A Small Miracle Happened by Mari Donne Page B

anxiety. And his cock was doing its own thing. He hoped the way he was holding the cookie tin hid its enthusiasm.
    He turned toward the kitchen, breathing deeply. When he was sure his voice wouldn’t rise a telltale octave, he said, “My name’s Dan, by the way.” Oops. The guy knew that. His name had been on the box.
    But either his neighbor hadn’t paid attention to anything but the house number, or he was still thinking about metaphorical candles. “Good to meet you. I’m Christian Parsons. Call me Chris.”
    No wonder the guy didn’t know anything about Hanukkah. Dan bit his lip to keep from saying anything, but Chris added with a chuckle, “I guess if you hadn’t already figured out I’m not Jewish, that would give it away.”
    Dan really liked the way this guy smiled, using his eyes as well as his lips. “If you were, you’d be the first Jewish person I’ve met around here. It’s not like I’m observant. I don’t think I’d have felt the need to celebrate Hanukkah at all if there had been a menorah on display at the mall like back home. But I hated the idea of not being able to light one tonight.”
    Chris nodded. “I get it. The first year I couldn’t go home for Christmas, I had to put up a tree. I never bothered before that.”
    As Dan contemplated the sugar cookies he’d just set out on a plate, Chris added, “Holidays are like comfort food. Usually you want something more sophisticated, but there are times when you’d rather have mac and cheese or your mother’s meatloaf than a gourmet meal.”
    Perhaps to prove to each other that they were semiresponsible adults, they agreed to have dinner before eating the cookies. Chris knew a place that turned out a decent pizza and suggested pepperoni. Dan side-eyed him for that, but Chris seemed unaware a Jewish guy might have issues with a food made with pork. Since Dan wasn’t nostalgic enough to worry about keeping kosher even on a holiday, he agreed. He even asked for extra cheese, because if he was going to break a dietary rule, he might as well go big. When the pizza arrived, they ate companionably, sitting on the couch and complaining about the deficiencies of the condos. Chris was new to town too. His company had transferred him, and a shortage of rental housing had landed him in this neighborhood, at least for the immediate future.
    “And the street names are cringe-worthy.” Chris paused. “I snickered when I realized I was moving onto Prince Albert Circle. But a place on Agin Court might be better for morale. I’d feel inspired to win the Hundred Years’ War whenever I came home.”
    “Ah, the residents of Agin Court. The few, the happy few—”
    “—the band of brothers,” they finished together.
    “More like unhappy few, if the residents’ meetings are any clue.” Dan glared at the doorway to the kitchen. He swore that crack grew every time he looked at it. “But do you think the developer asked someone for a bunch of posh English names, and a lit major with a sense of humor came up with these?”
    Chris picked up another slice. “How else do you explain Mansfield Parkway and Court Darthur?”
    After the pizza was gone, Dan placed the menorah in the front window, admiring the figures and their joyful parade.
    Chris watched from the couch, sipping a glass of the red wine Dan had poured. “I thought menorahs were old-fashioned candelabra things. This one is…quirky.”
    Dan laughed. “There are lots of designs. My cousin Tyler had one that looked like a baseball diamond, and my sister bought her husband one in the shape of a reindeer. You stick the candles in the antlers. It looks completely ridiculous, which I suppose is the point. His family is Christian, and she’s gotten into all kinds of crossover kitsch. She puts up what she calls a Hanukkah bush each year and decorates it with Stars of David.”
    Chris leaned forward. “What’s the meaning behind the candles? Is it because winter is coming and the days are getting