jimmy's always been physical. He was a natural at pretty much everything, whether it was football, basketball, fishing, camping, riding or surfing. I imagine he'd gravitate toward more rustic furnishings. Carolyn, on the other hand, seemed the Laura Ashley type. Two very different styles. Two very different people; both fastidious and picky about what they liked. And equally strong-minded.
I think that's where the marriage foundered. Not enough give-and-take. Not to mention the hectic pace of two working professionals. And a high-stress job like policework.
Then again, my brother's not the warmest person in the world. Got a rude reminder of that back at the racetrack when he confronted me in the office. I barely recognized him--so cold, remote and detached. That really hurt. I hated being considered a suspect in his eyes. If nothing else, I'm family. I wanted him to give me the benefit of the doubt.
And yet I know I'm also to blame. I could've come forward about Dad's Cobra. But I didn't. I could've tried contacting him after he joined the military. But I didn't. I let him pursue his life while I pursued mine. So many things I let slip right through my fingers. Small wonder then we were such strangers to each other that night.
He was right. Our childhood was not the greatest. It surprised me, what he said about the way Dad raised us. How that drove such a wedge between us. How he thought I hated his guts all these years.
And yet, after all this time, he seems more human now. Less angry, a bit more at peace with himself. That and he's sharing his space with an anthropologist. Unbelievable.
Okay, enough stalling. Time to face the music.
Let's see, number 307. Yup, here it is. I raised my hand and knocked.
"Hi Steven. Glad you could make it. Come on in. Have any trouble finding this place?"
"Hi Blair. Uh, no. It was easy. And thanks for inviting me."
"Here, let me take your coat."
I shrugged off my overcoat, peeled off my muffler and took a quick look around the loft. It was not what I'd imagined.
For one thing, it's a lot more spacious than I'd anticipated. Airy, bright and open. And those smells...
"I've got stuff to stick in the oven. Go ahead and make yourself at home."
I took in the skylights, hardwood floors, exposed brick walls, and overhead beams. Spare, orderly, neat, tidy, everything in its place. I'm suddenly reminded of his old bedroom back at home. His clothes always neatly folded, his shoes lined up in the closet, and never a speck of dust on his dresser.
Suddenly Dad's voice popped into my head. "Stevie! Look at this mess. Why can't you be neater, like your brother." I shook my head and continued into the livingroom.
"Where'd these masks come from?"
"Some are on loan from the university. But that wooden one over there, I picked up in Zambia."
"What about this wall hanging?"
"That's a mola from Guatemala. Hey, would you like something to drink?"
"Sure. Beer's fine."
It's also a lot more colorful and exotic than I expected. Knowing my brother, I'd think he'd prefer understated. And yet this mix of masks, molas, rugs and posters tells me how much Jimmy's allowed this grad student to loosen up his structured world.
It's an eclectic blend, but it works.
Quite a contrast to my condo. I may have the fancier address, but Jimmy's got better light, more room and a killer view. My place looks almost boring in comparison.
"Here you go."
"Thanks." I took a seat on the couch and watched Blair bounce around the kitchen. Does this guy ever slow down?
"So where's Jimmy?"
"At the grocery store. He should be back any minute now."
"You sure it's okay for me to be here?"
"Uh huh. Trust me."
For a kid wearing earrings and torn jeans, he sounds awfully calm and confident. As if he knew in advance how things would turn out. But, I've seen for myself, how often a positive can-do attitude can garner positive results, especially in my business.
I've wondered, ever since the racetrack incident, how he came to live with my brother. I understand the part about needing a place to live while he works on his dissertation, but still, Blair's not the kind of person I'd expect Jimmy to tolerate for more than five minutes, let alone a couple of years.
Then again, I've experienced first-hand, this kid's persuasiveness. First by e-mail, then by phone. He beat down all my uncertainties, point by point, with humor and tenacity. It was one hell of sales pitch.
My marketing staff could take a few pointers from him.
"Tree looks nice." I got up to take a closer look. That was the other surprise. Jimmy's never been overly sentimental about Christmas. Neither have I. Which is why I usually made a point of not being in town during the holidays. But along with the tree, I see candles, a menorah, pine cones and a bunch of cards tucked into a little woven basket. Just the pine smell alone is enough to stir up old memories. The times Jimmy and I would lie in bed, too excited to sleep, as we waited for Santa to arrive.
