For Keeps

24. Making room.

{Jon}

Sunday afternoon, it was easy to slide into sleep with sunlight in their bedroom window, the warm weight of Kurt's body next to his hip, the soft 'flip' of his partner turning pages on a Stephen King novel, and cool jazz fusion lapping around them in their tent. It seemed as if the dark in Jon's mind was lying in wait and the ensuing quiet, though ominous, was good enough for Jon. He knew how to rest hard for a fight ahead, and tonight was going to be a hell of a match with no sleeping pills to take his brain offline.

He woke up to Kurt brushing his fingers over his face, tracing his cheekbones and eyebrows and the line of his nose. Jon puffed out a soft 'ha'. "That tickles." His voice was rough with sleep.

"Time to wake up, darlin'," Kurt said. "Someone has to go to work to pay for the beautiful clothes in our closet."

Jon drew in his breath, stretching next to Kurt's body and opening his eyes. His partner's face was very close, blue eyes narrowed in a smile. "How much time did you leave us?" Jon asked.

Kurt's smile deepened, and his finger trailed to trace the dip at the top of Jon's lip. "Enough."

For once this week Jon arrived at work feeling like he had enough in him to do the things he needed to do. His body was rested and loose, and his head was just full of the little pleasures of the moment: the sun making blue-purple shadows in the drifts of snow beside the driveway, the warmth of his puffy jacket, the lingering smell of Kurt on his skin.

In the kitchen, Patrick was wiping the table clean of cracker crumbs and juice spills. He gave Jon a smile. "Hey boss, what's the plan for the evening?"

Dusty thundered into the room making loud airplane noises, crashing his LEGO plane at Jon's feet and somersaulting to the floor in the explosion. He grinned. "Hey Pops!"

Pushing his ball cap back, Jon grinned at him. "Hey Dust. Looks like you have energy to burn today. Want to help me and Patrick build a snow fort?"

The combined strength of Jon and Patrick working the big shovels turned the ordinary hump of drifts beside the driveway into a mountain of snow in the centre of their lawn. Dusty and Jordin carved paths and shaped a wall around what would be their entrance; Angel and Grace filled squeeze bottles with coloured water and sprayed wild designs into the structure. This was a Canadian dad trick Jon had learned from Pete--in 24 hours the exterior of their structure would be frozen solid, sturdy enough to carve out without collapsing.

The indigo shadows had lengthened and dusk was falling when they stomped inside for supper, mitts soaked, wrists chapped, noses nipped, but warm and happy with exertion. There was a chaotic cuffuffle as everyone found hooks to hang up their snow clothes to dry for school tomorrow. Jon pulled a bubbling lasagne out of the oven--one of Naomi's creations.

Mealtime was busy making sure everyone at a portion of meat and a bite or two of veggie sticks, and doling out ADHD and anti-anxiety meds. When Dusty and Grace disappeared to watch a show, and Jordin put her earbuds in to do homework at the kitchen table, Jon and his staff finally had a moment to breathe.

"Hey, I have something for both of you," Patrick said, digging into his personal bag to hand Jon and Angel a pair of thick linen envelopes.

Angel's face lit up. "Is this what I think it is?" She tore into the envelope, pulling out the wedding invitation and stroking her slender brown fingers over the printed card. "Ooo embossed. Tiffany is so classy, Pat. You're totally marrying up."

Jon had his hands buried in a sink full of dishes, but he smiled at Patrick over his shoulder. "Thanks Patrick; that's kind of you to think of us."