The Light That Wraps You

Your heart felt wonderful on Christmas. I was sure that if someone were to take an x-ray of my chest, they would see all of those lovely valves lit with a golden glow and pumping sweet honey through my veins.

It was impossible not to be happy that morning. It had dawned clear and cold, a light dusting of snow covering the ground and turning everything to silver. Ice sparkled on every surface, and upon leaving my rental house, I inhaled deep, breathing in all of that magic.

I am alive, I thought to myself. And I am about to make dinner for Kris Letang.

When I arrived at his house, your heart raged, thumping excitedly. It was like a separate entity, capable of thought, and it seemed to know just how much this meant to me. Hoping I didn’t look too nervous, I piled my arms full of all my bags and parcels, and teetered up his frosty walkway. The frigid air stung my cheeks, but it was a fierce, joyous sort of cold that made me smile.

There was a wreath on his front door, and I was filled with the sudden feeling that he had placed it there for my benefit. Shifting everything I was carrying, I rang the doorbell. He opened it almost immediately, as if he had been standing right there on the other side.

I almost dropped everything.

Kris’ hair was pushed back from his face, most likely by his hands, out of nervousness or annoyance or perhaps both. He was wearing a dark blue crewneck sweater with dark gray cuffs, and a pair of well-fitting blue jeans. On his feet was a pair of thick black socks. He looked so warm and comfortable that I immediately sighed contentedly.

“Salut, Lux!” He said with a smile, before he noticed all the things I was carrying. “Here, let me have some of that.” I handed off some of my bags full of ingredients and supplies, and I followed him inside.

I shrugged out of my coat and hung it up in the hallway. I kicked off my shoes while he carted my bags into the kitchen. I looked around, still holding his present, being very careful not to move it too much. To the left, there was an archway opening up into his living room. He had a beautiful Christmas tree set up, bedecked with lights and a glimmering star on top. I wished that I had been with him to set it up. It would have been wonderful. Stepping down into the living room, I placed his present beneath the tree. There was just one other--one with my name on it. I frowned. He had already given me a present. Surely he didn’t mean to give me another?

“Lux?” Kris was standing in the archway.

“Mm?”

“Your things are in the kitchen. I would like to help, if you’d let me.” He looked so hopeful, so cute and boyish, that I couldn’t have said no, even if I had wanted to.

“Of course! It’s your kitchen, I can’t say no. But first, I think you should open your present.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. It’s sort of…required.”

Instead of taking a place on some of his plush furniture, he plopped down right in the middle of the floor beside the tree. I did the same, our knees touching. I didn’t move away and neither did he.

I nudged my gift to him towards him, gently. I was suddenly nervous, afraid of him opening that box and seeing what I had placed inside. Buying it had been difficult for me. I hadn’t known what to get him. Buying him something he could use, something practical was something a parent would do, so I had strayed far from that way of thinking. He needed something special, something that would prove how much he meant to--

He opened the box slowly, like he was almost afraid too, and I hoped that he was. Then I wouldn’t be alone.

I wanted to close my eyes when I saw it, but I was entranced. I couldn’t look away as he slowly lifted the lid out of the way, peering in confusion at the holes poked into the cardboard. “Lux, wha--?”

A tiny meow sounded in the living room, and the biggest smile I had ever seen broke across his face like a sunrise. “Oh..." He said softly, lifting a small ginger kitten out of the box. It was so whimsical, seeing that little, furry body held gently in his large hands, that I had to laugh. He held it up to his face to stare into its blue eyes. It meowed at him again.

“Is it a boy or a girl?”

“It’s a boy.”

“When did you get him?” Kris was astonished, but he seemed to like him, cradling the kitten against his chest. “Yesterday?”

“Yes. I explained that it was a gift for you that I couldn’t immediately take home. The owner of the pet store in the mall is a big fan of the Penguins, so he agreed to let me come in this morning and pick him up.”

“That’s--Lux, I just--” He shook his head. “This is crazy! How will I ever take care of him?”

“Well, that’s why I got you a cat. They’re incredibly independent, unlike dogs. All you need is one of those automatic food and water dispensers and he should do all right on road trips." I leaned closer so I could pet the kitten. "Isn’t he cute?"

"He is," Kris admitted, his lips twitching.

"What will you name him?”

“I… I don’t know.” He smiled suddenly. “Maybe Simba. I met a cat once during our Pens & Paws event last year. His name was Simba, and I wanted to take him home with me, but someone else adopted him instead.”

