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“I’ll order the turkey this weekend, shall I?” Martin lazily pushed his foot between Carl’s ankles where they snuggled under the duvet, cuddling closer.
Carl, propped up against the headboard reading, frowned. “Turkey?”
“For Christmas day.” Martin glanced up. “Both our families are coming.”
“I know that, but…”
“But what?” Martin quirked a grin. “I think they’re expecting to eat, you know.” He kissed Carl’s bare chest. “It’s what ‘come to Christmas dinner’ means.”
Carl chuckled. “I know, but… my family don’t usually have turkey on Christmas day.”
Martin blinked in surprise. “What do you have, then?”
“At the Madderty’s, Christmas has always been goose or nothing.”
Martin wrinkled his nose. “Goose?” he said, uncertainly.
“We can order one of those.” Carl went back to his magazine, but Martin tugged it away with a finger.
“But Christmas is all about turkey,” he said. “And new experiences are broadening. So Douglas is always telling me, anyway…”
“Well, have you ever had goose?” Carl waited for Martin to shake his head. “There you are, then. Besides, your Mum’s much more tractable than mine.”
“Oh, alright…” Martin sighed. The thought of Mrs Madderty being grumpy was – after all – a terrifying one indeed. “I give in.”
*** *** *** ***
“Where are you, love?” Carl shouldered the lounge door open. “I got the decorations out of storage on my way home.”
Martin stood eagerly – he’d been lying on the sofa, recovering from the trip back from Mexico he’d flown the day before. He rubbed his hands. “I set the tree up.”
“Looks great.” Carl set down the two boxes he carried and wandered to hug Martin, admiring the dark green spruce they’d picked out at the garden centre. “We definitely found a good one – it’s a great shape.”
“Looks too bare for now.” Martin nosed a kiss into Carl’s hair. “Let’s get started!”
The two of them eagerly set to opening up the slightly dusty boxes – one each that they’d brought from their separate homes when they’d moved in together. Martin gently unwrapped the decorations he’d meticulously individually packed away the previous January, but wasn’t surprised when he glanced over to see the sparkly muddle that was Carl’s box.
He was surprised, though, when he heard rustling and saw Carl approaching the tree with armfuls of tinsel. “What’s that?”
Carl began flinging the silver-gold garlands haphazardly at the boughs. “What do you think it is?” he grinned.
Martin hastened over. “Wait, wait…” Carl paused. “Tinsel? Really?”
Carl looked perplexed. “Why, what’s the problem?”
Martin bit his lip. “Crieffs don’t usually put tinsel on the tree.”
Carl’s eyebrows shot up. “Then where do you put it?”
Martin toed the carpet. “Actually, my mum would never let it in the house.”
“What?” Carl was genuinely shocked. “But… it’s Christmassy!”
Martin shrugged. “She really didn’t like it. And… um… nor do I.”
“But…” Carl gaped for a moment, then sighed and removed it. “Fine.”
“Thank you.” Martin smiled.
“But this means I get to put the fairy at the top of the tree.” Carl saw Martin’s face. “What?”
“Don’t you mean… star?” Martin fixed Carl with his most guileless stare.
But Carl set his mouth, and Martin knew the battle was lost. “Fairy.”
“Oh, fine.” Martin went back to unpacking baubles. “Fairy it is.”
*** *** *** ***
They spent all afternoon decorating, until their small house twinkled and gleamed like sunlight on snow. Carl finally disappeared into the hall, and Martin followed, intrigued by the mysterious expression on his face. “What are you doing? I thought we’d finished.”
Carl fished a small bag delicately from his coat’s pocket. “One last touch.” He pulled out a sprig of mistletoe, and carefully hooked it into the lampshade above. “There.” He stood back, satisfied, but then looked at Martin, whose expression he couldn’t interpret. “Oh no,” he groaned. “Don’t tell me Crieffs don’t do mistletoe.”
Martin’s face broke into a smile, and he stepped forwards to draw Carl into a kiss. “Crieffs,” he said, kissing Carl again, “definitely do mistletoe.”
Carl beamed, and relaxed into Martin’s arms. “Thank goodness for that.”