Black Rose

again.
    But a man had to—or at least should—make an effort for the holidays. He spent an entire day hauling out, scrubbing down, and sweeping up, and was forced to admit that if he were being paid to do the job, he’d quit, too.

    Still, it was nice to have some order back in his apartment, to actually be able to see the surface of tables, the cushions of chairs. Though he didn’t hold out much hope he’d keep them alive for the long-term, the plants Hayley had talked him into added a nice holiday touch.
    And the little tree, well, that was ingenious. Now instead of dragging the box out of storage, fighting with parts, cursing the tangle of lights only to discover half of them didn’t work anyway, all he had to do was set the cheerful tree on the Hepplewhite stand by his living room window and plug the sucker in.
    He hung the wreath on the front door, set the blooming cactus on his coffee table, and the three little poinsettias on the top of the toilet tank. It worked for him.
    By the time he’d showered, dragged on jeans and a shirt, his date for the evening was knocking at the door.
    Barefoot, his hair still damp, Mitch crossed the living room to answer. And grinned at the only person he loved without reservation.
    “Forget your key?”
    “Wanted to make sure I had the right place.” Joshua Carnegie tapped a finger on the greenery. “You’ve got a wreath on your door.”
    “It’s Christmas.”
    “I heard a rumor about that.” He walked in, and his eyes, the same sharp green shade as his father’s, widened.
    He was taller than Mitch by a full inch, but spread the height on the same lanky frame. His hair was dark, and it was shaggy. Not because he forgot haircuts like his father, but because he wanted it that way.
    He wore a hooded gray sweatshirt and baggy jeans.
    “Wow. You find a new cleaning service? Do they get combat pay?”
    “No, haven’t had a chance. Besides, I think I’ve ripped through all the cleaning services in western Tennessee.”

    “You cleaned up?” Lips pursed, Josh took a brief tour of the living room. “You’ve got a plant—with flowers on it.”
    “You’re taking that with you.”
    “I am.”
    “I’ll kill it. I’ve already heard it gasping. I can’t be responsible.”
    “Sure.” Josh pulled absently on his ear. “It’ll jazz up the dorm. Hey. You got this little tree going on. And candles.”
    “It’s Christmas,” Mitch repeated, even as Josh leaned down to sniff the fat red candle.
    “Smelly candles. Plus, if I’m not mistaken, you vacuumed.” Eyes narrowed he looked back at his father. “You’ve got a woman.”
    “Not on me, no. More’s the pity. Want a Coke?”
    “Yeah.” With a shake of his head, Josh started toward the bathroom. “Gotta use the john. We getting pizza?”
    “Your choice.”
    “Pizza,” Josh called out. “Pepperoni and sausage. Extra cheese.”
    “My arteries are clogging just hearing that,” Mitch called out as he pulled two cans of Coke out of the refrigerator. From experience, he knew his son could steam through most of a pie on his own and still stay lean as a greyhound.
    Oh, to be twenty again.
    He speed-dialed the local pizza parlor, ordered a large for Josh, and a medium veggie-style for himself.
    When he turned, he saw Josh leaning against the jamb, feet crossed at the ankles of his Nike Zooms. “You’ve got flowers in the john.”
    “Poinsettias. Christmas. Deal.”
    “You’ve got a woman. If you haven’t bagged one, you’ve got one in the sights. So spill.”
    “No woman.” He tossed one of the cans to Josh. “Just a clean apartment with a few holiday touches.”

    “We have ways of making you talk. Where’d you meet her? Is she a babe?”
    “Not talking.” Laughing, Mitch popped the can.
    “I’ll get it out of you.”
    “Nothing to get.” Mitch walked by him into the living room. “Yet.”
    “Ah-ha!” Josh followed him in, plopped down on the couch, propped his feet on the coffee table.
    “I repeat: Not talking. And that’s a premature ah-ha . Anyway, I’m just feeling a little celebrational. Book’s done, which means a check will be in the mail shortly. I’m starting on a new, interesting project—”
    “Already? No decompressing?”
    “I’ve had this one dangling awhile, and I want to get on it full steam. It’s better than thinking about Christmas shopping.”
    “Why do you have to think about it? It’s still a couple weeks away.”
    “Now, that’s my boy.” Mitch