He'd sneak into my room and together, we'd go out into the hallway and peer down the stairs, trying to figure out what was happening in the livingroom. It was hard for me not to giggle. Jimmy would cock his head and listen, then tell me what he'd heard. And he always knew when our parents were about to come upstairs. We never got caught once.
A line of photographs on the console table next to the tree caught my eye. The one in the metal frame looked like it was taken at a Jag's game. This one on the end must be a group shot of his buddies at work. There's another one where he and Blair are standing alongside Captain Banks.
A concise overview of their partnership. What's it been? Two, three years?
But it's the one of the fishing trip that gets to me. Blair's standing knee-deep in a river, holding up a trout and Jim's got an arm draped across his shoulders. That smile, that look.
I would've given my eye-teeth for that to be us, when I was a youngster. To have a moment like that with my big brother. To see that kind of pride and affection in his eyes again. I knew it was petty, but I felt a flash of jealousy streak through me.
Maybe coming here wasn't such a good idea after all.
But then I saw something tucked in the corner, in that old square-shaped format with white borders.
Suddenly I heard the jingle of keys and the front door swung open.
"Stevie?"
I whirled around, picture in hand. My brother stood staring back at me, holding a bagful of groceries in his arms.
"What are you doing here?"
I swallowed and tried to sound casual. "Was in the neighborhood and thought I'd stop by."
Blair scooted up and took the groceries from him. "Hey man, isn't this great?" he beamed, seemingly oblivious to the tension in the air.
I watched as Jim removed his gloves and hung up his jacket.
"Thought you were going to be out-of-town."
"I was, but my trip got postponed. I'll be leaving on the twenty-eighth now."
"I see."
That cold, distant tone of his is back again. This isn't going to work.
* ~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~ *
I knew something was up the moment I spotted the Lexus parked in front of the loft.
Can't believe Steven's here, of all places.
Which means Sandburg's got a hand in this. Guaranteed. But I'll deal with that later. I turned up my hearing as I walked into the building. They're not saying much. Once inside the loft, I could hear their heartbeats very clearly. Steven's trying to look calm, but he's more nervous than I thought. And my partner's a tad anxious himself.
went to the 'frig and pulled out a beer. Even though we're finally back on speaking terms, fifteen years is a long gap to close. And finding him here was a bit of a shock. I'm not sure whether to be glad or pissed.
"How's it going at the office?" I asked. Keep it neutral, I told himself.
"Same old stuff. I won't bore you with the details, but it's been pretty hectic to say the least."
"How's the merger coming along?"
"It's hit some rough spots here and there. Lot of ruffled feathers, not to mention layoffs in practically every department, but things are beginning to settle down now."
We moved into the livingroom, although neither of us sat down.
"What about your position?"
"So far so good. I've met with the new boss and he's assured me he wants to keep me on the team. Along with most of my staff."
Well, if there's one thing Steven's learned in fifteen years, it's how to fend for himself. An Ellison trait if there ever was one.
Standing there in his sweater and slacks, he looks the epitome of a sophisticated corporate executive. Almost the spitting image of Dad.
Dad. Just thinking about him is enough to put a damper on my day.
* ~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~ *
It felt like I was back in some long, drawn-out management meeting. The kind where both sides talk, but nothing meaningful gets said.
Jimmy's face was as frozen as one of those masks on the wall. And that wary look in his eyes. You'd think I was planning some sort of hostile takeover.
I kicked myself for listening to Blair in the first place. It's obvious my brother doesn't want me here. In fact, if I'm any judge of that tone of his, he probably doesn't want anything to do with me. All I'm doing is dredging up old hurts and memories, especially at this time of year.
Maybe that's the real reason he tolerates Blair. He doesn't come with the emotional baggage of our family. Doesn't make you bristle when you bring up the past. No old wounds to reopen, or guilt to trip over.
Jimmy and the old man are alike in a lot of ways. Stubborn, proud, headstrong and of course there's the famous Ellison temper. Now that's something I don't need to experience, again.
