JT's hurried voice resounded from the bathroom: “Do you’ve got the gift?”
Tug - Turn - Flick! Jackpot's nimble fingers bound an artistic bowtie around his neck. “Yeah!” he yelled back from the hall stand. Behind him, JT scurried into the kitchen. “And the flowers too?”
He straightened. “And the flowers too.”
By the time he turned around, JT already leant against the doorframe. His eyes travelled his body, from the washed out bellbottom jeans to the ugly plum Christmas sweater. He looked ravishingly beautiful.
Jackpot pointed to the plastic decoration JT had placed into his hair: "Cute antlers." He blushed, then narrowed his eyes impishly.
“You know, I might have to call the police on you.”
“Uh-huh?”
“Because you just stole my breath away.”
Jackpot snorted, hiding a fondness behind exasperation. “Too formal?” he winced then, looking down at his three-piece suit.
JT shook his head and came closer, dropping a chaste kiss to his lips: “Just right to impress my dad.”
He worried at his bottom lip. "I just don’t want to leave a..."
“A bad first impression?" JT laughed, "You’re a little late for that!"
With a smack to his behind, JT tore him from his worries. "Come on," he took the car keys out of Jackpot's hand, "I'll even drive."
Twenty minutes later, JT and Jackpot held on for dear life, as the ambulance in which they found themselves in broke the sound barrier.
It had been such a cosy drive. And it had been such a nice crash site they had stumbled upon. Clean, straight to the chase. No complex nexus helping overly gruesome injuries. By the time the ambulance had shown up, the fire department had already cleared the street.
The vehicle rumbled over a pothole, but the patient (male, late 60s, possible heart attack) didn’t seem too fazed with the disturbance. Jackpot’s eyes fixated again on the ECG in the corner. So far so good. JT smiled at him from the medicine cabinet. What an afternoon.
And so, 04:00 PM became 06:00 PM became 08:00 PM. One emergency after the other after the other. Jackpot sighed as the short hand struck eleven o’clock.
“No, we’re still stuck here,” JT whined into the payphone.
He felt a pressure building behind his forehead. The hallway light was way too bright.
“No, dad...” he argued, making Jackpot flinch. JT shot him an apologetic look.
“No, sorry,” he whispered. Jackpot's thumb ran over the rumpled bowtie in his hand. The suit he had ditched somewhen two scrub sessions ago.
Then, he felt JT crash onto the bench next to him. “Hey,” he smiled.
“Hey yourself,” Jackpot rested his head on his shoulder.
“So, dad says, it’s really up to us if we still want to show up”
Silence rested between them.
“And,” he felt his voice rumble in his ear, “I don’t think he’ll be mad if we just hit the hay.”
“Compelling argument,” Jackpot said, “Is your dad still expecting a beautiful young woman as your company?”
“I guess so.”
He lifted his head: “Well, I’d hate to keep him in the dark any longer.”
"Christ," JT laughed, “You’re such a goodie two shoes.”
San Francisco was a delight at night. The walk to Dr. McIntyre's house was short, the weather mild, even for December, and the atmosphere likewise calming and energising.
Skillfully, JT steered them through the labyrinthine streets of the residential neighbourhood. Five cars were parked on the steep street in front of their destination. Jackpot skimmed the license plates: California, California, New York State, Massachusetts and Maine.
“Maine?!” he blurted out, to which JT only shrugged. “Old friend of Dad’s. You'll know him when you see him.” And even though they were the only people out on the street, JT lowered his voice to a mumble as if he were telling expensive secrets: “Don’t ask him what happened to the pot of red berry compote. You’ll never hear the end of it.”
With that, JT rushed ahead onto the patio, raising his hand to knock, but –
“Wait!”
“What?” He turned to Jackpot.
“Do I look... presentable?” JT grinned, fixing the bowtie he had haphazardly put on again.
“There,” he said, happy with his correction, his eyes soft, “You look cute.”
“Cute?”
“... And beautiful and handsome and ... tired.”
“Flatterer.”
Jackpot glanced over the dented gift in his hands, the wilted flowers in his other. He smiled.
“Happy Christmas, love,” he kissed JT and rang the bell.
Jackpot had read once in a handbook that meeting a partner’s family is an event of importance – one that can make or break a relationship. He remembered the text talking about firm handshakes and eye contact. Bizarely, he didn’t remember any tips about meeting your boyfriend’s dad, who is your boss, who doesn’t know his son is in a relationship with a man and to whose Christmas party you are turning up seven hours late.
Whatever. Freestyle it is.
From the brightly lit doorway Trapper McIntyre smiled joyously at his son, until he spotted Jackpot to his left. The facial journey that followed could best be described as beginning at confusion, bafflement, turning into denial, fool, and ending in realisation and, mercifully, acceptance. The buzzing nerves in Jackpot’s chest had quieted into a frozen pit.
Then, Trapper smiled just as brightly as before.
“You two will be the death of me,” he sighed and opened the door for them to step in.
The easy acceptance was a lot to take in. So was the life-sized figurine of Santa Claus greeting them in the living room and Trapper’s a-little-too-skintight glittering Christmas-disco outfit.
“Sorry,” Jackpot snorted, remembering he still had blood on his shirt collar, “We didn’t have the time to get into party clothing.”
“Oh no...” JT buried his face in his hand.
“Oh, that?” Trapper asked, “That, my dear Doctor Jackson is the official McIntyre party uniform. Do you like it?”
“Dad.”
“And it seems to me, because everyone in the family has one, even my reluctant son, we’ll have to get you one as well–”
“Dad, please!”
Trapper chuckled. “But you look exhausted. Let’s do that some other day. I’ll put some new sheets on the bed and you can just crash here. How does that sound?”
Heavenly, thought Jackpot. That sounded heavenly.
An hour later, Jackpot climbed into JT’s childhood bed where said boyfriend was aleady dozing.
“I told you,” he mumbled into Jackpot’s shoulder, “you shouldn’t have asked Hawkeye about the pot of compote.”
“Well, for what it’s worth, he seemed nice enough,” he riposted, snuggling into the bedding, “Never met someone named ‘Hawkeye’ before though.”
“That’s from some book. I’ve got a copy on the shelf somewhere. I’ll show you tomorrow.”
"Hm," Jackpot closed his eyes, “I’d like that.”
The room plunged into quiet. Softly, the downstairs noises of a good party forced themselves through the closed door. Jackpot nudged JT awake.
“And the other guy?”
“Hm? That’s just BJ. I used to call him ‘Crazy Eyes’ because of the whole... you know. But don’t worry. He may look odd, but he’s nice.”
Jackpot shook his head with a grin. “Your family’s so strange...”
“Are you calling it quits?” smirked JT.
“Never,” he concluded with a kiss, “You’re stuck with me now.”
“Thank god,” JT sighed before both of them finally drifted off to sleep.
In his short dating history, Jackpot had come to understand the universal awkwardness of morning afters. All things considered, this one seemed to go exceptionally well.
The dining table was packed with guests who stayed the night. From above, the winter sun warmed Jackpot's face through a skylight. He had to fight not to giggle into his eggs and bacon. Instead, he focused on JT’s warm hand laying in his under the table.
Warmth spread through his chest. Happiness mixed with excitement as a fleeing but strong thought flitted across his mind: Gonzo will freak out when he hears about this at work.