Christian’s face registers a mix of doubt and anticipation, but he lets Esben lead him down the block and back to a trio of musicians we’d passed earlier. A light snow has started to fall, and, although it’s certainly chilly tonight, the cold is more than tolerable, and fifteen or so people are gathered, listening to some very romantic-sounding Italian music. I loop my arm through Simon’s and take in the scene.
Esben stands directly in front of Christian. “It’s not your winter formal, but we have music, we have twinkle lights, and I’m in a suit. I would be honored to be your first dance.”
It feels like forever until Christian replies, but when he does, it’s worth the wait, because of the sweet crack in his voice. “I would really like that. Oh God, I would really like that.” He moves into Esben’s arms. “Is anyone going to care?” He quickly peeks at the crowd, but no one has pulled out a pitchfork. “Can we . . . can we take a picture? I could . . .” Christian is having trouble speaking. “Maybe you could post it. I can come out in a really big way,” he says with a bravery I admire.
“Whatever you want. This is your night. Pics and video, and then you choose.” Esben gives me a quick nod and then begins moving slowly.
I whip out my phone and take a few stills before recording this dance, this pivotal moment in Christian’s life. Again, I am struck by Esben’s ability to be so caring and so genuine with a stranger. I am mesmerized by him and by this dance. The woman who is singing gives them a smile, and then another couple begins dancing. As the minutes tick by, Christian relaxes more and more, coming to rest his cheek on Esben’s shoulder. There are a few tears on his face, but the smile he wears makes those tears beautiful. Esben meets my eyes, and if he didn’t already have the entirety of my heart and my trust, he has them now. They dance for three songs, and when Christian slowly lifts his head, there are six other couples, all dancing closely on the crowded sidewalk. The musicians stop for a break, and as we clap, the vocalist also asks the crowd for a round of applause for the dancers. The clapping goes wild. Esben spins Christian from his hold, raising his hand in the air in a celebratory move. The applause increases, and Christian’s smile outshines anything I’ve seen before.
Simon tightens my arm in his. “What a guy. I could’ve used an Esben when I was younger.”
His words mirror what I’ve said myself. Probably everyone could use an Esben.
Christian looks up at my sweet boyfriend, shaking his head in apparent disbelief. “Thank you. Thank you so much. I will never forget this. Or you.”
“Thank you. That was my first dance with a boy, too.” Esben grins and gives him a big hug. “Listen, I’m really happy for you. Now, let’s go post your coming out. Tell me what you want me to say.”
Under his breath, Simon whispers, “Where did you find this creature? He is one of a kind.”
“He found me,” I answer. “He found me.”
On Christmas morning, Simon spoils me with presents, but the last one I open quickly becomes my favorite. The gift bag is stuffed with blue tissue paper covered in white stars, and I start smiling as soon as I lift out the gold Wonder Woman tiara. “Oh my God, Simon! It matches my cuff bracelets! I love this!”
“Do you? Really?”
I nod sincerely and put on the tiara.
“Good,” he says happily, “because . . . hold on . . .” He rummages behind him and gets another bag from behind the tree. “I got one for myself, too!”
Then we eat waffles with hand-whipped cream and fresh strawberries while we wear our Wonder Woman tiaras. And over breakfast, I hand him a box with a small final present, one I hope makes him happy.
Simon removes the top of the box to find the framed picture. “Allison . . .” There is such joy on his face, and he sets a hand over his heart. “My sweet, generous girl. You got your picture taken with Santa for me.”
“I did.”
“This . . . this means a lot to me. Thank you, kiddo.”
“I’m having the best Christmas ever. You kind of rock the holidays, Simon,” I tell him truthfully.
“Just for that, you get a second glass of champagne.”
We clink glasses, and the bubbles fizz loudly.
That night, when Simon has gone to bed and the house is quiet, Esben and I are on the sofa, looking out the window at the heavy flakes swirling as if we’re in a snow globe.
“I got you something,” I tell him hesitantly. My hand shakes a little when I reach behind me and take hold of the bag.
He smiles and puts the bag between us. “Why do you look so scared?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. Just open it, and end my torture.”
Esben laughs and digs into the tissue paper. “Oh, Allison . . .” His voice softens when he holds up the silver sand timer. Engraved on the top are the words It only takes 180 seconds. He flips it upside down, and we watch the sand pour from one side of the glass to the other. “This is so perfect.” He kisses me until the sand has finished pouring out.
Then he winks, flips it again, and keeps kissing me.
After a few more flips of the timer, he sits against the back cushion, and I lie with my head in his lap as he strokes my hair while I watch the winter sky. The wind howls, then calms, intermittently.
Esben puts a small box in my hand. “This is for you.”
“But you already gave me—”
“Shhhh. Just open it.”
Inside is a wide silver bracelet with brilliant stones, and Esben clasps it on me. It takes me a minute to understand what I’m looking at—what the orange, turquoise, citron, red, pink, and deep-blue stones pattern into—but then I see the shape that wraps around my wrist. And I know why he’s given this to me.
“It’s a phoenix,” I say breathlessly.
“Yes,” he says. “Because, just as the story goes, you have risen from the ashes.”
I sit so that I can gaze into his eyes. “You helped me do that. Esben, you helped me so much.” Looking at this gift that has so much heart and meaning, I am at a loss. “This is beautiful. Esben . . . I don’t know what to say.”
He looks at me for a long time, and there is a new level of emotion and intensity that emanates from him. “Just say that you love me. Please. Because I am so goddamn in love with you that I can hardly breathe when we’re apart. I know I said it when I was drunk, and I shouldn’t have, even though I meant it. But I’m telling you now that I love you.”
There’s no need for me to think over how to respond. “I do love you. I don’t remember what not being in love with you feels like.”
“Good. Because you don’t have to.”
Six days later, we ring in the New Year in downtown Boston. Amid horns and cheering and bitter temperatures, Esben tells me he loves me over and over again. Even in all the chaos of the celebration, I hear him as clearly as if we were the only two people there. And I tell him the same thing.
CHAPTER 23