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Christmas, like anything else in the Gansey household, was a production.
For as long as he can remember, Christmas was more than just a simple holiday. Christmas meant holiday parties and family photographs and weeks of careful planning and decoration. Christmas meant that Gansey’s mother would have all of the help working longer hours to cook and clean and ”really spruce up the place,” as she would always say. Christmas meant brunches with his mother’s friends from her cabinets and societies, and drinks with his father’s friends from his country clubs and fraternities.
That was what Gansey had grown up with, and he had never thought anything of it.
Blue, on the other hand, had never celebrated Christmas a day in her life. In true Sargent fashion, she claimed that the holiday was just another excuse for rampant commercialism, and Gansey had expected nothing less. She had nothing against the holiday season, of course. Being the people that they were, the occupants of 300 Fox Way celebrated Winter Solstice instead, because it was non-denominational and centered around the yearly passing of time and changing of the seasons, rather than a marketed holiday based on the oversimplification of a religion that few of them subscribed to anyways. It hurt Gansey’s traditional ingrained sensibilities to think about at first, but the genuine warmth and ease of the celebration Jane’s family had invited them all to was enough to change his mind.
Gansey had not known Henry long enough to know how he spent Christmas, or if he even celebrated it at all. He hadn’t thought to ask until October. Their trip had taken them up through New England to Maine and back down again, through Pennsylvania and Ohio and Chicago and both Dakotas, Denver and Salt Lake, Reno and Portland and Seattle and the California coast. They had spent a week in Vegas at Henry’s insistence, and when Blue could no longer stand the gross objectification of women plastered on every billboard, they left for Arizona and the Grand Canyon.
October had rolled around right as they entered New Mexico, and soon saw the three of them tumbled together underneath the sheets of a motel six in Albuquerque. Gansey had Blue tucked against his chest despite the suffocating heat, because he was raised with enough manners to know that you need to hold a girl after you do unspeakable things to her, even if he supposes that raunchy threeway bisexual intercourse in a motel six probably renders traditional manners obsolete.
Henry, on the other hand, was sprawled on his back a few inches away. He was every inch a cuddler, he simply preferred to do said cuddling once he had a few moments and some space to catch his breath. He had one hand buried in Blue’s hair though, gently combing his fingers through it, his way of reassuring them that he was sated and happy and that his distance was only temporary.
“I miss winter,” Blue murmured against his shoulder. “It’s too damn hot.”
For a second, the slow Henrietta heat and pull of her voice, her lazy smoke-and-honey accent, made Gansey ache with homesickness.
“While I’m inclined to agree,” Henry counters, rolling over on his side to face them and propping himself up on one elbow, “I’m gonna miss seeing you in shorts.”
Blue rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling, and Henry’s laughing into the space between them. Gansey turns to press a soft kiss to Blue’s forehead. “She wears shorts in the winter too,” he says, running his hand along her waist. She shivers a little.
“Mostly because you would always give me your coat,” she replies. She looks up at him, brown eyes sparkling, reaching one hand back towards Henry for him to hold. “Kind of encouraged the habit.”
Henry takes her hand in his and moves closer to curl up at Blue’s side, pressing soft kisses along her shoulderblades and spine. “Gansey, you sly dog.”
“It’s not like it was intentional!” he protests, and Blue laughs, snuggling closer. “She always looked cold, so I gave her my coat, it’s not like I noticed the pattern.”
“Does this mean you’re the source of both the clothes-stealing habit and the rampant shorts inclination?” Henry asks. Gansey knows that tone anywhere, and if Henry keeps flirting with the both of them like that, the bed’s going to see a lot more use.
“Give credit where it’s due,” Blue teases, turning back to kiss Henry softly. “He’s not the source, but I guess you could say he was my muse. And besides, you should be thanking him. You love the clothes sharing habit.”
“That I do,” Henry says. “You look damn good in my shirts.”
“Our shirts,” Gansey adds, and that’s that.
