Shaking the Sugar Tree Part 50

"She's a pistol!" Papaw exclaimed proudly.

"I do not want her talking that way in my house," Mama said crossly.

"Noah and I have a present for all of you," Jackson announced, getting to his feet and signing to Noah: Are you ready? Are you ready?

Noah grinned and went to the center of the living room. He pointed his finger at the ceiling in a dramatic John Travolta pose.

We shushed, not knowing what to expect.

Jackson turned on the CD player and hit the play b.u.t.ton.

A disco version of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" filled the living room filled the living room.

They had worked up a hilarious ch.o.r.eographed routine and I giggled helplessly. They were both so earnest and such natural hams that it was impossible not to laugh. In another lifetime, Jackson Ledbetter might well have been a lip-syncing drag queen. Noah mimicked his moves so precisely, it was uncanny. Watching them, you'd never know that Noah couldn't hear a sound.

In the middle of the song, they signed some of the words, and encouraged us to sign the words back to them.

Then they did some ballroom-style moves sprinkled with well-timed pratfalls and other foolishness.

They received a well-deserved round of applause when they were through.

Mama pa.s.sed around more eggnog and the vodka starting going to my head. By the time we got to Midnight Ma.s.s I was having trouble walking in a straight line.

72) A visit from Santa

NOAH WOKE WOKE me the following morning, his eyes saying it was Christmas. me the following morning, his eyes saying it was Christmas.

Get up! he signed urgently. he signed urgently.

I was in Jackson Ledbetter's arms in the "master bedroom" of our new apartment, could feel his warm skin against my back.

I shook my head.

No, I did not want to get up.

Please? he begged. he begged.

I shook my head again. I'd had entirely too much vodka the night before and I was paying for it.

I pulled Noah into bed and snuggled with him. He permitted this for about one minute. Then he sat up and pushed the covers off us.

Jackson woke with a start.

It's Christmas! Noah signed happily. Noah signed happily. Get up! Get up!

"What time is it?" Jackson asked.

It was shortly after five in the morning.

"You've got to be kidding," he moaned.

"You're a parent now," I said. "Get up and do your duty. My head is killing me."

Noah pinched my cheek, trying to force me to open my eyes.

I stumbled out of bed and threw on my bathrobe against the cold.

In the combination living room/dining room, Jackson had erected a very large tree positively choked with Christmas ornaments and lights. More than two-dozen packages were beneath the tree and Noah was beside himself with the antic.i.p.ation of finding out what they were. He had presents from Jackson, Mama, Tonya and Keke, and Mr. and Mrs. Warren, as well as me.

He was about to pop.

I made coffee already, Noah said impatiently when he saw me heading for the kitchen. Noah said impatiently when he saw me heading for the kitchen.

Bless his little heart, I thought. I poured myself and Jackson some coffee and brought it to the living room. We sat on the floor in front of the tree as Noah ripped into his presents. In short order, Noah discovered a set of graphic novels, a pair of Nikes that he'd been begging for repeatedly, several new s.h.i.+rts and sweaters and jeans, a very pricey train set from his grandparents, an Iron Man action figure that I'd found in a shop downtown, and, last but certainly not the least, a new Xbox One, courtesy of Jackson. This was in addition to various stocking stuffers and whatnot, which included the new Superman Superman movie. movie.

Santa Claus had gone all out that year.

"And there's one more thing," Jackson said, producing a very small box and handing it to me.

"We said we weren't going to buy each other anything," I pointed out. I was already in debt up to my sorry a.s.s without trying to buy something really nice for the man in my life.

"It's not a Christmas present," he said, his eyes twinkling.

"My birthday's not till February," I pointed out.

"It's not a birthday present."

"What is it?"

"Open it and find out."

It was a jewelry box. That much I knew. It was too small to be anything else. But what kind of jewelry? And why would he buy me something so expensive when he knew I couldn't buy anything in return?

I bit at my lip as I opened it.

It was a ring.

A plain but nonetheless very beautiful gold ring. Solid, heavy-looking, obviously expensive.

"What is this?" I asked.

"I want you to marry me, Wiley Cantrell," he said.

"You what?"

