“Yeah of course she did! She’s had a lot of time on her hands, so…” Jonah shrugged, the noncommittal gesture almost contradicted the broad smile still plastered on his face. Typically he could and would drop his guard around Conrad, but his mom was one poorly greeted guest away from a breakdown and he promised he’d be a good host.

“I’m fine,” He said in a more hushed tone, “Got to spend a lot of time in the kitchen and you know that’s my jam. Can I get you anything?”

“Right, yeah, of course!” Conrad interjected, almost overlapping Jonah’s words with his own exaggerated ones as he attempted to do damage control for his decidedly not-so-great question, sounding less casual than he wanted to. Jonah was smiling but he didn’t look quite like himself, and Conrad forced a smile that he couldn’t seem to adjust accordingly, likely rendering it less convincingly chill. Some sort of instinctive response had triggered within him–one he didn’t know he had programmed in. He felt this urge to try to match Jonah’s strange energy, as if this would help his friend feel more at ease, to keep everything light and level by taking up the mantle to play the party moderator or something, to protect his friend and keep any scenarios from escalating beyond pleasantries. (This was, maybe definitely, also a result of his obsession with feeling in control.) Other than times that this sort of response had clicked on when he was trying to appear much more capable and calm than he really was, nothing like this had happened before. And definitely not in this weird sort of way that it was now, through a weird sort of Christmas cheer delivered with the same conviction as Lydia delivering lines on stage. Normally, Conrad would’ve probably just tried to bow out politely, offering no more than a straight smile and nod to whoever was under stress, knowing very well that being an emotional support system was not something he could pull from his utility belt. 

But it was different with Jonah, because everything was, and this whole thing with his mom and everything was different, too, even though it’d been going on for months now, so everything was different in a different way, and he just wanted Jonah and his family to be alright and for things to go back to how they were. Navigating and analyzing scenarios in the moment was something he was definitely not great at under the best circumstances, but it was even harder when he felt so empathetic about the situation at hand, and even more so when he couldn’t tell if the sudden wave of warmth he felt pass over him again was because the Schmidts’ central heating had just turned on again or because of the way Jonah’s voice had lowered to a hushed conversation meant only for Conrad. He leant in a little closer to listen to the hushed words.

It felt to Conrad like Jonah had pulled them both away into their own private astral plane. It was kind of like the moment when he’d felt like they were in a snow globe together, in the sense that it was just the two of them, but this was less like a snow globe magical moment and more like a temporary break room for just the two of them. Or at least, that’s how it felt to Conrad. Either way, this sort of feeling was not something new, and Conrad’s thoughts, which had been all over the place, were starting to localize and settle. Jonah was the only one who could take him out of reality like this, almost as if it was a superpower of his. And even if it was just Conrad getting swept away for a second in the warmth of intimacy, and even if the moment didn’t really warrant this sort of response and he was romanticizing something that wasn’t even really there, it never failed to help him recalibrate. He wasn’t exactly suddenly less concerned about his friend’s stress levels, but he at least felt confident, after their private semi-huddle, that he could support his friend through the night and banish his own worries to the bench. He’d been staring unseeingly past his best friend, his smile dying, trying to flip the switch in his brain back to ‘business’ mode… 

Suddenly the room’s volume seemed to unmute, and now he was listening to Jonah’s question over the ambient noise. Yes, this was a good idea, he thought, and he could give Jonah something to do that wasn’t having to continue to put this welcoming act on for everybody else. He scanned the room, his perception becoming less and less foggy as he clambered out of his head, looking for something to ask for. His eye line settled on the tables of food set up through the adjacent doorway. Only now did Jonah’s words sink in, about his escape while being able to spend time in the kitchen. This caused Conrad’s mouth to curl in his genuine way, and suddenly he’d found his center again. He looked back to his best friend, having snapped out of it, and his natural smile stretched farther as he caught Jonah’s eyes and everything felt familiar again. 

“I mean honestly… Yeah. She might freak out less if you throw a Christmas sweater over your… Sexy funeral getup.”

“I mean, I could go grab my Santa dress…”

His cold cheeks were already warming from the sudden welcome burst of central heating by the time he looked back at Jonah. Conrad cleared his throat to talk a little louder than he would’ve normally over the chatter and melody of “Holly Jolly Christmas” that was coming from deeper within the house.

“Did your mom do this herself?” 

Beulah’s homemaking expertise were always something to be impressed by–Conrad could imagine the sheer terror it must have struck into the hearts and egos of the other Oakvale PTA moms–but even so, this was really something else. He often wondered if their decorations and all the works were professionally done, but always felt it would be too rude to ask. Then again, he wouldn’t be all that surprised at either Beulah or Paul having somehow ‘thrown’ this together themselves–they’d still somehow be humble about it, probably–even in the middle of such a stressful season. “Or your dad? Or…?” He trailed off and bent down to untie his boots, which he’d been wiping on the doormat, still looking up at Jonah from his newly crouching position. He looked kind of like an angel, Conrad wanted to say, backlit by festive lighting and people and the garland winding up the staircase bannister… but he also looked a little bit too anxious to quite pull off a sort of chill, divine benevolence. “I mean, I can get a lot of stuff done when I’m under stress but this is like, next level.” 

“I’m fine,” He said in a more hushed tone, “Got to spend a lot of time in the kitchen and you know that’s my jam. Can I get you anything?”