Chapter Text
Three months later…
Magnus was late and frankly hated to be late. First, because he was a very timely person, someone who cared that his days were organized down to the smallest detail. And then, in this specific case, because the said tardiness was caused by a waste of time, good and proper. He had better things to do, in fact. And that “Better” obviously concerned his boyfriend with whom he had been together for three months now. Alexander had arrived about ten minutes earlier at the luxurious Brooklyn loft he shared with Chairman Meow; he had come to pick him up because they were supposed to go to the Fairchild villa outside the city. And indeed they were already late. When he had opened the door to him, Alec had appeared with a big smile on his face, laden with that hope that he would have liked to have seen him with his suitcase already packed and only his coat to put on, but instead, Magnus was far from well on his way. The luggage had been packed, of course. But he was far from ready to go.
And now Alexander was sitting on the couch, with Chairman snuggled on his lap and stroking his little head from time to time. He had given no sign of impatience or nervousness, but it had to be said that in this respect he was the calmest man he had ever known. Oh, that certainly didn't mean he didn't have his own temper. On the contrary, when he set his mind to something it was impossible to change his mind, and not even with a couple of motions of his own. In fact, Alec had a kind of fixation on punctuality too. Which Magnus considered more than a character trait, a real family characteristic, since the Lightwoods' daily routine was marked by a kind of very strict military rigour. The fact that he wasn't nervous about being late that morning was because, despite the aforementioned strictness, he was also an understanding person. Above all, he realised the gigantic pain in the ass that Magnus had, not so unintentionally, gotten himself into.
Translated in a nutshell, he had given up most of his own work. Not all of it, because in reasoning about it, he had realised that it was a change that could never happen in a few weeks. But he had quit the fashion magazines in which he had worked for years and, at least for the time being, was only running the studio that worked with New York's top fashion agencies. It was something, not exactly what he wanted for his own future, but he could consider it a first step toward a radical change. And Magnus was happy, scared of course, but mostly happy that he had the courage to make such a decision.
So what was the problem? Of course, the editors of the aforementioned fashion magazines, one in particular, had not taken it well. And if he was on the phone with the editor of Vogue at nine o'clock in the morning on Thanksgiving Day because she had insisted on not letting him go, well, that meant he had not taken it well at all.
“I told you I wouldn't even come back for three times the amount I was getting before,” he sentenced at one point. Voice harsh, manner determined, Magnus felt almost excessively mean in uttering those words. He never used such a harsh tone, especially not with his own bosses, but he had been trying to make her understand for at least half an hour that he was a life choice and that he would soon quit the fashion world. All of which, by the way, he had already told her, but apparently she had no intention of listening to him. At least judging by the figures he was rattling off, it was obvious that she was convinced Magnus was being clever and playing catch-up.
“Listen,” he told her minutes later, interrupting yet another spiel about how no one would give him the money she was giving him. “It's Thanksgiving and I have to leave for a wonderful weekend in the country. And I'm running late, which is becoming more and more evident by the fact that my boyfriend is getting nervous.” The said boyfriend, as soon as he felt himself being called on, turned to look at him with a confused expression. All right, it wasn't entirely true and he knew it, but he had no idea how to get out of it anymore. In response to Alec's inquiring look, Magnus gestured with his hands as if to explain to him that he had no other choice.
“I told you, I'm quitting the job” he continued, well-determined to end the call. “And I was also generous to give you more notice than it was required to. You’ll see, you will find another photographer as good as I am. Goodbye, my dear,” he concluded, before closing the communication. He was free at last.
Then and only then did Magnus theatrically collapse into one of the living room armchairs. Alexander had never stopped watching him from behind the dark curls that occasionally fell over his eyes. No, they would never find someone like him, because he was the best, and every director knew that very well. But at this point, he didn't care who they would put in his place.
“For the record, I'm not nervous,” Alec told him, breaking the silence. He had turned to him with one of the faces Magnus adored most: his lips were curled and he had an expression somewhere between frowning and confused.
