"Hi," Alexander breathlessly breathes. The black shirt in his hand has bright stains. My gaze lingers on the piece of fabric which is wetted with a white sticky liquid. I swallow dryly, have images in my head and different scenarios. What has happened? Why is he half naked? And why the fuck is his shirt covered in...?
"Magnus?" asks Alexander, and I wake from my stupor and thoughts of Alexander and another guy. Throaty laughter echoes over to me. It doesn't belong to Raphael, the voice that goes with it is dark and raspy. Very male.
"Am I interrupting? I can leave too," I say irritably.
"Alec. Where are you? This stuff is about to get hard. And it sticks to your hands so nastily." The strange male voice again. I am still standing in front of the door, I haven't moved a millimetre. Alexander is also looking at me, waiting.

"Magnus? Why don't you come in? What's the matter?" asks Alec, irritated. 'Yes why? I am confused. Don't know if my mind is playing tricks on me right now.
"You tell me," I answer quietly.
"Why are you naked? And why does your shirt have... Stains," I press out. I take two steps back, swallowing down the thick lump in my throat and feeling the pressure in my eyes. All the things he told me that night, about himself and his past, are suddenly catching up with me. I am young, inexperienced and insecurity personified. In moments like these come doubts and the question of whether he desires me as much as I desire him. Or if I'm just one of many guys, the next in line until he gets tired of me. One step out the door, one night at the club and Alexander doesn't wake up alone the next morning.

"Babe you're scaring me. What are you talking about? That's icing. And I was just on my way to the bathroom when you rang." Frosting? Bathroom? Fuck. I feel like the last idiot. How could I even believe that today, this night, Alexander is with another guy and had sex? What is wrong with me?
"Frosting," I say understandingly.
"Yes. Frosting. Did you really think... I have to keep talking?" asks Alexander. His eyebrows narrow. I gasp in panic, shaking my head, trying to avert disaster.
"No. Of course not," I answer quickly. But I can clearly see that he doesn't believe me. With his arms folded in front of his chest, he looks at me. His look speaks a clear language. I've blown it. Christmas hasn't even started and I've already accused my boyfriend of cheating on me.
"And now the truth. Can you handle it?" he asks.
"Yes. Yes, I had the thought that you had sex. Fuck, I'm sorry. I shouldn't jump to conclusions or even think. Rarely does anything useful come out of that," I say excitedly. This isn't going at all the way I, and probably Alexander, had imagined.

"Oh Magnus," he whispers, stepping over the threshold of the door and putting his free hand on my hip.
"You're all I need," he breathes against my lips, letting the tip of his tongue slide slowly and sensually over my lower lip.
"Yes," I breathe in confirmation. Very softly and barely audible. His breath tickles my lips, feather-light as they glide over his mouth. Begging forgiveness, a fresh start to the evening.
"Will you come in?" he asks, still caressing my lips with his. The air crackles and I nod silently, hearing soft sounds of a song which sound familiar and beautiful to my ears.
"I'm so in love with you. Purge the soul. Make love your goal," I sing softly. We look deep into each other's eyes, Frankie accompanying us with sensual tones, a breathtaking mood that comes across so wonderfully.

"The power of love, a force from above. Cleaning my soul", Alexander joins in and at that moment I feel it clearly. What we have is not a flame, not a fleeting affair and only there to release pent-up lust. I love him and even if the world condemns me for giving my heart to a man I have only known for a short time, I don't care. What other people think and their opinion of whom I should love, when and how strongly, doesn't matter to me. All that matters is what we both want. And I hope Alexander wants the same thing I do.
"Let's finally go inside. It's cold," Alexander says. My eyes wander over his bare chest, looking closely at the fluffy dark hair. Slowly the tips of my fingers brush over the curve of the pectoral muscle, Alexander's breathing changes, he draws in a hissing breath as my thumb grazes his nipple.
"Magnus," he breathes excitedly. I look at him, his eyes closed and his lips slightly parted. He is beautiful. And I wish his family wasn't waiting behind the door to his flat.

