Smiling, I took my coffee and followed him down to the kitchen. He had his head in the fridge and turned around, his hands full of eggs and bacon, took one look at me, and stopped. “Oh.”
I looked down at myself. I was shirtless, wearing only the soft sleep pants he’d bought me for my birthday. “What?” I asked. “I slept beside you all night wearing these.”
“Oh, I just like . . . damn, you look so hot in those. I can see your cock just hanging at half-mast. Should I salute? Or just drop to my knees and open my mouth? What’s half-mast protocol?”
I rolled my eyes and sat on the stool at the breakfast bar. If we started something now, we’d be late to my parents’. “You can make me breakfast. This coffee is good, by the way.”
He smiled proudly. “Thank you.”
“Want me to do anything?”
“Not yet.”
He busied himself scrambling eggs, frying bacon, and grilling tomato. I made us more coffee, popped the bread into the toaster, and we ate breakfast at the table. He’d put a centrepiece of eucalypt, gold gumnuts, and red bottlebrush on the table; we used the Christmas serviettes and placemats.
And as we ate, I couldn’t help but smile. I was about to ask him to marry me. He had no idea what was coming, but he was so happy on this Christmas morning, and I’d never loved him more.
“What are you smiling at me like that for?” he asked.
I put my fork down. “There is simply no measure for how much I love you,” I said.
He paused as if my words had touched him physically. “Oh. I love you too.”
“Are you done with breakfast? I want to give you your presents.”
“I should clean up the kitchen first. I made a bit of a mess.”
It was true. He had. But that could wait. I stood up and held out my hand. “I’ll do that later. Presents first.”
He was obviously a little confused but happy to oblige. He slid his hand into mine. “Okay.”
I led him to the couch beside the tree and had him sit. “Yours first.”
He pointed to the pile of red and gold wrapped items. “Yours have the gold bows. Your family’s have the red bows, and my family have ribbon. I thought it was best if I used a visual method. They have tags of course, but it was easier . . .”
I handed him his first gift. It was a pair of the linen pants he’d wanted. He saw them in a shop and said he wanted them so he’d know what it was like to walk on some Italian beach at sunset or whatever. The second was the super expensive silk pillowcases he wanted. He’d read on some beauty thing that they were better for your complexion but had cried when he saw the price.
“Oh my god, you’ve spoiled me,” he said, holding the silk to his face.
“There’s one more,” I said, taking the envelope hidden in the tree and handing it to him.
“Dearest Malachi Keogh,” he whispered, reading the front of the envelope. “This paper . . .”
While he was opening it, I took the box from behind the tree and put it at his feet.
He held up the slip of paper. He was confused, worried even. “It says ‘This Christmas, I wish you the gift of warmth and peace in knowing how much you are loved’.”
Then he looked up at me. “This is the same paper, the same writing as the letters we got at work.”
I smiled. “Read the back.”
He flipped it over. “‘Open the ornament’.” He shot me a wild look. “What ornament?”
I took the lid off the box at his feet and carefully lifted out the smaller box with the ornament in it, and I gave it to him.
“This ornament,” I said.
His eyes became glassy as he took it out, looking closely at what was inside the clear globe. “It has little bits of paper in it, with writing . . . Julian . . .” He swallowed hard.
“Open it.”
He turned it over in his hand. “It doesn’t open.”
“Yes, it does.”
He stared at me, teary, and shook his head. But he inspected the ornament and gently twisted it to reveal two halves. A pile of the handwritten slips fell onto his lap and he began to cry. He could see now that the type of paper, the fancy writing, was all the same. “This was you?”
I nodded. “Look inside it.”
He wiped a tear away with the back of his hand and lifted out the remaining slips of paper to reveal the one small paper box that was stuck to the bottom. It was about an inch wide. About big enough to hold a ring.
He knew. His eyes went wide, and tears spilled down onto his cheeks. “Oh god.”
“Open it,” I whispered.
His fingers shook but he peeled it out of the ornament and popped the little paper pouch open. “Julian,” he sobbed.
I went to the floor in front of him, on both knees, and took his hand. “I want you to know how much you are loved. And I would be honoured to be called your husband, from this day until forever. Malachi Keogh, will you marry me?”
A flood of tears burst free, and he nodded and sobbed. “Yes.”
I pulled him into a hug and he cried into my neck. “You did all this for me. All the letters at work, the cards, all of it?”
“Of course I did. The paper, the writing. And everyone at work helped. Even my mum and Moni. They were all part of it.”
He pulled back, wiping at his face. “You really want to marry me?”
“More than anything in this world.”
His chin wobbled. “I love you so much.”
“Want to put the ring on?”
“Yes!” he fumbled with the small paper pouch but let the ring slide out onto his palm. It was matt black but the inside was bright purple, and of course, he started to cry again. “It’s perfect.”
“I wanted something to reflect you,” I said, taking the ring, and holding his left hand, I slid it onto his ring finger.
He threw his arms around my neck and hugged me fiercely. “I can’t wait to marry you,” he said. Then he pulled back and met my gaze. “And the calligraphy? Since when can you write like that?”
“I used to do calligraphy back in high school. It took some practice. But the paper,” I explained, “I had it delivered from Japan. I wanted it to be special, and something you could keep forever. The Dearest Milton James letters were so perfect, I wanted to show you that my love for you was forever. Like theirs was. I don’t know . . .”
He took my face in his hands. “The tips of your ears are pink. It means you’re nervous. Don’t be nervous. The paper is perfect. Julian, I love it. I love all of it.”
“I thought we could frame the Christmas card, if you want,” I suggested. “With the kirigami and the origami trees and reindeer. It was actually really expensive, and maybe if we frame it, we can bring it out every Christmas like a tradition or something.”
He got teary again. “Our first tradition. In our little family. Oh my god.” He wiped his tears away. “I want to frame them all.” Then he straightened, having obviously just remembered something. “Oh shit. Your present. Let me get it for you.”
He shot up off the couch and picked up a red wrapped box. He handed it to me but then stopped, looking at the ring on his finger. He grinned at me. “Look!”