///
The next morning, Blue wears the shirt that had once been one of Gansey’s threadbare old crew t-shirts. Henry had laid claims on it for the better part of the summer, and blessed them all with the frequent sight of it stretched over his larger frame, but ownership had lapsed over to Blue at some point in August. She’d trimmed it neatly into a breezy crop top with entirely too many holes, and between that and the pink cutoffs she’d fashioned from a pair of jeans rescued from a thrift store in Portland, Gansey is going to have a heart attack.
///
They’re leaning against the hood of the Camaro watching the sun set and sharing a bottle of rosé that Henry and his fake ID had acquired at a gas station thirty some-odd miles back when it happens.
Blue’s small frame is perched on the hood of the car, sitting cross-legged with her combat boots resting on the warm orange metal beside her. Gansey manages to get a picture of her dim silhouette against the desert sunset, because what else is Instagram good for besides artsy pictures of the loves of your life.
“Where are we going for Christmas?” Henry asks from where he’s standing beside Gansey. He offers the bottle, and Gansey gladly takes it.
“I don’t celebrate Christmas,” Blue says, softly, and Henry turns to look at her. “My family always celebrated winter solstice instead. I’m not sure when it is this year, I’d have to look it up. But that doesn’t mean I wouldn’t spend the holiday with you guys, if it means something to you.”
Gansey takes a long sip as he turns the thought over in his head. Does Christmas mean anything to him? Logically, he knows it should, but if there’s anything this trip has taught him, it’s that logic and matters of the heart are not always related.
“I’d want to be with you,” Henry says, his voice hushed and calm, and he doesn’t even need to say both of you, the implication is already there, and it makes Gansey’s heart feel warm. “You’re supposed to spend Christmas with people you love.”
Blue awws softly and pulls Henry in for a hug and a couple of quick kisses. Gansey, on the other hand, is lost in his own head again. He thinks of Christmases spent with his family, and he washes down something like bitterness rising in his throat with another mouthful of wine.
“I can see it,” Blue says softly from somewhere behind him. She puts a hand on his shoulder, and Gansey startles, turning to face her and Henry, who are now cuddling on the hood of the car, and probably testing its weight limit. He hands her the bottle.
“It’ll be something like this,” she continues, taking a sip. “The three of us, maybe some food and blankets, maybe a bottle of something. Just talking.”
“You can count me in,” Henry says. “Ganseyman, what about you?”
“Hm?”
“Are you down for spending our first Christmas together?”
Gansey sighs. He gives them both a fond smile, and he lets himself come back to the present moment. “Of course I am. It sounds lovely.”
“Well, it’s settled, then,” Blue says, grinning. “The two of you have to polish off the rest of that by yourselves. It’s a couple more hours to our hotel. I’m definitely good to drive, but I shouldn’t have any more.”
///
Gansey didn’t realize how much he’d been looking forward to Christmas with Blue and Henry until it was ripped out from under him.
They were in a Waffle House in Atlanta on a Tuesday night in late November when Gansey got the call. Henry and Blue were using him as the tiebreaker in an argument on whether or not the movie Con Air was any good. Blue kept stealing Henry’s fries, and they were watching the lightest, most transient flurry of snow fall outside. Gansey was so busy laughing at something gorgeous and adorable Henry had said that he almost didn’t even realize his phone was ringing.
He fished his phone out of his pocket and looked at the screen before accepting the call.
“Hello, mother.”
///
Christmas at the Gansey household was just as much of a production as he had remembered.
He arrived on Christmas Eve, having postponed the drive from Henrietta to DC for as long as he physically could. They had arrived back home in Virginia three weeks prior. Gansey and his lawyer had already met with his headmaster that spring and bashfully rescinded the Monmouth deal, on account of Ronan not choosing to graduate after all. Though the familiar brass keys had regained their rightful place on his key ring, as Gansey entered Henrietta city limits at three am with Blue and Henry dozing together in the backseat, it had simply felt right to bypass Monmouth and drive straight for the Barns.
Adam wouldn’t be back for another week or two, but the three of them had missed Ronan fiercely, and the reunion was one for the history books.