"Honey please," he says, taking a deep breath and slowly opening his eyes. Storm-soaked blue flashes at me, dark and full of lust.
"Honey, that's not fair. I haven't had you this close to me in a week."
"Can I stay here tonight?", I ask hesitantly.
"But of course. That was the deal, wasn't it? I've been looking forward to this all week and I feel like a teenager," he replies, chuckling, and I look at him in irritation.
"Why? What do you mean?", I ask.
"Like when your first boyfriend sleeps over for the first time. And you have to be really quiet about everything you do so your parents don't hear you. Because that would be more than embarrassing if you just get your first blow job and your parents are sitting in the kitchen eating breakfast and listening to you just screaming. That's exactly the joyful tingle I feel all the time when I think about you."
"I don't know what that's like," I whisper, lowering my head in embarrassment.

I don't know if he feels the same as I do. Whether it's those butterflies in his body that stretch their wings wide and flutter wildly at the slightest thought of my friend? Or the heart that beats wildly and the pulsing can be felt all the way to the throat? Is that what he is talking about? Then, yes, I feel the same. Our meeting at the café was far too short and even though we haven't been Alexander and Magnus as a couple for long, I miss him a lot. Every day and all night. The nights alone in this hole were even colder and darker than I was used to. It felt strange as I left the underground station and walked slowly towards my apartment building. The hastily passing people, the fierce snarling of two large black dogs, the needle-pointed freezing north wind, the grey clouds over the bustling city. All this passed me by with a veil woven around it. I did not see it all clearly, did not feel the cold and the changing environment. Stoically, as if in a trance, I wandered through the streets, leaving the crumbling hotel on my left, ignoring the voices of lightly dressed women and begging men. At some point I stood in my flat. I couldn't remember how I left the underground, walked through the streets, up the stairs and unlocked the old squeaky door. Irritated, I blinked a few times, saw the paint peeling off the walls, smelled the musty aroma of black stains in the wet room. No lovingly arranged furniture invited me to linger. No, the legacies of the previous tenant, on the other hand, cheered loudly and celebrated my return. I sighed and dropped exhausted onto the rock-hard mattress. The encounter in Central Park, that dinner, the night with and at Alexander's, the revealing morning and the following days of loving phone calls and messages screaming with longing for each other had changed my life. Alone, each event stands alone and together they paint a clear picture. I love Alexander.

"You're my first relationship. Fuck how pathetic. I'm 22 and so totally clueless about all of this."
"Magnus, look at me," Alexander says, putting his fingers under my chin and I automatically lift my head.
"I wouldn't have it any other way. I want you exactly as you are. Because that's how perfect you are. And you're not pathetic. Don't make yourself so small. You're beautiful and brave, you've been living alone in a foreign country for two years. You barely know anyone and you meet me. Me. How perfect is that?"
"You tell me," I reply sheepishly. His words move me to tears and before he can answer my question, the deep voice I already know sounds.

"Um... I don't want to disturb you. But you've been standing in the hallway for a while. The light is off. Have you noticed that at all? Anyway, you know. Alec, I just wanted to check on you and let you know Raphael's got dinner ready. Hurry up. Or better yet, make up your minds. Out or in? Christmas roast from the master or cold pizza from Joe's? I don't care. I'm going to sit down at the table and eat turkey." And as quickly as he came, he's gone. I can still see his neatly combed hair. The same red as Clary's and Charlotte's. His back view is quite respectable. He's slim and his long legs and round tight butt are tucked into a pair of tight burgundy jeans, along with a dark grey shirt and for whatever reason he's wearing a scarf. Not a thick fluffy woollen scarf like I once left Frosty with. A thin lightweight one and I suspect this one is more accessory than useful for anything.
"Does he always talk so much?", I ask, overwhelmed. 'Who was that?
"Yes. Unfortunately. But Jonathan is a nice guy and he's going through a hard time right now," Alexander replies.
"Jonathan. Okay. What's your relationship?", I ask, hearing the biting tone myself and feeling the embers of jealousy. Similar to Raphael's restaurant. Only with the knowledge that Alexander wants me. And yet, I can't get the embers out.

"He's Clary's brother. His wife left him. Last week. Can you believe that? Grabbed the three kids and went to her parents' house in Montana. Just like that. Without a word of explanation. Clary's letting him stay with her for a few days. He's not well. And I feel sorry for him. So I invited him to spend the evening with us. No one should be alone at Christmas."
"That's so sweet of you," I say and Alexander beams all over. It suits my friend. He's just one of the good ones.
"So. Turkey or pizza?" he asks and I grimace in disgust.
"Turkey? I'd rather not. Does it come with sides? Then yes."
"You, my sweet vegetarian friend, get a special Christmas menu," he replies promptly, blowing a kiss on the tip of my nose and quickly grabbing my hand.
"I'll just go and change. And you go on in and face the sensationalist mob," Alexander says, pulling me into the flat and before even a word of protest rolls across my lips, my breath catches.