He got on his knees, took the box from my hands, and held out the ring to me.

"Will you marry me?"

I laughed nervously, thinking it was a jest or something, but he was very, very serious.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Will you marry me, Wiley Cantrell?"

"You know we can't ever get married," I said, fl.u.s.tered.

"We can go to Boston and get gay-married anytime we want," he pointed out. "So I'm asking you: Will you marry me? Will you be my husband for the rest of my life? Will you let me be Noah's father?"

It might have been the vodka slowing down my brain, or the distraction of Christmas and watching how happy Noah was, but it caught me completely by surprise, this sudden proposal, this sudden seriousness.

We had joked about getting married, of course. We were even serious about it, at times. But it never occurred to me that we might actually get married, might actually walk down an aisle in a church and take wedding vows. And it certainly never occurred to me that someone like Jackson Ledbetter would want to do such a thing with me, of all the possible people who would so willingly throw themselves at his Yankee feet.

"I don't know what to say," I confessed.

"Yes, you do," he said encouragingly.

"You want to marry me me?" I asked, incredulous. "You mean, really marry me me?"

"I love you, but you are so stupid sometimes," he said with a smile. "Of course I want to marry you. And if you say yes, I will be the happiest man in the whole world and I'll do right by you and Noah. You'll see. You will never regret being my husband. I promise you that."

"This is a whole new level of courting," I said.

"This is the real deal," Jackson said. "I've got some major skin in the game now, don't I?"

"But I can't do this," I said, pus.h.i.+ng the ring away.

"What are you talking about?"

"This must be some kind of a joke," I said.

"It's not a joke. I love you. What's so hard to understand?"

"We can't get married. It's not even legal."

"It's legal in some states," he pointed out. "And someday it will be legal here too."

I was the verge of tears. And they weren't happy tears.

"What's wrong?" Jackson asked, moving closer and putting a hand on my knee.

Noah noticed my unhappiness too, and crawled over, looking up at me with confused eyes.

What's wrong, Daddy?

I wiped at my eyes, trying to hide my tears, feeling foolish and overwhelmed.

"What is it?" Jackson pressed.

I had quite killed the mood. Killed it dead.

"I know I go out there and fight for gay rights," I said, "but I'm fighting for the younger generations. The kids. I'm not out there fighting for me. I don't ever expect to have any rights, not in my lifetime."

"What the h.e.l.l?" Jackson said.

"I knew you wouldn't understand."

"I'm trying," he said. "But I don't get it."

"Nothing changes down here in the South," I said. "Don't you understand that? Nothing ever changes. It's all right for people like you in Boston or LA or New York to talk about gay marriage and equality and all the rest of it, but that's never going to happen down here. Not for us. Not for people like me."

"That's a bunch of bulls.h.i.+t," Jackson said rather angrily.

"That's just the way it is," I said. "We haven't even finished the G.o.dd.a.m.n Civil War yet. By the time we get around to gay marriage, we'll both be long dead and gone and people will be living on the planet Jupiter."

Jackson sat back on his haunches, a mystified look on his face.

"We can go to Boston," he said quietly. "It's just a few hours on a plane. It's not a big deal."

"You don't understand," I said. "I want to be married in my own church, by my own priest, in my own community, with my family there. My friends. Here Here. In the place where I grew up. In my home. I don't want to go to some foreign country to get married. It's like going to Las Vegas. It won't be real to me."

"I don't believe what I'm hearing," Jackson said.

"As long as one person is a slave," I said, quoting an old saying, "we're all slaves. As long as one person isn't free, none of us are free. Sure, I could go to Boston, but there's so many people like me down here who can't. They don't have the money. It wouldn't be fair. It wouldn't be right."

"Wow," Jackson said quietly.

"Don't listen to me," I said, feeling foolish, like I'd said too much, like I was talking straight out of my a.s.s.

Jackson fingered the jewelry box, his eyes lowered.

What's wrong? Noah asked. Noah asked.

Nothing, I said. I said.

Is J. going to be my daddy too?

I smiled, but did not answer.

"I don't know what to do with that," Jackson admitted at last. "I thought you'd be happy."

"I am happy," I pointed out.