The following weeks were spent helping Ronan with chores on the farm, playing with Opal, burning rubber in the BMW, discovering the curiosities that Ronan had dreamt in their absence, and sharing anecdotes from their time on the road. Ronan helped the three of them get settled into Monmouth again, Blue reunited with her family at 300 Fox Way and got official permission to move in with her boyfriends, Henry spent a weekend at Litchfield House settling back into the familiar ease of old friendships. Ronan took Blue drag racing, Blue brought Gansey and Henry home for dinner, Gansey had copies made of the keys to Monmouth and he gave them to his lovers. Blue resumed her old job at Nino’s, Henry came out to his mother by way of a hesitant phone call, Ronan dreamt the three of them matching silver promise rings and shoved them across the table one morning at IHOP as a wordless congratulations on their one-year anniversary. Gansey’s bed at Monmouth became their bed at Monmouth, and was consequently, and very thoroughly, christened.
Gansey had felt Christmas drawing nearer with a creeping sort of anxiety that was all too familiar. Eventually, he would have to go home. Or rather, he would have to go to DC. Washington DC was not his home, not truly, not anymore. Home was an orange Camaro and an empty road, home was two reliable sets of arms to hold him, home was Ronan and Monmouth and Nino’s and Fox Way and everything that Henrietta had to offer.
Washington DC meant homesickness and anxiety and parties he didn’t want to get through, lunches and brunches and cocktails and questions. The questioning might be the worst part of it all, he thought. Questions about college, questions about what it was in Henrietta that was just so fascinating, questions about girlfriends and majors.
He knew that Henry and Blue could sense the brewing storm cloud of his mood, but neither of them had brought it up out loud, and for that he was grateful. They held him more, sure, and he’d noticed Blue trying to make sure he got enough rest, Henry making him coffee in the mornings. They helped in the little ways that they could, without drawing even more attention to the things that were on his mind.
Eventually though, the day had come, and Gansey had kissed both of them goodbye and promised to come home as soon as he could. He took his Suburban even though it killed him a little inside, because Henry’s Fisker was in the shop, Blue’s Camaro was an extension of her soul, and the unpredictability of his own Camaro was something he was not mentally prepared to deal with at the moment.
He spent the drive listening to the Smiths and wondering if he perhaps should have brought Blue and Henry along. Of course, bringing Blue would have meant friendly smiles and polite jokes about Gansey having finally found a girl, but Gansey also knew that his family would take one look at Blue’s hairstyle and choice of dress and that would be that. It wouldn’t be fair for him to force her to present herself in a way that his family would deem suitable, and furthermore, it wouldn’t be authentic. He loved Blue for who she was, and the Blue Sargent he knew would never in a million years compromise herself or undermine her choices for a pair of stuffy old Republicans. Bringing Blue home would only result in polite snubs and seemingly well-intentioned questions about what her parents did for a living, where she was going to college, how they had met. Gansey refused to put her through that until he absolutely had to.
Bringing Henry along would have meant something else entirely, and to be truthful, it’s not a prospect he’s ready to consider quite yet. Henry, with his silver tongue and killer dimples and business connections, his Fisker and his Aglionby status and political know-how, his brand-name shirts and his knowledge of how to play the game, would not bring the same problems Blue would. His family could accept Henry as one of their kind, because he was, at least on the surface. Henry was a marvelous creature in his own right, and even though nearly all of his beliefs ran opposite to those of Gansey’s family, he was well-bred enough to fit in with them, at least for a while. He could last through a family dinner, wear a suit so well that it seemed almost lucky to be on his tall frame, talk politics with the best of them.
But Gansey could never bring him home as more than a friend.
Perhaps even worse than the fact that he couldn’t really bring either of them home to his family was the fact that he couldn’t bring them both. Both would mean questions. If you brought your girlfriend home for Christmas, why on earth would you bring a friend along, too? Both of them at once would mean lavishing affection on Blue whilst being unable to touch Henry beyond a fist bump or handshake. It would mean denying Henry the easy comfort and familiarity of touch and kind words.
Gansey thought that might kill him for good, if nothing else could.
///
“Richard, dear, you made it!” His mother beams at him from across the room, his father and Helen turning to face him and convey similar sentiments. The reunion is admittedly a happy one. He had missed them, even if their relationship was complicated.
He noted, though, with something like discomfort, that there were no hugs traded upon his arrival. He had gotten used to those lately. They seemed to be the currency of choice among his found family.