I am greeted by cosy warmth, the smell of roasting meat, Christmas spices and a sparkling, beautifully decorated tree. The monstrosity that Raphael and I have carried through half the city is hardly recognisable. Glittering large baubles in deep royal blue mingle with sparkling points of light in cool ice blue. Filigree patterns on the spheres, glitter dust and bright sparkles. They compete to see which ball shines the brightest, but there is no winner. The silver stars peeping out from between the lush dark green branches also compete for a place on the winner's rostrum. A few birds join them, their bodies shining and a feather soft and light completes the perfect picture. The tree glows with such pure beauty, millions and millions of tiny dots and the star on top reminds us of Central Park. Around the tree are gifts, large, small, some beautifully wrapped in harmonious tones, some hastily yet lovingly tied. To my right and next to the tree is a small table. On it stands an old record player. The needle circles along its path. Groove by groove, it elicits gentle sounds from the ancient device and instead of Christmas classics, Freddie Mercury, accompanied by his closest friends, thanks God for a successful Christmas. Even after difficult days and strange ways. It will be a special night with friends and snow falling from the clouds. Sun and moon, terribly cold and bright. It's Christmas, it couldn't be more fitting. The lyrics pressed on vinyl and sung by the voice of an angel.

Strong arms wrap around my hips, pressing me gently but firmly closer to my boyfriend's body. Instinctively, I nestle into that touch, smelling Alexander's scent and feeling warm breath on my neck.
"Too much of a promise?" he asks and I shake my head slightly.
"No. He's beautiful. Everything shines and sparkles. I don't even know where to look first."
"I'm glad. I wanted it to be perfect. For your first Christmas," Alexander says and unfortunately I have to break away from his protective and warm embrace. I take two steps towards the tree, seeing Charlotte in the corner of my eye who is standing next to me bouncing.
"Are these your names? On the baubles?", I ask, surprised.
"Yes. This one is mine. See? Charlie. That's me. And you are Magnus. You hang here," the little whirlwind replies and I stare in disbelief at a beautifully shiny dark blue orb. My name is emblazoned on the glass in silver filigree lettering and I don't know what to do first. Breathe? Blink? Cry? Sigh?

"Alexander?", I ask.
"I have a bauble on the tree for each of my favourite people. Every year I hang them up. My mum and dad always next to each other. See? Up here," he says, pointing his finger at two orbs and now I finally know the names of his heroes. Maryse and Robert.
"Dad hangs here. Next to Mama." A small hand tugs at my coat and I follow Charlotte and her finger pointing.
"Jace and Clary," I reply.
"Why are you hanging on the other side?", I ask Charlotte and giggling she spins in a circle, stretching her arms wide. Her dark red dress shimmers, the golden tulle around her hips glitters and the fine belt is the final highlight along with the small golden brooch. My heart grows heavy as I recognise an intricate pattern in the shape of a J. Charlotte wears her father over her heart.

"Uncle Alec always hangs my bauble with Mum and Dad. But this year I'd rather hang it next to Aunt Izzy." She looks at me conspiratorially from big green googly eyes. I bend a little lower and decide to squat down after all. I'm warm, the coat is still tight against my body and the scarf that once saved Frosty from freezing to death is cutting off my air. I quickly untie the scarf and unceremoniously get rid of my coat. Charlotte waits patiently and looks with interest at the parcels that are now lying on the floor next to me. Her name is emblazoned in large letters on shiny silver paper. Printed stars and a smiling snowman, my attempt to create something artistic with my own touch. Bright children's eyes are one of the most precious things on this planet. I am very nervous. About how the evening will go, the conversations with Alexander's family and especially about the reaction of my gifts. For a long time I considered, advocated, discarded and yet managed to come up with quite a passable result.

