Tradition dictated that on Christmas Eve, his family would stay up late making presents for one another. Everyone had to announce themselves before they entered a room to avoid possibly seeing their gift, but inevitably, there were mishaps, followed by more yelling. At four a.m., the yelling ceased, everyone crashed, and in the morning, there was an avalanche of sleepily wrapped, incredibly thoughtful presents. Joey got me a claddagh ring and wrote me an exquisitely crafted love letter about how excited he was about our blossoming relationship. He had tried so hard to make the holiday special because he wanted me to love Christmas—but more than that, he wanted me to love the thing that Christmas represented. He wanted me to feel comfortable belonging to a family.
But he would not have succeeded if his family had not also gone to great lengths to make me feel comfortable. His siblings got me teas and comics and jewelry. His grandmother kept making dirty old-lady jokes at us in her Irish brogue: “You’re so good, Stephanie! I’m sure the two of you never had a fight. You did now? Well, get to the making up fast. That’s the fun part.” And then she’d wink and elbow me. His mother asked Joey what my favorite pie was and made it special for me—raspberry pear. She also gave me a pile of gifts too large to carry: kitchen appliances and perfumes and lipstick and hats and socks and sweaters and everything warm and cute she could possibly imagine. I felt so guilty for the expense; this was just so much. But she beamed as she watched us open it all. It was clear that there was little in this life that brought her more joy than to watch people rip open the paper she’d so carefully folded.
Their care extended beyond Christmas. One day, his mother asked me about my family and then said, “Well, forget about them; we’re your family now. You’re ours.” His siblings invited me to every birthday celebration or karaoke bar hangout and told me their secrets. They gave me their old furniture and playlists and forced me to watch the cartoons they loved. We all organized epic annual summer blowouts together upstate, where we played tug-of-war in the woods. When I shared my anxieties around family with Joey’s mother, she grabbed my hand with tears in her eyes and said, “I promise you I’ll never leave you.”
On our second Christmas together, his mother gave me a bunch of clothing that I previously thought might be too revealing to wear to a family occasion (but if she wanted me to look cute and show off my whole derriere, then cool I guess), mugs and appliances and a salad bowl for our apartment, and a horde of other items, which all got blended together with the rest of his family’s maddening generosity. Joey continued his “You Better Love Christmas” campaign and gave me a wooden clock he’d crafted himself. It opened up to a ten-year calendar to plan our future.
* * *
—
Somehow we survived my crazy year of diagnosis and unemployment and meditation, and now, this would be our third Christmas together. I was excited to see what kinds of mischief he’d get up to this time. But after all the presents were opened and the wrapping paper crumpled into a bag, I still hadn’t received anything from him. That’s when he handed everyone in the family envelopes. Inside each of them was a puzzle piece.
One Christmas years ago, when Joey and his siblings were little, their dad designed an elaborate treasure hunt for them to find their presents by following clues. The kids got really into it and started throwing these treasure hunts for one another. This year, Joey was taking up the tradition.
We divided into two teams and started searching; there were clues designed for each family member. One required finding the Mirror of Erised from Harry Potter and looking into its reflection. That led to a clue based on a Rick and Morty joke, which led to a chess puzzle, which led to us changing the pitch on a series of musical notes until we realized they spelled C-A-B-B-A-G-E, inside which the next clue was hidden. The three-hour hunt required us to pick locks, sip liquor, look for clues in the Bible, and solve math problems. And then we all stumbled over one another up the stairs.
On the door to his brother’s room was a large map of New York City with some index cards tacked to each side. Each of the cards listed key moments in our relationship: the first time he told me he loved me, the tour he’d taken me on of downtown New York, my old apartment. And that’s when I knew. When I solved the puzzle, the final clue told me—and me alone—to go to his grandmother’s house down the street. I started trembling and crying, and I couldn’t find my shoes anywhere, so Joey’s mother gently led me to the closet and put her own Uggs on my feet. I hiccuped with nervousness and excitement all the way down the street.
Joey was waiting in his grandmother’s living room, next to the wall of family pictures. “Everyone here loves you so much,” he said quietly, as I continued to hyperventilate, tears streaming down my cheeks. “And they have good reason. You’re wonderful, and no one’s ever made me feel more at home than you have. I want to be your home, and I want to do it forever. I want you to be my family. Will you marry me?” He got on one knee and opened the velvet box; in it was a beautiful ring I’d lusted after with my best friends.
I yelled, “Oh my God, Joey, NO! That’s a diamond! This must have been so expensive! You should have gotten a cubic zirconia!”
But also, I said yes.
* * *
—
Afterward, his entire family was waiting for us in their home. His siblings all gave me sincere and heartfelt welcomes, and one of his brothers told me, “I cannot think of a better person to take care of my brother, but I also can’t think of a better person to have in my family and my life.” His mother hugged me and cried on my shoulder, then opened a bottle of champagne. His grandmother held my hand before falling asleep next to me on the couch.
The present wasn’t really the ring. The present wasn’t even really the proposal. The present was three years of barbecues and escape rooms and raspberry pear pies, wine prayers exchanged at Passover, and late-night movie screenings. It was the fact that when I needed help moving, washing dishes, figuring out what board games to buy, there was always someone there. The present was this little tribe of reliable people who considered me a part of them. It was this feeling of belonging. You’re ours.
For days afterward, I couldn’t sleep. I was too happy. Too unbelieving. How did you do this? How did you persuade someone to commit themselves to your crazy ass? I’d ask myself. And then, in awe: At last, somebody wants to take care of you. Somebody loves you so much. Somebody wants to stay.
I turned toward Joey in the dark to look at his sweet face. Even though he was asleep, he responded to my stirring by rolling toward me and enveloping me in his embrace.
PART V
CHAPTER 36