He’d forgotten that physical touch was not something his family had ever much dealt with.
He’d managed to arrive without much circumstance, dropping his duffel off in his old room upstairs before asking one of the maids where he could find his family. He hadn’t recognized her, she must be new, but he had thanked her all the same when she pointed him to the dining room.
Dinner was, for the most part, quiet and uneventful. His parents asked him questions about his travels, of course, questions about how he had been spending his gap year thus far. He managed to talk up the road trip and make it seem like a cross-country cultural exploration, part of his research, something relevant to his intended major in history and minor in archaeology. He left out all the bits about nights spent in cars and seedy motels. He told them about landmarks and capitals and libraries and museums, the extra loyalty points added to his father’s account the rare times they had stayed in nicer hotels. His Suburban was wearing the trip's added mileage quite nicely, thank you, please pass the salt.
They exchanged familial gifts, and his mother’s neatly pressed stacks of Ralph Lauren sweaters and polos were welcome if not surprising; his father’s yachting club membership was uncomfortable and deeply misguided if not surprising. Helen’s gift was his favorite- a record player, a Polaroid, and a new brown leather journal.
Conversation lulled around ten, and they all slowly excused themselves to head off to bed. Helen quietly wished him a merry Christmas quietly as she walked past, and Gansey could hear that familiar note in her voice that said she knew he wasn’t being completely honest, but that she didn’t precisely intend to do anything about it, besides making him aware of her judgment and disapproval.
It was as comforting as Helen always was, which is to say not very.
Gansey readied himself for bed, and in the process he had the bizarre realization that he felt less at home in his childhood bedroom than he had in any of the motel rooms he had stayed in over the last few months. It was not an easy thought to have.
He checked his phone, and found several snapchats from Henry- a few pictures of Blue, a selfie or two, Ronan curled up with Opal on the couch. He had a couple of comforting and subtly reassuring texts from Blue, saying that they missed him, but that he would be home before they knew it, and to have a merry Christmas. That she hoped he could get to sleep, and rest easily.
Some nights he wonders if he deserves either of them.
He eventually fell into an uneasy sleep.
///
Christmas was, to say the least, ridiculous.
They went to a church service early that morning and then came home so that his mother could supervise the party preparations. A good portion of the day was spent greeting far-flung relatives as they slowly arrived, in twos and threes and fours. Gansey wasn’t entirely sure if some of them were relatives at all, or merely friends of the family invited to the ongoing festivities because they, for some reason, didn’t have plans of their own. He busied himself helping aunts and uncles and cousins and the ex-wives of second-cousins twice-removed with their bags, because even though the idle chatter with strangers was frankly exhausting, it caused less emotional upset on his part.
It also made his mother beam, as she made little jokes and quips about what a nice young man he had grown into. Look at our Richard, she’d say, Always so polite. I keep telling him to leave that to the help and come say hello, but he just waves me off every time! You know how young men are. Oh, do take off your coat, Cecilia, there are drinks in the dining room, make yourself at home. How are the children, it’s been ages since we last spoke!
He was finally forced to joined the bustling party late into the afternoon when it seemed that no more guests would be arriving anytime soon. He greeted people, shook hands and smiled, received belated graduation gifts from people he didn’t even know.
Dinner didn’t start until nearly ten pm, and once it did, it was long and excruciating.
He and Helen were seated close to their parents, and Gansey did his best to politely dodge any questions that couldn’t be answered with a nod and a reassuring smile. His parents proudly declared his choice of school, and Gansey lost count of how many times he said he was looking forward to his four years at university, how delighted he was to represent such a wonderful institution.
Helen talked about her boyfriend, an interior designer named Alex that she had met in New York. She promised to bring him around sometime with a smile.
Eventually, though, Gansey felt his resolve growing thin.
He was tired. He missed Blue and Henry. He missed his bed at Monmouth. He missed his car. He missed the comfort of Henrietta accents when faced with an overabundance of the Piedmont accent he had been raised on.
He felt his growing anxiety like a crushing weight in his chest, and he knew he would have to excuse himself soon to get some air, or call Blue, or seclude himself in an empty room until he felt like he could breathe again.