"Do you have a secret?", I ask with a wink.
"I don't. But Aunt Izzy does," Charlotte replies, giggling.
"Ah. I see. You're saving a seat."
"For the baby," she whispers in my ear and grinning, I search the room for Raphael. I quickly find him standing in the kitchen. With skilful moves he prepares the food. It already smells wonderful and despite my nervousness screaming to high heaven, I look forward to the coming evening.
"And how do you know about the little secret?", I ask Charlotte. Embarrassed, she lowers her eyes, plays nervously with her golden belt and whispers, "I was eavesdropping. Mum always scolds me. She thinks I'm too nosy."
"You feel the need to know everything about the world and life. That's quite normal at your age," I reassure her.
"You know what? I know it too. Uncle Raphael is so happy. And that's when he made a mistake," I say. Charlotte looks at me with her head slightly tilted.
"There's something wrong with that sentence. Oh, never mind. I know what you mean. Little finger swear. This stays between us," she says with a smile, extending her little finger towards me, the slight curve reminiscent of a fishhook.
"You need to hook Magnus. Whatever you two are swearing right now, that's for eternity," Alexander says. I flinch, slightly startled. How long has he been standing there? And most importantly, how much has he heard?

Charlotte kindly helps me, takes my finger and it's done. The oath is sealed.
"Do I want to know what it was about?" asks Alexander and grinning I look up at him from below. Still kneeling on the floor, his hand rests against my cheek and I have clear images in my mind. A clearing of the throat interrupts my thoughts and Alexander also looks as if a film is currently running in his head. And I am one of the main characters.
"Eating or cuddling? Please make up your minds. I'm really up for this delicious food. But not when you're in the next room with a butt..."
"Jonathan. There are children at the table," a bright voice calls out in anger. I have never stood up so quickly. And I am unspeakably embarrassed.
"This is Magnus," Alexander introduces me offhandedly and for the first time I catch a glimpse of all the lovely people in my friend's life.

They all smile kindly at me. I have already talked the most with Raphael. I am happy to see him again and nod to him. Alexander's sister is sitting next to him. Her black hair falls in soft waves over her shoulders. Curiosity and delight are reflected in Izzy's dark eyes. A friendly smile adorns her full red lips. The tight black dress clearly shows her curves and soon another one will be visible. These will be exciting months and even though the end was fraught with many tears, I think of my mum and her ever-growing belly with joy. As a child it is fascinating and exciting. The excitement grew with every centimetre and at one point my mum's baby bump was so big and round that I feared every little touch would burst this gigantic marble.

Across from Izzy and Raphael sit Clary and the little redheaded whirlwind. Charlotte nervously slides around on her chair. Her small hands reach for a bowl of corn-yellow bread and Clary clears her throat reprovingly. She looks apologetically with her moss-green eyes at her mother. Silence falls and Charlotte sighs loudly.
"I'm hungry," she says and everyone present falls into merry laughter. Apparently this is a familiar scenario.
"You're always hungry. You clearly get that from your father. He could eat loads of food. Remember our freshman year of college? When we went to Florida for spring break? We each had a passion that we pursued. For me it was pretty girls and for Jace it was food. Right after breakfast, he was already thinking about lunch, and as soon as dessert was finished, he asked me what I was cooking for dinner," Raphael says, and the small group goes back in time. There is a reverent silence for a moment, everyone has their own memories of Jace and I wish for the little green-eyed whirlwind that theirs don't fade all too quickly.

"And what was your passion?", I ask quietly, addressing Alexander.
"Swimming. I love the sea. There was the odd nice guy too. But mostly I was in the water. And when I wasn't there, I was watching the guys in their skimpy red shorts," he answers with a wink and I wonder why all the men in Florida wore red swimming shorts.
"The lifeguards were really quite handsome," Clary counters and suddenly this information also snaps into my head. Not all the men wore red swimming shorts, just the guys who death-defyingly jump into the wet waters and rescue innocent children and exhausted adults from the cold water.
"So so. I think I'm due for a shopping trip," I whisper. But Alexander has understood me and draws hissing air into his lungs. Lifeguard, then.

All attention is on us again, Alexander's hand rests on my lower back and I feel safe and protected. This is how it should be. That's the way it should be, it runs through my head.
"Is that seat still free my lady?", I ask Charlotte and point to the still vacant chair next to her.
"Yes my lord," she replies ecstatically. Her eyes sparkle and I gallantly sit down next to her.
"Great. Only a week in steady hands and already I have to share my boyfriend," Alexander says, playfully offended.
"I like Magnus. He helped me win in Central Park. Without his scarf, Victoria's group would have won. She's a nasty snake and I don't like her." With that, everything is said. Alexander sits down next to Raphael and opposite me. Our feet touch under the table and the army of butterflies in my stomach takes off on their flight through my body. Joyful tingles stir, my heart beats fast and waving happily, my restraint says goodbye. A thought forms, settles firmly in my mind and why in all the gods name are we not alone yet?