I could just make up some excuse and leave. Something about seeing Dad and Sally. I'm sure he won't mind if I show up early at the house.
* ~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~ *
Oh no you don't.
I know Jim's body language like the back of my hand. Despite the cool and casual act, finding his brother here has thrown him for a loop. He's defensive and closed off.
But I set this up to be as painless for him as possible. Honest. Steven's visiting, not invading his turf. Plus I can tell he genuinely wants to make contact with his older brother.
Took me a few weeks to convince him to stop by the loft. Was a bit of revelation to find that even a successful businessman like him has insecurities.
"I don't know Blair. The holidays are a pretty busy time. I don't want to intrude on his plans."
Translation: I don't want to piss him off again.
No one likes rejection.
I sometimes forget that other people can't read Jim like I can. They take one look at his face and think he has no heart at all. That he's some emotionless automaton. They couldn't be more wrong.
He's been hurt so many times, in so many different ways, he's learned to hold himself back, out of sheer self-protection. Let the other guy make the first move.
Which is not a good thing here. Steven wants to make the effort, but is too unsure and given their past, Jim's got his walls up. They'll end up making small chitchat and dance around each other without making any sort of connection. Not what I had in mind at all.
We need a diversion here. Something simple to break the ice.
"Hey guys. Up for some cookies, fresh out of the oven?"
I've never known anyone to resist Syl and Charlie's chocolate chip cookies. Medium texture, chock full of chocolate bits. Or what I could salvage out of that bag. I pulled out the plate with a flourish and set it down on the dining table.
I saw Jim sniff then take a peek. C'mon. Your turn, Steven.
Many people feel cooking doesn't have to be a precise art. And most of the time, that's true. A dollop of this, a dash of that, and voila. Except when it comes to baking your favorite cookie.
A few degrees and a few minutes matter. As do the ingredients. Thanks to my aunts, I know how to alter my recipe to make them either crispy-thin, soft and puffy, or in-between the two. Which is handy, since I've noticed that Simon and Joel like 'em soft, H., Rafe and Megan prefer crispy, and Jim's not picky as long as there are plenty of chocolate bits.
If you like crispy, use butter, which melts quickly and spreads easily. And a little corn syrup for crispness and color.
For soft and puffy, use cake flour, instead of all-purpose, shortening instead of butter, and a slightly reduced amount of sugar to limit spreading.
For a mix between the two, use half butter and half shortening.
It's all in the details.
* ~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~ *
Leave it to Blair to defuse things with a plate full of chocolate chip cookies. The Sandburg version of a time out.
We wandered over to the table and grabbed a cookie each. Warm, tender, chewy. Not too hard, and not too soft. Mine tasted of unsalted butter, flour, shortening, vanilla, salt, walnuts, and sugar. No, make that brown sugar, and something else. Corn syrup maybe?
"Say, these are good." Steven turned to look at him and held a half-eaten one up. "Secret family recipe?"
"You could say that."
"Kinda reminds me of the ones Mom used to bake."
I nodded. "Yeah. Only she used semi-sweets. Not the milk chocolate."
"Right." I watched Steven take another bite. "You know what my favorite was though?"
"The butterscotch brownies?"
"God, you remembered."
"As I recall, she used to put in chopped dates."
"Instead of walnuts."
"That's because you kept eating the walnuts."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"Did not."
"Whatever."
"Oh yeah? How about that time you gorged yourself on her peanut butter cookies?"
"Oh man. I was so sick afterwards."
"Couldn't face peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for weeks after that."
We both smiled then took more cookies. "What did you have in your hand when I first walked in?"
"Oh that? I uh, left it on the coffee table."
"Let me see." It was the photo of Stevie and me as kids, dressed as cowboys. I shook my head.
"I loved that vest. Had my name was embroidered on the back. You kept sneaking off with it."
"Did not."
"Did too."
"Well, that's because you wouldn't let me wear the hat."
"And you always had to have the badge."
I shrugged. "Someone had to be sheriff."
Steven laughed out loud and looked over at Blair. "Can you believe this guy? Even back then he knew he wanted to be in law enforcement."