The next conversation he got pulled into, by a member of his mother’s cabinet, was a blessed relief from the incessant questions about his future. She commented on his plan to major in history, and talked about her undergraduate degree in European history, and for some time they discussed favorite periods, favorite rulers, favorite countries. It managed to calm him down a bit, at least until someone else a few seats down got her attention and their discussion abruptly ended in favor of one about the current state of affairs on Wall Street.
Gansey looked up at his sister. She had a white-knuckled grip on her fork and an aggressively neutral expression schooled carefully onto her face. He looked at her, and she looked back at him, and then she abruptly pushed her chair back from the table and stood up.
“I’m going to go check on how everything is going in the kitchen,” she said, the warmth of her voice so completely at odds with the stiffness of her motion and the uncharacteristic cold panic in her eyes.
Gansey assumed that the pressure of the evening was merely getting to her, and he understood. Helen was normally far more adept at handling these sorts of things than he was, but everyone has a breaking point.
As she made her way to the kitchen and conversation slowly returned to earlier topics, he found himself overhearing the discussion between two men in suits who had been sitting to Helen’s left.
“...and I mean really, I can’t believe Steinham voted yes on that bill. I don’t mean to discriminate, but when it comes right down to it, things are the way that they are for a reason. Why is there such a sudden need with this generation to change the way things have always been? I mean, for God’s sake, first it was marriage, and now it’s gender. What was wrong with the traditional way?”
The other man nods sympathetically, and Gansey feels discomfort creeping across his skin as the first man continues. “Call me old fashioned, but a man and a woman is just what’s natural. I know some of them can’t help it, but this was a country founded on God and good morals. We offered domestic partnerships, but it’s never enough with these people, is it? What’s next, marriage between three men, two women, and a couple of goats? I just don’t see why we have to redefine everything.”
He’s met with a chorus of laughter, and Gansey sucks in a breath through his teeth.
You can get through this, he reminds himself. You’re leaving tomorrow morning. His opinion means nothing.
His father laughs from somewhere towards Gansey’s right. “You do have a point, Callahan,” he says. “I don’t mean to get too political, but the other day I heard about legislature in Washington State that allows more than two people to be listed as parents on a child’s birth certificate. I just couldn’t wrap my brain around it at first, but I did some digging, and it’s supposedly for “non-monogamous couples” who want to have children. Truth be told, I just think that’s absolutely bizarre. Polygamy is illegal, for one thing. It’s glorified adultery. And to raise a child in that kind of environment? It just boggles my mind the kind of perverted nonsense people will expose children to these days. Speaking of which, the other day I was talking with an old friend about that North Carolina bill, and-”
Gansey feels his stomach turning, and he quickly excuses himself.
///
He finds Helen in the pantry, sitting with her back against the spice rack, a bottle of cognac halfway to her lips. She looks like she’s been crying.
They stare at each other uncomfortably for a moment, but then she smiles at him, and something about it just looks wrong.
“You too, huh?” she asks, and the resigned bitterness in her voice hurts to hear. “Get over here, little brother.”
He hesitantly joins her, sitting down on the floor by her side. She passes him the bottle wordlessly, and he downs a couple of grateful mouthfuls before handing it back to her.
They sit and drink in silence for a while before Helen finally breaks the tension. She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand and passes him back the bottle, letting her head thunk back against the wall of the spice rack as she closes her eyes, sighing deeply.
“Alex is not my boyfriend,” she says softly.
Gansey is confused, but he doesn’t interrupt her. He just stays quiet and tips back more brandy and waits for her to finish her thought.
“She’s my fiancee.”
Oh, Gansey thinks.
“Oh. Congratulations,” he says.
“Thank you.”
He passes her back the bottle.
They’re silent for a few more moments before she says anything else.
“We’ve been together for nearly three years now. I live with her. We met in college. She’s so beautiful, Richard, you have no idea.”
“That’s wonderful,” he says, and he means it. “Do you have any pictures of her?”
Helen hums a noise of agreement and fishes her phone out of her purse. She opens her photo library and Gansey immediately notices dozens of pictures of the two of them together, laughing or smiling, Helen’s head on her shoulder, a few clumsy attempts at selfies taken while kissing.