"That looks divine. And the way it smells. You've outdone yourself again Raphael," Clary says.
"Thank you. But now let's eat. We'll dispense with grace?" More a statement than a question. Everyone seems to agree and Jonathan at the end of the table looks around questioningly.
"Why?"
"Magnus is not a Christian," Alexander says.
"That's not a problem. My faith is different from yours. But if it's part of a Christmas dinner, then I'm not asking you to give it up. And while we're at it," I say, looking at Alexander.
"You can talk while you eat, of course. It doesn't bother me. We're not in Indonesia."
"Thank goodness," it blurts out from Izzy and Clary and Charlotte also seem extremely relieved about it. I already suspected that Alexander had asked his family to observe the customs of my country. But this is their feast today and I am a guest. Never would I ask these loving people to discard their customs and focus entirely on mine.

"My turn," Charlotte exclaims euphorically, reaching for my hand and I see everyone join hands. Alexander holds out his hand to me and with a soft smile I take it.
"Many little fish, swim to the table now, they pass their fins to each other, and then it is quickly decided to stop bubbling now, to eat something instead, and everyone shouts along.
"Bon appétit," it sounds synchronously and my mind tries to grasp all the things. Raphael begins to expertly carve the golden-brown turkey covered in a crispy cap. The ladies pass around bowls of various delicacies. Steaming mashed potatoes with aromatic roasted onions, oven vegetables, green beans, sweet potatoes, carrots and pumpkin. A vegetable I don't know, a small round green ball with a slightly bitter taste. There is homemade bread, various casseroles and the delicious tomato dip from Raphael's family's secret recipe. Everyone gets a large piece of meat loaded onto their plate. A dark strong sauce rounds off the perfect composition. The amount of side dishes alone is enough to fill me up, and yet a considerably large piece of onion pie lands on my plate.

"Wow. I don't know if I'll still be able to fit into my pants tomorrow," I say.
"Then you just take one of mine again," Alexander replies perkily and Izzy giggles quietly to herself. All sorts of conversations come to life, filling the room with soft voices, and the soft music in the background gives off a comforting atmosphere. The solid oak table was not in the flat a week ago and I wonder how Alexander got it into his flat. A dark red runner adorns the tabletop, golden stars twinkle, white long-stemmed candles are in silver holders. Napkins, porcelain, cutlery. Everything makes a coherent picture and I'm sure Raphael had a hand in it.

I endure the question and answer game of Alexander's sweetheart with a sweaty forehead and cold, trembling fingers. I don't like to talk about everything and Alexander has to put his sister in her place one or two times. Even though we are both infinitely grateful to Izzy for giving us that certain push and placing us right under the mystical mistletoe, my sexual past and the number of partners I have had is none of her business. But I am not angry with her. They are all loving and very nice. Each in their own way. Raphael supports Alexander to stop his wife from asking any more embarrassing questions. Luckily they don't know about Rosi and Raphael doesn't talk about the magic unicorn. Jonathan takes part in the conversation only sparingly. Lost in thought, he pokes at his piece of turkey. The poor bird is already more than dead and the tines of his fork are finishing it off.

"Jonathan, can I ask you something?"
"Yes. What is it?" he asks, puzzled. I take a deep breath and, at the risk of unleashing a hurricane of emotions, I just say what was on my mind.
"I study photography. And I'm not the worst in my year. What are your kids' names?"
"Elias, Zachary and Violet," he answers in a shaky voice.
"When you get your kids back with you, get in touch with Alexander. And then you come over and we go to the park together. I'll show you a beautiful spot with a big mossy boulder and a really ancient oak tree. With the right light, this place has something mystical. It's one of the first places I discovered in New York. I take pictures of the four of you. Or just of the children. Then you have a beautiful memory that no one can take away from you. And I'll make you as many prints as you want," I finish my revelation and everyone at the table stares at me in disbelief.
"Really? Why?" he asks, his eyes shining with moisture. I nod with a smile.
"Do we need a reason? Moments like this are precious. Think of it as a Christmas present."