"Catch the bad guys, and rescue the damsel in distress, eh?" added Blair glancing at the photograph. He pointed with his spoon. "So how come he's got the six-shooter but you're the one wearing the holster?"
That started off another round of bantering. In the midst of that, we found ourselves sitting down at the table, eating more cookies and sharing a glass of milk. Then I stopped.
"Something the matter?"
I shook my head. "No. It's just that this reminds me of when we were kids." I gestured towards the kitchen. "We'd sit at the table and Mom would let us have a cookie or two before dinner."
Steven leaned back and got a faraway look in his eye. Then he laughed softly.
"What? What's so funny?"
"Remember the time you were showing me how to dunk cookies in the milk and I got my hand stuck in the glass..."
We laughed at one. God, he couldn't have been much more than four then. And I distinctly remember him trying to copy me by shoving his chubby little hand into the milk. Naturally it sloshed over him and then the glass tipped over and we had quite a mess on the table top.
And yet Mom laughed at it all as she got a towel. And Stevie just sat there, with a determined look on his face. His hand still stuck, since he refused to let go of the cookie.
Suddenly we were both quiet. But when I looked at Steven again he had this tentative but hopeful look in his eyes. Something I hadn't seen since the time he waited for me to walk him home from school. The time he stayed up, so I'd read him a story, or the time Gregory Mills broke his favorite wagon.
He didn't cry, he didn't yell, he didn't throw a tantrum. He just calmly picked up all the pieces, brought it over to me and deposited them in my lap. With an expression of utter confidence that his older brother could fix it. Make it whole again.
I took a deep breath and released it. Steven had come here hoping that maybe, just maybe we could be whole again, too.
So I returned the look, hoping it conveyed what I felt. That the connection we once shared, tattered, frayed and a little worse for wear, was still there. Definitely there.
* ~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~ *
It's been a long time, but I remember that look.
It's the one that gave me confidence when I had to read my book report in front of class. The same one that told me I could master a two-wheeler bike or beat Tod Neeley at handball.
The one that tells me after fifteen long years, we have a chance to start over again.
Then I glanced down at my watch. "Oh, oh, I'm running late. I promised Dad I'd stop by his place."
"No problem."
Even his voice sounds twenty degrees warmer. Not to mention his eyes. I hesitated for a moment. "Want to come? I'm sure he'd like to see you."
He shot a quick glance at Blair who had his back to him, and was packing something into a square box. Then he turned and faced me. "No, I don't think so," he said softly. "Think I can handle only one family member at a time right now.
"Okay." I'm a little disappointed, but not surprised. It's going to take a whole lot longer for he and Dad to mend their fences. "I'll let you off the hook, but next time, I'm definitely dragging you along."
After I put on my overcoat and wound my muffler around my neck, Blair came up and put the box in my hands. "These brownies are for your Dad," he said.
I'm touched by the gesture. If they're anything like the cookies, there'll only be crumbs left by tomorrow. "Thanks, for everything."
"Sure thing." He smiled, gave me an I-told-you-so look, then went back into the kitchen. I get the feeling he does that a lot.
I paused at the doorway to look at my brother. "When I first got here, I wasn't sure you and I could really talk. I mean, with all the years gone by, it seemed pretty awkward, you know?"
He nodded.
"But, this. This was nice."
"Yeah, it was," he said gruffly. "We should do it more often."
"I'll call you when I get back."
"You do that." He reached up for his jacket. "Come on, I'll walk you to your car."
Outside, I pulled my car key out of my pocket. Just one more thing to get off my chest. "About your present. I really missed the boat on that, especially now that I've seen your place. And it was thoughtless of me not to include Blair as well."
"Hey, it's the thought that counts, right? I'll find a use for it, don't worry. As for Blair, he'll understand."
I guess he would. He seems to be awfully understanding about a lot of things.
"But I've definitely got ideas for next year," I smirked.
He grinned back. "Don't go overboard. Remember, payback's a bitch, little brother."
I opened the car door, slid inside and set the box of brownies down next to me. I started the engine then cracked the window open a tad. "Don't you threaten me. Remember sixth grade? I know exactly what you and Jennifer Foster were up to in Miss Pritchard's cloakroom."