“Well now you can have your own Simba! I think that’s a lovely name. You know, it means ‘lion’ in Swahili.” I reached out and touched the kitten with my finger. He was warm, his tiny breaths like the fluttering of moth wings. “And he certainly does look like a little lion.”

“All right. He’ll be Simba.”

We cuddled and cooed over Simba for a little while, before putting him down on the floor. I had also brought some things that Kris would need for him, like a litter box and some food, but I had left them in my car so as not to give it away. Simba went exploring, batting a curious paw at the lowest hanging branches of the Christmas tree, while Kris seemed to remember that I was supposed to be making him dinner. He gestured for me to follow him, and casting one last look at Simba, the two of us strolled down his hallway.

As I trailed behind him, I stared at the pictures covering the walls on either side of us. There were pictures of who I assumed were his family--his mother and his stepfather, and a few of them of him playing hockey. At the very end of the hallway was a picture of him with the Stanley Cup. He looked so happy there that your heart lurched in my chest.

Kris’ kitchen was magnificent. The countertops gleamed and all of his appliances were stainless steel. I walked around, opening cupboards and peering into his drawers, trying to become more familiar with the foreign territory. When I started pulling things out of bags and setting them on the counter, Kris jumped in without being asked.

“So what are you making?”

“It’s a surprise!”

He faked a pained look for the sake of playing along with my game. “How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know what we’re making?”

“Oh, you’ll be doing grunt work. For starters, I’m going to have you peel potatoes.”

While he did that, I brought out the green beans that I had prepared that morning. I put them in the microwave so they could heat up, before I found the grocery bag containing the Tupperware of marinated steaks. When I pulled that out, Kris’ eyes widened.

“Filet mignon?”

I shrugged. “I have never been particularly partial to turkey. Is that okay with you?”

“Of course!" He looked down, suddenly more shy. "I’m just happy you’re here.”

So am I.

While the potatoes boiled, Kris grabbed me a pan and I set to searing the steaks. It wouldn’t take long, especially with a stove like his. While he watched the potatoes boil, and while I turned the steaks so the other side could sear, we talked. He mentioned how his grandmother had used to cook just like this, making elaborate meals on even the most ordinary of days. It made me smile, that he should think of such a thing. While I placed the pan in the oven so the steaks could roast, he unearthed the bottle of wine he had chosen for us (a rich Cabernet Sauvignon) and poured the both of us a glass.

I stared down at the red wine, seeing my reflection in the ripples. I looked happy.

“What’s wrong?”

I waved a hand at him. “Oh, nothing, it has just been a very long time since I’ve had a drink.”

“Well, you don’t have to drink it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Kris. I have to see if you picked a good vintage!”

He had.

Eventually, Kris got bored with the cooking itself. He disappeared to the living room, coming back with Simba clinging to his shoulder. The two of them stayed out of my way, and he listened as I talked about the last few Christmases I’d had--skipping over the ones in the hospital, of course. Instead I told him about my family, about my genius father and my beautiful mother, and how crazy my grandmother and my aunts were. He laughed a lot, which set my heart--your heart--at ease.

By the time everything was finished, it was late afternoon. There were two steakhouse steaks, marinated in red wine vinegar and olive oil, with garlic mashed potatoes, green beans, and Kris’ red wine. At some point during all of my rambling, he had set the table, complete with napkins and some candles. The scene took my breath away.

“Kris, il est belle.”

He just smiled in reply. The two of us sat down to eat (Simba on Kris’ lap and playing with his napkin), and I mulled over the food that I had made and had a few more sips of the wine. In a way, I was sad. I had come here to make dinner, and now we were having it. Soon, the meal would be over. We would exchange our gifts, and I would go home, or what I called home, back to that small rental house that was dark and cold. And then tomorrow the games would begin again, and my job would start off anew, and Kris and I would once more be on opposite sides of the exam table. I didn’t want it to end. I wanted things to stay this way, and be this beautiful, forever.

It was lucky that I hadn’t brought dessert, because both of us were too stuffed for anything else anyway. I would have brought something, if the thought of Dan’s face hadn’t scared me away from anything with sugar in it. The wine was enough, I decided, as my head spun, pleasantly light, and my cheeks felt warm. We did the dishes together, with me humming Christmas carols and flinging soap bubbles at him when he wasn’t watching, before we retired to the living room where Simba had managed to shred some of the wrapping paper on the present Kris had wrapped for me.

By then, the sun had set and the only lights in there were from the Christmas tree. It was beautiful, glowing brilliantly, each light hazy and golden. Kris was about to turn the light on, but I stopped him, grabbing his wrist.

“Don’t.” My voice was a whisper.