Jonathan jumps up, beaming with joy, sprints around the table and pulls me into his arms so quickly that I stagger slightly and clutch at his shirt, searching for support. The slightly sweet scent of his after shave steals my senses for a moment. I prefer the masculine, tart note.
"Thank you Magnus. That's totally correct of you," he sobs.
"Never lose hope. Be strong for your children. But get help when you can't anymore," I whisper in his ear and feel a confirming nod. The next time won't be easy. Not for Jonathan and certainly not for the children. Because they notice more than we all think, they are attentive and sensitive. They have a radar for moods and the slightest change throws them completely off course.
"So, what do you think about dessert?" asks Raphael and Charlotte claps her hands, squealing.
"And then presents," she shouts happily.

The dessert that stands in front of me ignites a veritable firework of emotions. It catapults me back to the evening of our first date. I have deja vu and I actually hate this feeling. The strange tingling in the chest and liquid adrenaline that is distributed from the heart into the veins and thus throughout the body. But right now, the tingling is wonderful and warmth floods my body. I look around and see Clary with her fiery red curls and the mischievous grin she gives me. She winks at me and then turns to her dessert with relish. It smells deliciously of roasted apples and the slight hint of cinnamon settles on my taste buds. Charlotte has already devoured half of her dessert. My eyes turn to Alexander and he smiles knowingly at me. His hand rests on mine and immediately there are tingles all over the back of my hand. Unbelievable how a simple touch can go to the heart like that.

"Everything okay?" he asks and I nod vigorously.
"More than okay. This is the dessert from our date, right?"
"Exactly. Since we didn't get to try it, I asked Raphael to make it for tonight," he replies.
"That's sweet of you," I counter dreamily. It is just perfect. Forgotten is the dreamy dessert. I feel befuddled by Alexander's gaze, which gives me so much love. Unspoken feelings are reflected in the sparkling sea of his ocean blue irises. The caressing of my skin sends little jolts of electricity through my body.
"You're both cute," Izzy interrupts our dream world.
"I've rarely seen so many little hearts in your eyes," she says, giggling, and I try to imagine what that might look like. I bite my lower lip to keep from laughing out loud, but I can't stop a snort from leaving my mouth.
"Did you just imagine that too? The two of us with hearts instead of pupils?", Alexander asks laughing and I nod. Speaking is not so advantageous just yet.
"Delightful. It's like something out of a comic book."
"Totally," I press out. The others, however, look at us in irritation as two grown men hold hands laughing loudly. Absorbed in a fantasy, sailing on the waves of their own imagination.

"Yes. It fits with the two of them," I hear Jonathan say and slowly we calm down again. Still with our eyes on each other, we breathe in calmly through our noses and out long through our mouths. Without having agreed, we both use the same technique.
"I'd say there's a wedding coming up," Clary says and now it's Alexander and I who are looking at her distraught.
"Let's see where the wind takes us," I reply and finally turn my attention to the deliciously scented
chocolate tartlet with a liquid caramel centre and chocolate-chilli sauce. The spoon glides through the cocoa-rich batter without resistance or surrender. Shiny golden caramel flows out of the centre, spreads viscously on the plate. The first bite explodes a firework of sensations in my mouth and tongue. Dark chocolate, warm and powerful paired with the sticky sweet caramel. A hint of spiciness from the sauce and I moan with pleasure. With my eyes closed, I enjoy this moment, letting the individual components take effect on me. This is some really hot shit.
"Fuck, I'm in heaven." Alexander's foot gently bumps against mine and I open my eyes.

"Do you like it?" he asks. Do I like it? Is he seriously asking that? I've never had a better dessert than this.
"It's the best thing I've ever eaten. Definitely."
"So I chose right. Phew, I'm relieved," comes his prompt reply. I eat the rest of the dessert in silence. Talking would only distract me from this delicacy. Charlotte is the first to leave the table excitedly. For a child of her age, she held out for an astonishingly long time and remained seated, even though she finished eating long before we did. The little whirling redhead is a happy child and yet she knows how to behave. I can only begin to imagine how difficult it must be for Clary to manage this task alone. Even though she gets a lot of support from Alexander and also Izzy and Raphael, some important tasks are left to the mother.