She pulls up a clear one and hands him her phone, and Gansey can’t help but smile. She has beautiful dark skin and the most delighted smile on her face, pretty brown eyes and neat box braids pulled into something that he’s at least eighty-five percent sure he’s heard Blue call a top knot. She’s holding a cup of coffee, her nails painted pale pink. There’s an engagement ring on her finger. The photo is brimming with so much love that it makes Gansey’s heart lurch a little with homesickness.
“You’re right,” he says, handing her phone back with a soft smile. “She’s absolutely stunning. I’m happy for you, really. I can tell that you love her a lot.”
Helen smiles back at him, looking at the photo for another moment before putting her phone back in her clutch. “I do,” she says finally, her voice soft. “I really do.”
She hands him the bottle, and he takes a slow sip. “I would come to your wedding,” he says after a moment. “If you wanted me to, that is. I’d be delighted.”
She turns to look at him, considering. “If you’d really come, I’d love to have you. You would...be the only family I have there. It would mean a lot.”
He nudges his shoulder against hers lightly. “Of course, Helen.”
Silence.
He finally takes a breath, and another swig of cognac, before sighing. If Helen entrusted him with a secret this big and this precious, well. It’s only fair that he do the same.
“I understand, you know,” he starts, and Helen slowly turns to look at him quizzically. “Not...being able to tell Mom or Dad about something.”
That’s as close to please don’t tell them please keep this safe please keep me safe as he can get without saying it outright, and she knows it. She nods gently, encouraging him to go on, letting him find his words.
Deep breaths, Gansey, he tells himself. She’ll understand.
“I’m...seeing someone,” he says, staring pointedly at the ground. “Someones, actually.”
Helen is quiet, and he turns to gauge her reaction. She’s raising an eyebrow at him in confusion, but not judgment, as far as he can tell.
“I’m bisexual and polyamorous.” He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and he forces himself to exhale.
Helen nudges his shoulder with hers, gently, mimicking his earlier action. “Oh,” she says. “Huh.”
He frowns at her. “What’s “huh” supposed to mean?”
Helen laughs a little, rolling her eyes. “It means that I was expecting the first part, but not the second,” she elaborates. “I can see it, though. I mean...are you happy?”
He smiles, closing his eyes. “God, of course. I’m happier than ever. They’re an absolute dream.”
“Is that who you went on your road trip with?” she asks, and he nods. “Well come on, little brother,” she says, nudging him again, more insistently this time. “I need details! Tell me about them, what are their names?”
“You’ve met my girlfriend,” he answers, finding his phone in the pocket of his chinos. “Blue.”
“Oh, I remember her,” Helen says, screwing the lid back onto the bottle of cognac and placing it carefully back onto the shelf. “About as short as you are, with the spiky hair and the dumpster chic fashion sense. I liked her, she had charisma.”
Gansey snorts a laugh and rolls his eyes in fond exasperation, scrolling through his instagram for pictures of the three of them. “Charisma is a good word for it. She’s such a magical thing. I love her. I love both of them, actually, very much.”
“Cute. Who’s the other one?” Helen rests her head on his shoulder, and it’s slightly awkward and uncomfortable on account of exactly how few times they’ve even hugged in their lifetimes, but Gansey lets it slide, because she’s Helen and she’s drunk and she’s apparently been keeping the love of her life a secret for three entire years. That has to weigh on you.
“Henry Cheng,” Gansey answers, willing his voice not to shake as he says his name, willing strength into every single pronoun. “You’ve never met him. He went to school with me, he graduated in my year. He’s on a gap year too. He’s absolutely hilarious, I think you’d love him. He’s just the best, he really is. He loves me a lot.”
He settles on a photo, a selfie Henry had taken of the three of them in Blue’s Camaro halfway through Arizona. Gansey is kissing Henry’s cheek and giving Blue rabbit ears, which took expert coordination, thank you very much. He passes Helen his phone, and tries to force himself to calm down.
“Oh, he’s gorgeous,” Helen says, and they both laugh. “Good hair, I approve. You guys are cute, look at the three of you.”