“Oh, I know,” he replied, waving a hand in midair as if he wanted to banish the mere idea with a gesture. “When you're nervous you become unbearable. I've been using you as a way out, are you mad?” he asked finally, flickering his eyelashes and rolling his eyes. Puppy eyes never really worked with the Lightwoods, with no Lightwoods at all, and with Alexander especially. The others seemed completely indifferent to the moines, and he specifically had a kind of immunity that he said he had forged over the years he had lived caring for his younger siblings.
“I'm worried for you,” he said, unexpectedly, while continuing to stroke the little head of Chairman who, on his knees, was purring. “For your working life, I mean. Magnus, are you absolutely sure about what you are doing?” Was he sure? Of course, he was. Oh, he realised that this might have seemed like a decision made out of the blue, something undefined given by impulsiveness. On the other hand, since the brief vacation to the villa for Clary's birthday, he had changed so many things. The first of the aforementioned changes was in front of him at that very moment, the second as it had been said concerned work. It might have seemed that he had had some kind of redemption and had received a heavenly calling, revolutionizing everything from night to morning. But that was not the case at all. On the contrary, he had been pondering for years the possibility of doing something else. What that vacation had given him was to instil courage, nothing more.
“That woman on the phone,” resumed Alec, after moments of silence. “I heard the pay she offered to you. Mags, that's a lot of money.” Magnus shuddered when he came to the realisation that he had used a diminutive name to call him. He didn't do it often and every time it was a surprise, something that warmed his chest with excitement. The first time he did it, it had happened quite unintentionally, it had been quite obvious from Alec's bewildered expression that even he had not expected to use a diminutive. Magnus's smile that day had been so wide that it had pulled at his cheekbones and lit up his gaze. He didn't do it often, though, and so it wasn't something he had gotten used to.
“I know,” he murmured, collecting himself after moments of silence. “And the old me, the one who was with Camille and who thought only of fame, would never have refused such an offer. I've changed, though and now I only want to do what makes me happy.”
“And I'm with you, you know, but...”
“I'm going to open my own exhibition,” he interrupted him. “Not right away, of course, I'll have to work on it. It's going to happen, though. And then I have received offers from very important magazines, in fact, I have already accepted one. I'm going to devote myself to work that has meaning, important shots, that have value beyond clothes, and I'd like you to be with me in that,” he concluded and his voice had become strangely faint, little more than a whisper. Those words, he realized, had weight. He had no idea how he would react if the boy he was with did not support him.
At those junctures, looking at Alec, Magnus said to himself that his face seemed impermeable. He gave the feeling that he wasn't feeling anything; it was as if what he had said had slipped over him, leaving him completely indifferent. That wasn't the case at all; Alec was perhaps the most caring and sensitive person he had ever known, but from time to time he seemed more algid than Antarctica and in those cases, it was impossible to guess what he was feeling. Specifically, Magnus had no idea how he felt about the whole thing. He had said he wasn’t nervous, but in fact he could have been anything, even angry. The fact was that they had never seriously discussed it, so consequently he had no idea what his opinion of it was. Not that Alexander claimed to be consulted about his work choices, far from it, but it was true that he had never explained his project to him specifically. If there was confusion behind his seemingly icy expressions, it was more than justified.
“If you don't agree with my choices, if...”
“But I am with you, of that you must never doubt,” he replied, interrupting him. That time he stretched a smile; it served at least to reassure him. Before Magnus could reply on the matter, Alec had already stood up, much to Chairman Meow's disappointment and had separated the distance between them. So he had knelt down between his legs. The urge to make a dirty joke immediately passed him by, he looked so tremendously serious…
“I love you, you know that.” Did he know that? Of course he did. They had told each other and it hadn't been too long in fact. But if Magnus had often repeated it to him, Alec who was more shy and struggled to externalize his feelings had only confessed it to him twice. That was one of them. And if possible, Magnus' heart had taken to beating even faster than it had that night when, after a most trivial argument, Alexander had uttered those words.
“You should repeat it more often, you know for...” He didn't know what for either, however, gesturing conspicuously served to make him smile.
“To nip your paranoia in the bud?”
“Something like that,” chuckled Magnus. “Look, why don't we take advantage of this intimate moment for a quickie?” There was a real highlight of their relationship: sex. Oh, there was communication and they did a lot of good things together, like dinners or movie nights, others with friends, etc... But sex was undoubtedly Magnus' favourite thing.
