Chris got close to the screen, bending at the waist at an odd angle, as he peered at the video I had just put in the player.

After having just a moment ago teased me for still having a VHS player.

“Mom sends me home videos like this one. How else can I play them?”

Chris got even closer to the screen.

I shook my head affectionately. “Need your glasses, Christopher?”

“No. I just can’t believe this is you. Wow.”

But it was, of course. Well, thirteen year old me. I did go to Catholic school after all. And I was standing on a choir stage, wearing a choir robe, red for Christmas, singing in a Christmas pageant. The song was in Latin, In Dulci Jubilo.

“I didn’t know you knew Latin.”

I snorted. “I don’t. I learned the song. I don’t speak it.”

“Look at those pink cheeks!”


Chris laughed. “I can’t help it. You were so damn cute. Oh. My. God.”

“Do you want a glass of this eggnog or what?”

He straightened, but instead of walking away from the TV screen, he dropped down to his haunches in front of it. “You sound good.”

“You can’t possibly pick out my voice out of all of us.”

Chris laughed again. “No. I meant all of you together. I don’t think you’ll beat the Mormon Tabernacle Choir or anything, but you’re good. Really good.”



I went over to the table where I’d left the carton of eggnog and poured some in two frosted holiday glasses. I picked up the brandy bottle.


“Of course.” He rose,  finally turned away from the TV. The beat up T-shirt he wore rose up to expose some of his belly. Chris absently scratched at it. “Let’s hear it.”

I arched a brow, giving my Spock character a run for his money. “Hear what?”

“In Dulci Jubilo? Do you remember it?”

“Sure, I remember it. But I was a kid with my voice having not changed yet. Now I’d sound like a frog trying to croak it. Just listen to kid me singing.”

“Spoil sport.” But he was smiling as he took the drink from me.  “I love that your mom recorded that kind of stuff and sends it to you to see. That’s so sweet.”

“That’s the Quintos. Sweet as can be,” I said, dryly.

“Well, I know you are.” He took a big swallow of eggnog and then put down the glass, coming into my arms. He took my glass and put it down beside his, then looped his arms around my neck. “Thanks for coming here.”

“You came here, remember? This is my house.”

“I know. I meant here. For Christmas. Instead of staying in New York. Every time you go away, you take a piece of me with you.”

I snorted. “Lord, you’re corny. Quoting from songs now.” But I kissed him, long and slow.

“So. In sweet rejoicing, right?”

“Yep. That’s the translation. Dates back to medieval times in some forms. It’s been popularized and modernized since those days.”

“Well, I like to rejoice at how sweet you are,” Chris cracked.

“Try not to be quite so much of an ass.” I kissed him to soften the words.

“I do try, honest,” he murmured against my lips. “How about we cuddle on the couch with our eggnog and watch little Zach sing and then watch corny Christmas movies together all night until we fall into bed and ravish each other?”

“Sounds like the perfect night to me,” I agreed. “Love you.” He smiled, bright and beautiful. “Love you, too.”