He thanks her and takes his phone back.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” she starts, her voice tentative and choppy. “What, like. Kind of polyamory is it, I guess? Sorry, I don’t know if that’s an okay question to ask.”
“You’re fine,” he reassures her, laughing softly. “If you’re wondering whether we’re all dating each other, then the answer is yes. Blue and Henry are heartstoppingly lovely together.”
“Aw,” says Helen, and he can tell she’s teasing him, just a little. “Look at you, you’re so in love.”
He rolls his eyes, but he can feel himself blushing, and it’s not long before they’re both laughing, giddy from the alcohol and the feeling of weight lifting off their shoulders after making a home there for so long.
“We’ve been together for a year now,” he says eventually. “Our anniversary was a few weeks ago. It’s only been a day, but God, I miss them both so much.”
“I know the feeling,” Helen says drily. “But you’ll be home before you know it.”
He hums his assent, and they lapse into a comfortable, sleepy silence.
“I hope you know,” she says after a few minutes, “That you’re walking me down the aisle.”
He laughs, and gently shoves her off of him so he can stand, a little dizzy from all the brandy. He offers her a hand to help her up.
“Of course,” he says. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
///
He leaves early the next morning after a cursory goodbye to his parents and a long hug with his sister.
“I’ll text you,” she says, and he knows she means I’ll text you the information about my wedding.
“I have my ringer up,” he says, and she knows he means I know.
///
He doesn’t forget what his father said last night.
He hadn’t expected much else from his parents, he thinks bitterly as he carries his suitcase out to his car, so at least they’re predictable.
It still stings, though, the disappointment in knowing that his suspicions were right.
He tries to put the thought out of his mind as he drives home, and instead he thinks about Helen, about how happy she had been talking about Alex, how supportive she had been of his relationship with Henry and Blue.
He thinks about all of the love that’s waiting for him back in Henrietta, and if he breaks the speed limit a little in his rush to get home, well. Who can blame him?
///
“Okay,” Henry says, nestling Gansey against his chest gently with Blue curled up beside them. “Christmas is officially in session. Now will you please tell us what the hell happened in DC?”
They’re sprawled on a blanket in the Monmouth lot, staring up at the stars. They’d had to postpone Christmas a few days, on account of Gansey getting dragged off to DC, but the night of his return had aligned clandestinely with a meteor shower. Blue had always loved stargazing, so here they are.
Gansey laughs, pressing a gentle kiss to Henry’s neck. “I will, I promise,” he says, “I just needed time to process it all.”
Henry kisses his forehead, and reaches for Blue’s free hand to kiss her palm. “Blue,” he chides softly, “Quit hogging the twizzlers.”
She rolls her eyes and passes him back the package before snuggling closer to them and reaching for a blanket, draping it gently over the three of them as she rests her head on Henry’s bicep. “Seriously, Gansey,” she says, reaching a hand up to brush his hair back out of his eyes lightly. “What happened? Normally you come home miserable, but you’re so happy this time around.”
“Well,” Gansey starts, pointing at the first meteor of the night. “My sister is a lesbian and she’s eloping in New York City next month with the love of her life, and we’re all invited. Also, she thinks Blue has charisma and Henry has good hair and she’s glad that we’re all in love.”
Blue and Henry turn to look at him, shocked and awe struck.
“Really?” Henry asks eventually, “You told her?” Gansey nods, tracing the arc of the second meteor in the air with a fingertip.
“Do your parents know?” Blue asks, and Gansey sighs, shaking his head.
“No. My Dad’s not going to want to hear about it anytime soon, judging by the way the dinnertime conversation went. But it’s okay, Helen is family too, and I guess her wife will be pretty soon here. Her name’s Alex, I can’t wait to meet her.”
Blue makes a sympathetic noise and Henry wraps his arms tighter around him.
“I might not be able to bring you home to my parents anytime soon,” he says, leaning over to quickly kiss Blue, because the moon is shining on her skin and she just looks beautiful. “But I can bring you to visit my sister, and that’s close enough. I hear New York is beautiful this time of year.”
“Do we have a new destination?” Henry muses.
“I think we do,” Blue replies, watching a meteor streak across the inky sky.
“Merry Christmas,” Gansey says softly.
This year, he thinks he means it.