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Although she tends to spend more time in Cain’s Spartan apartment than in her own twin sized bed, dinner times were reserved for family. Dinner tended to range from a ten minute dash to make a sandwich before rolling out to a late night emergency call from a Wicker Park client who dropped her glass of red wine on the white shag carpet before company came over to a three hour extravaganza with every member of the family crammed around the table and screaming to be heard. Today was running longer than usual, nearing the fourth hour, because of the upcoming holiday festivities.
The tree hadn’t been gotten yet, presents clearly weren’t wrapped (if they were even bought at all), and the usual argument on when the family will gather. Jupiter knew that they would set off their slightly illegal fireworks on December 31st, keeping with their Russian roots rather than succumb to her uncle’s insistence that we were in America now.
Jupiter Jones’ relationship with Christmas was of the love-hate variety.
Love: Christmas bonuses from clients, post-American Christmas sales, convincing the kids that if they don’t take a nap before midnight Father Christmas will forget their presents, sneaking the wrapped boxes upstairs when the kids are asleep, then going to wake up her cousins at midnight and seeing their faces light up when they start screaming that “Дед Моро́з came,” cool air when they set off fireworks, seeing every Russian in the neighborhood and partying until sunrise, eating blinis, pirozhki, and beets in different forms until stuffed.
Hate: upwards of thirty people crammed into her house, someone narrowly missing the roof of the house with a firework, trying to hide presents from sneaky kids who were desperate from a peak, having everyone ask about her new relationship with the mysterious man she couldn’t produce to her family just yet. Her drunken uncle passing out by 1 in the morning. The pine needles from the tree everywhere in her hair. The fact that she hasn’t found the perfect present for Cain.
Or any present for that matter. He doesn’t see the point in apartment decorations and only uses his kitchen when Jupiter comes over. He decided he hated most Earth fabric and preferred his military garb to flimsy denim jeans. Jupiter entertained the idea of tennis balls and a leash, which slowly becoming her best bet. Wrapping her scarf around her tightly as she left her family’s house at 11 PM and started the walk downtown, she figured she could run by the pet store on her way to Cain’s, just to see . . .
“Hey,” said the shadows.
Whirling around to see Cain lounging against a chain link fence, Jupiter exhaled shakily. “Cain, god, warn me next time.”
“Of course, Your Majesty,” he responded with a slight smirk while getting up from the bench. He reached her in two steps before pausing slightly. Jupiter decided to close the remaining distance by putting her hands around Cain’s neck and pulled him down so she could kiss the hesitance off his face. When they parted, the pair shared matching small smiles. Moving her hands to Cain’s waist she continued the walk as he slung an arm around her neck. Jupiter refrained from commenting on the deep inhale he took of her hair while adding shampoo to the list of possible presents.
“Where you waiting for long?” she asked after a moment.
“I was at the library until it closed. Your planet is far behind on basic engineering, but your cultural practices seem pleasanter than the systems under Abrasex. Reading about it has been . . . enjoyable.”
Books, she mentally added, along with warmer mittens as his cold hands reached up to swipe a strand of hair that was lose from her bun behind her ear. Cain had gotten more comfortable with casual touches, especially when she initiated them. Jupiter didn’t know if it was his military background or lack of experience, but she intended hammer the habit of keeping his hands to himself out of him as long as he was comfortable with it. God knows he enjoys the casual touches she gives him; she discovered that as long as her fingers were in his hair, he was a puddle in her lap. He actually purred once and she never let him live it down since.
“Anything particularly interesting to learn about Earth?”
“Mostly puzzling, actually.”
After several silent moments of their feet falling on the asphalt sidewalk, she glanced up at him. “Care to elaborate?”
“I saw several children’s books on Christmas. Why would you want to teach kids about that? To prepare them early?” Cain asked, looking genuinely distraught.
Jupiter tried to hide her snort. “Because Christmas is basically for kids?”
Cain stopped suddenly, a frown making cemented onto his face and his eyes wide.
“I take it Christmas isn’t about presents and pretty trees in space?” Jupiter ventured, turning to face her boyfriend.
“It marks the annual invasion of Sargon guards to collect reparations from our homes and outposts. We must defend out bases all night to keep watch on all the entry points. Many are wounded or are murdered to make a statement. We tend to shield children from it,” Cain’s face was schooled back into a more neutral expression.
“Wow, okay. Is that still going on? Because that’s stopping in the planets under my control,” Jupiter said. How unorganized could the Abrasex rule be to allow this? Or was it done with their blessing? “Is it used as a fear tactic?”
“Essentially. As for stopping it, we could make contact with Stinger tomorrow,” Cain said, losing a bit of stiffness and returned his arm to around Jupiter’s shoulders.
She sighed and leaned into Cain’s side. “Sounds good.”
They stood there for a moment longer before Cain nudged her with his knee. “So what is Earth Christmas then?”
Jupiter let out a harsh laugh. “Well, not that. Instead we let a stranger into our house and so he can leave presents for us.”
Cain’s face didn’t move except for a single raised eyebrow.
“Okay, that’s what we tell the kids. Really, parents buy kids gifts and tell them this legend of Santa Claus or Дед Моро́з, as we say, who flies across the world on a sleigh with reindeer to give all the good kids presents. My mom used to tell me that if I screamed or threw a tantrum, then Дед Моро́з wouldn’t give me any gifts that year. It’s essentially a scare tactic of its own, I guess,” Jupiter finished, humming as Cain squeezed her a little tighter.
“That sounds . . . fun?”
“Yeah. Russians do Christmas better, though. Lots of food and drinking and fireworks on New Year’s.”
“Then, should we get presents for each other?” Jupiter looked up to see Cain’s ears turning red – due to the cold or the present pressure was a tossup.
“Traditionally, yes. Since it’s our first Christmas together, I wanted to plan something fun . . .” Jupiter huffed a bit, mentally reviewing her options; dog toys, shampoo, books, mittens . . .
“Can I request a gift?”
“Yeah, shoot.”
“I was reading in fictional romantic accounts in the library that it was customary to meet the family of the one you are partnered with . . .”
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Jupiter Jones’ relationship to Christmas was of the love-hate variety.
Hate: Everyone piling on Cain, her aunt asking what Cain did for a living, Jupiter having a heart attack when her younger cousins pulled off Cain’s beanie he borrowed from her to reveal his ears, the neighbor’s commenting on how she snagged such a nice young man considering, her drunken uncle passing out on Cain’s lap.
Love: Cain’s mouth falling open when he saw fireworks, laughing as he spit out the pirozhki, laughing even harder when Cain nearly knocked the tree over while dodging a fist bump from a family friend, her mother pulling her aside to tell Jupiter that she gives them her blessing, kissing him at midnight, waking up hungover in her twin bed on top of a sleeping Cain.
She reached up to run her fingers through his hair as he grumbled awake, leaning into her touch.
Silent, Jupiter thanked Дед Моро́з for the gift.