“Why not?”

“Because it’s wonderful just as it is.”

“All right.”

In this moment, in the dark lit only by the glow of a hundred Christmas lights, it felt right. For one of the first times in my life, I felt like I was right where I belonged, and where I always had belonged since the day I had been born. I sat down on the floor where the two of us had been earlier, and Kris dropped down next to me. Simba crawled over and curled up in his lap, while he handed me the present.

“What is it?”

I couldn’t help myself from asking, and almost hit myself when I did. Kris just laughed, shaking his head.

“Open it, Lux.”

I tore what was left of the wrapping paper off, exposing a plain white box, maybe eight inches long. I carefully opened one end of it, and my fingers brushed against stone. Confused, I pulled out whatever it was and held it up to the lights of the Christmas tree.

“What is this?” I breathed, in a voice not my own.

“It’s a gargoyle.”

Yes, I could see that, but I was so shocked that I’d had to ask. A gargoyle, no more than six inches tall and ugly, with protruding fangs and clawed fingers. I loved it, truthfully, and I wanted nothing more than to keep it, exclaiming to Kris what a wonderful gift it was, because it was. But…he had no idea what this meant to me. He did, on some level, or else he wouldn’t have bought it, but he didn’t fully grasp what it meant. It was a gargoyle, a morgengabe, a symbol of--

“Kris,” I said, more sharply than I intended. “You told me you hadn’t finished The Gargoyle.”

“And I haven’t.” His eyes were confused, scared, and I immediately felt bad for causing those feelings. Your heart lurched and it was like you had slapped me. “Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s beautiful and I love it, but…" Oh, this hurts. I took a deep breath. "I must ask that you take it back.”

“Why?”

“Because the time is not right. Don’t get me wrong, I adore it. I think it’s beautiful and I would love to take it, but until you have finished the book and until you think you understand what it means to give this to me, I cannot take this.”

For a moment, I thought he’d say no. he looked deep a thought, a struggle visible on his face. I waited before he finally relented. “Okay.” He took the gargoyle back and put it back in the box, setting it on the coffee table. Simba was asleep in his lap and Kris dropped one hand to stroke his head and ears. The sound of his purring filled the living room.

“How will I know when the time is right?”

I smiled, sad that I had to do this. It’s Christmas. I should have just taken it. “Trust me, you’ll know.”

“Now I have nothing else to give you.”

“You already gave me all of those wonderful books!” I protested, laying my hand on his arm to let him know that it was enough. He didn’t need to do anything else for me. All of this had been perfect as it was.

“Yes,” Kris said, answering my last statement but it seemed to me he was answering my thoughts as well. “But you deserve more, Lux.” He pondered that while I laughed and objected playfully, trying desperately to lighten the dark mood that I had cast over this night.

I was still laughing when he kissed me.

Your heart seemed to explode, like a firework lighting up the dark of the night sky with bursts of color that outshone the stars. Showers of silver rain fell, the debris of everything I had known, crashing around us. His lips were soft, and at first it was nothing more than that, just two pairs of lips pressed together, chaste as a maiden. But then it changed, evolving into something else. He parted his lips, asking permission with his tongue. The taste of him drowned me in sensations I had never felt before, and my thoughts vanished, nudged to the sides of my mind while instinct took over. With the simplest action, he stole my breath, and I clung to him as he pulled me closer, nearly bending me backwards in his desire.

It wasn’t until our actions dislodged Simba that he awoke with an angry mewl and dug his claws into Kris’ thigh. Kris immediately released me, hissing in pain as he gingerly picked up the kitten and held him against his chest. He wouldn’t look at me as he absent-mindedly petted Simba, his eyes cast down at the carpet. I wanted him to look at me, wanted him to say something, to explain what had just happened so that I could somehow rationalize it but he didn’t. The silence stretched on between us like an ocean, and I couldn’t tell if we were regretting what we had just done or relishing it.

I reached up, tentatively feeling my lips. They were tingling and they felt swollen. Dazed, I tried to come up with something to say, but I couldn’t. Thoughts made their way to my mouth but they fizzled out before the words came to life.

“Lux?” His voice was soft, and I wondered if I had imagined him speaking. When I glanced over at him, though, I met his dark gaze and the intensity in his eyes stirred me.

“Yes Kris?”

“Joyeux Noël.”

“And you,” I whispered, reaching out and laying my hand on his arm. I felt a life of pain and triumph beneath my fingers, but when he shuddered in something like relief, I felt some of it wash away. With just a single touch, he came to a resolution. We both did.

“Merry Christmas, Kris.”