Make You Mine This Christmas

by Lizzie Huxley-Jones

‘Iechyd da.’ ‘Bless you.’ ‘It’s Welsh, you awful English wanker.’ She laughs, kicking his foot with her own.

‘How much gin is in these?’ he says, reading the side of the can. Or rather, he tries to, but mostly he just blinks really hard while looking at it.

‘Christopher, do you always talk in riddles? It’s like having a conversation with a wizard on a bridge.’

‘You dropped this.’

‘And these two. And that one as well,’ she says, pointing with her stick to one at her feet.

‘Ma’am, are you trying to peer-pressure me into committing a crime?’ She laughs, and it is music. ‘Only a little one. Tiny, really.’

Making eyes over the queer books? Couldn’t be more perfect.’ He chuckles to himself before sighing contentedly. ‘That’s the kind of meet-cute you dream of, the kind of queer stories we deserve.’

‘I know, but you gave me five minutes of entertainment and an anecdote for forever.’ ‘Happy to help. You can call it “The Tale of the Useless Bisexual”.’

‘It’s hard to feel close to the person your parents expect you to match up to.’

‘Thank God, I can make noise again.’ ‘It’s all right if you don’t, you know,’

Perhaps that’s just being someone’s child; you always see them differently, as a parent first rather than a person in their own right. Intimacy and proximity always change things.

The worst thing about other people’s families is that they think everything in their house is ‘normal’ and no one hands you the guidebook on the way in. You just have to guess.

‘Dear, I think she’s trying to tell you that the reindeer on your jumper appear to be engaged in coitus.’

‘I just punched you in the face, didn’t I?’ ‘You did,’ Christopher says, gently lifting the jumper off her face. ‘You’ve got a good right hook.’

The fifth glass is unarguably clean. Especially because Haf has been pretending to scrub at a stain that isn’t there, like a horny Lady Macbeth wanting to prolong the moment.

Perfect. If I cannot be academic, I will continue with being useful.

‘I have this thing called hypermobile Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome. It’s why I use the walking stick. Basically, it makes all your tissues too stretchy, so my joints are really weak and pop out, or dislocate if they’re feeling really spicy,’

This will be fine! Friends!

‘It shouldn’t be a big deal to meet someone where they’re at.’

‘Oh, fuck off.’ ‘Very festive of you. Is that the Welsh for “Merry Christmas”?’

‘Before you get worried, it’s not that kind of ring.’ He laughs. ‘It’s . . . a friendship ring.’ ‘A friendship ring? Oh, Christopher, you soft sausage.’

‘Christopher, you’re actually killing me. The language of flowers? This ring might be the most lesbian thing in the world, and you’re a straight man.’ ‘Mostly.’ ‘Mostly?’ she says, her eyebrows practically falling off her face. ‘Ohhh. This absolutely tracks.’

‘The fake-dating, the falling in love with your sister, all the other nonsense. That’s the combined force of two chaotic bisexuals.’

With a finger against Haf’s lips, Kit hushes her, and Haf is pretty sure, certain even, that this might be the end of her. ‘Shh.’ The command sends shivers down her spine.