I knew I'd just dug myself a deep hole, but hey, it was worth it just to see the surprised expression on his face as I pulled away from the curb. Gotcha big brother.
* ~~~~~~ * ~~~~~~ *
I shook my head as I returned inside. "You are in so much trouble, Stevie." Just have to make sure a certain inquisitive Guide doesn't get wind of that sorry little episode, or I'll never hear the end of it.
After closing the front door, I eyed my roommate. He was studiously washing out one of the mixing bowls. I walked up behind him and folded my arms.
"So."
He turned his head and gave me a tentative look. "Yeah?"
"Exactly how long have you two been planning this little family get together?"
He rinsed out the bowl and stacked it on the counter. "Oh, not long." He peeked at me again before plunging his hands back in the soapy water. "We're not talking conspiracy here. I just e-mailed Steven to see what he was up to. When he told me his itinerary got changed, I suggested he stop by. I mean with the holidays rolling around, it seemed the perfect time."
I grabbed a dishtowel and began to wipe off one of the baking sheets.
"You're not mad are you?"
"No Chief, I'm not." I cleared my throat. "I'd planned on getting together with him sooner, but things got busy, and I just let it slide."
He just nodded as he handed me another bowl.
"Just tell me one thing."
"Sure. What?"
"Where'd you find that photo?" I know it wasn't on that table a few days ago.
"I picked up one of your books by mistake. And it fell out. So I put it in a frame. Thought it should go there with the rest."
Because you didn't think it right I let my past go unacknowledged. A not-so-subtle reminder he's still part of my life. Aw, Chief.
"So we're okay?"
"Yes." We're more than okay. "You know, I was thinking about the gift Steven sent us."
"Us?"
"Yes us. It's a gift certificate to Burnaby and Wickham."
"Wow, talk about upscale." Then he cocked his head. "Still, it's not exactly your style, is it?"
"That's why I'm taking you with me."
"Huh?"
"Hey, you live here too, you know. You're entitled to a say in what we get. I was thinking about a new bookcase, myself."
"Man, that'd be great, but are you sure? I mean, it's from your brother and all. You really don't have to share it with me."
I put my towel down and reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "Why? Why wouldn't I share something with a family member?"
He blinked at me. "Family member?"
"Yes Darwin, as in kindred, kin folk, sibling, brother."
"Wow, give me a minute. It's a new concept to master, being an only child and all." He gave me a sly smile. "Does that mean I get half the truck, too?"
"Not hardly, Junior. Unless you intend on paying half the insurance."
"With your driving record? No thanks."
"Smartass." I smacked him with the damp towel.
"Hey! Just for that no more goodies for you."
"You know, those chocolate chip cookies are pretty addicting."
He grinned. "What can I say? A little sugar rush never fails to take the edge off those pesky family reunions."
I hid a smile as I continued to dry another bowl.
"Market that and you could make a minor fortune, Chief."
"Nah. Really belongs to Syl and Charlie. Besides, the whole world doesn't need to know about it."
"No?"
"Nope. Just you and me, big guy. Just you and me."
More than anything, it's what warms me during this time of year. Being the focus of his caring.
"Still, you took a risk inviting Steven over. How'd you know it'd all work out? We could've just as easily bitten each other's heads off," I said.
"I know you," he answered simply, then turned to rinse out another pan.
And it suddenly dawned on me how much his look reminded me of Stevie as a kid. That same confidence he once showed in his big brother matches the same easy certainty Blair's always had in me.
For an only child, he seems to have learned early on how to share, and with more graciousness than most adults I know. Myself included.
And he's given me all the good stuff already. His knowledge, trust, friendship and his love. Wholeheartedly, without reserve or hesitation.
"Thank you," I said softly.
"Merry Christmas, Jim."
I put the towel down, picked up another cookie and wandered back into the livingroom.
It's amazing, when I look back on it. The contrast between now and say, three plus years ago. Back then the loft was pretty much cold, empty and bare, like its owner. Now it's filled to the rafters with food, music, warmth and life. And two brothers. One by blood, and the other by choice.
Between the two of them, there's a whole lot to live up to. But I think I'm ready for the challenge.
Cookies aside, for once my heart is full.
*~ The End ~*
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