Together we sit on the floor in front of the gigantic Christmas tree. Alexander has placed a plate with his home-made biscuits and gingerbread in front of us. My actually jokingly meant saying about the trousers not fitting anymore takes on more and more truth. Of course, I can't miss it and try my way through the different varieties. Each has a different shape and the tastes are also different. One is dominated by vanilla, the next has more nougat than dough and a small brown ball with the wonderful aroma of almonds turns out to be my absolute favourite. Marzipan potato is the word of the evening, which I try hard to memorise. I learn that every year Charlotte has the honour of distributing the packages to their new owners under the Christmas tree. Alexander tells me the story of how she had to read the names herself, protesting, as soon as she came to school. Today she takes it rather calmly, standing in front of us in her glittering dream of dark red silk and golden tulle, reading out names and handing over the different parcels, beaming with joy. For the next few years, she will share this task with the soon-to-be new family member. And I am sure she will not lose her enthusiasm and welcome the little creature into the family circle with her warmth of heart.

"Magnus," she calls enthusiastically. I am nervous and clear my throat briefly. I feel the need to say something, to explain my choice of gifts, but I do not.
"This one's for you," she says, holding out a gift wrapped in pine-green high-quality wrapping paper and matching silky ribbon. I accept it gratefully and notice Alexander shifting restlessly on his cute butt next to me. He is nervous and I can't help but look at him urgently before I say, " Do you want to tell me something? You're so nervous."
"Just open it. It's gift one of two," he says and takes a rectangular gift wrapped in shiny silver paper. Momentarily my breath catches and I take several deep breaths in and out.
"Do you have something to tell me?" he asks suddenly, emphasising the little word you very carefully.
"No. Just open it," I reply and receive an enchanting laugh.

I don't dare open the lovingly wrapped present. Every edge is accurately folded, there is not a crease or tear. The big bow is wonderfully uncomplicated to open and with my heart beating excitedly I slide my fingers under the gap in the paper. It's the first Christmas present I've ever received, and from my first boyfriend. And now I too feel the excited tingling Alexander spoke of.

"Riza," I whisper.
"For both of us," Alexander says. The face of one of Indonesia's most famous chefs, and my mother's absolute favourite on TV, stares back at me. Riza's story is incredible. Growing up in the last corner of Java, a childhood he rarely talks about, and being consumed by poverty. But he never gave up and believed in his dreams. With the last Indonesian rupiah in his pockets, he travelled to Bali and managed to go from dishwasher to the hottest chef. His journey is described in several books, his cooking show the magnet of every Indonesian family. My mother is his biggest fan and meeting him is her biggest dream. Riza has cooked in high-class restaurants all over the world and is currently touring the USA. I know this because my mum told me on the phone not so long ago how much she would love to be in a kitchen with him wielding a wooden spoon. But the tickets cost a fortune and suddenly I realise that I'm holding two of them in my hand.

"I can't do that. I can't accept that," I say and look to my friend for help.
"Why not," he asks anxiously.
"The tickets cost a fortune. Cooking together with Riza is like winning the lottery. Not imaginable," I reply.
"Riza is cool. You'll like him. And you'll understand what he's saying when he starts swearing in Indonesian. That's really funny. Unfortunately he wouldn't tell me what the word meant." Raphael knows Riza? How? How? Wide-eyed and open-mouthed, I stare at him. A touch on my arm makes me flinch. It is Alexander who looks at me worriedly.
"You don't like it" he says softly. Disappointment and sadness are in his gaze.
"I... fuck if my mother finds out. That you and I are cooking together with Riza. She would kill for it. She loves Riza. Everyone loves Riza. Me too,' I say, hitting exactly the right words. Alexander relaxes and his eyes begin to sparkle again.
"Is this a couple thing?", I ask.
"Absolutely and so what. Keep unpacking. Then you'll see."

Sceptically I look at the black fabric which is still wrapped in pine green paper in front of me. Carefully I unfold layer by layer and could laugh out loud when I see the result of my efforts. Two aprons lie in front of me, black with a ribbon and a clear statement on the chest. Mr. and Mr.
"You're not serious," I say tonelessly, trying to maintain a neutral expression. It's not as easy as you might think when inside you're already having a huge party.
"Too much? I knew it," Alexander says disappointedly. Before he falls into depressive fits, I put him out of his misery.
"Where is my rainbow?", I ask. And as if he had been waiting for me to say these words, Alexander pulls a small black box out of his pocket and holds it out to me, and I only catch a glimpse of Izzy squealing and clapping her hands, Clary whispering 'Oh my God' and Charlotte sobbing loudly around my neck.

"Your rainbow? Right here. In my hands," Alexander says, opening the box to reveal two beautiful silver rings.