Christmastime in the loft had always been a kind of slipshod affair, never perfect by any stretch of the imagination. Mark was allergic to pine, so they couldn't have a real tree. One year Collins found a fake one, but it was lopsided and never stood up straight. April tried to create a holiday atmosphere by lighting pine-scented candles and baking sugar cookies, and the fact that she once accidentally set a curtain on fire by putting a candle on the windowsill never stopped her. The one time April hung mistletoe above the door, Roger demanded that she take it down, insisting that Maureen took far too much advantage of it. Maureen always had a performance scheduled around Christmas, so the days before that were filled with rushing about and last-minute preparations. Roger refused to sing or play Christmas songs, for any reason, but Collins could always be heard humming something or other. The presents under the lopsided tree were small and sparse, now and then something from a parent or sibling, but usually just gifts among themselves.
Standing by the window in the bedroom of the comfortable apartment he shared with Alison, Benny missed it, the messy, chaotic, less than perfect holidays he used to share with his friends. True, it was warm here—the building had proper insulation, and the heat worked, unlike in the loft. In the living room they had a perfect tree, beautifully decorated by someone Alison had hired. Garlands of evergreen hung over the doorways, and Christmas music played on the stereo. Benny found himself half-listening for Collins' deep voice in the other room singing "I'll be Home for Christmas", and the instant he realized it shook his head to clear it. Not this Christmas, or any other.
"Benny?" Alison stood in the doorway of the bedroom, watching him with a little concerned frown. "Are you coming? They're expecting you out there, and Daddy wants to talk to you."
He turned and smile, trying to look like he meant it. Right. He should go back out to the Christmas party—two days before Christmas day—and try to be sociable. Drink the champagne, chat with Alison's friends, and pretend he wouldn't rather be in the East Village in a freezing loft drinking cheap alcohol and joking with the people who knew him inside and out.
"Yeah, Ali, I'm coming."