“Forget it, no way,” Alec retorted, snapping to his feet suddenly. “The lie you fed your friend on the phone wasn't so fake after all. We're really late so get your suitcase, which I hope you've already packed, and let's go.” If he preferred sex to getting in the car for a couple of hours' drive? Of course he did, but it was also true that resisting Alexander's rangy little face was virtually impossible. That mixture of determination and soft eyes was a combo that had a strange effect on his will, completely annihilating it.
“All right, but tonight we're playing sergeant and undisciplined recruit. You turn me on so much when you give orders like you did just now.” That sentence not only served to wring a kiss out of him, before actually, Magnus obeyed what he told him to do, but it also served to see him blush like a tomato. And seeing him blush was another of Magnus's favourite things about Alec Lightwood. He could do it in so many different ways, one more adorable than the other.
“W-we'll see,” he stammered, scratching the back of his head. Magnus was pretty much sure that was a yes, not least because with great amusement he got to notice all the stoic determination just before being buried by palpable embarrassment. It was definitely a yes, he thought, stretching a smile. He decided not to rub it in; what he had achieved was already quite an accomplishment.
Magnus hadn't returned to the villa since that short vacation at the end of August. He would have liked to, of course, but work and his new relationship with Alexander had kept him busy in the months that had passed. Arriving there after a leisurely drive of a couple of hours, he realised that he had missed everything about that place. From the long driveway at whose two sides stood imperious linden trees, whose fronds were dyed orange and yellow, to the large gate with the Fairchild coat of arms engraved on it. The façade was still the same, that Edwardian-style red brick building standing two floors high.
Contrary to what he remembered, the driveway leading to the white gateway didn't have lush bushes of lavender flowers at its edges, but small greenish bushes, now faded. Further away from where he had stopped, Magnus couldn't see the green grass over which he had often walked, but a carpet of dried leaves that covered everything like a cloak. Observing the plays of the color of those beech and oak leaves, silhouetted before his sight, Magnus began to remember the time his mother had dragged him to that same villa to celebrate Thanksgiving. He had hated that place already only when he had stepped out of the car, getting soaked in mud. Exactly as he had done that morning, getting out of Alec's car. Distracted, he had unintentionally stepped into a puddle, soiling his expensive Louboutins and tailored pants. Instead of cursing, as he had done on that very distant day, Magnus had smiled and looked up at the grey sky. That puddle, in that same spot... He had no idea why, but he had a feeling that his mother was there at that moment and had played that trick on him to tease him. He snorted at the thought as if he found the idea simply ridiculous. He had never believed in those things, so why should he now? Yet he had stopped as he got out of Alec's car and lost himself for more than a moment gazing at the sky.
There was no sun on that Thursday in late November, but a thin, annoying drizzle that was soaking his crest. The driveway, which Magnus had then walked down at a brisk pace to save what could be saved, was smeared with slush and rotten leaves. He had not cared about even that, however. All he cared about was being there, in the company of the guy he was in love with and all his closest friends. If he had ignored that warmest gust of wind that had tickled the back of his neck the very second he had knocked on the door, it had been out of distraction. In the future, he would charge that to his mother's presence, to the fact that she was somehow there with them, but that was another story.
He found out that they had been the latest to arrive, which gave rise to the usual sequence of banter to which they were now accustomed. He was, but Alexander had struggled and not a little to adjust. Raphael was doing this, he claimed, to make him pay for never leaving him alone. This wasn't exactly true, as Magnus replied to him every single time the subject came up. First, because underneath that biting sarcasm was a sincere affection for him that he knew was boundless. And then because the two of them were a bit of each other's guardian angels and could never willingly harm each other. On that Thanksgiving Day, when he and Alexander crossed the threshold even long after Ragnor Fell, whom Jocelyn had managed to pull out of his hermitage, perhaps with the promise of a sweet potato pie, Raphael didn't fail to give him a reproachful glare and come out with a: “This quickie lasted longer than usual,” which made everyone laugh, especially Isabelle. Yeah, she too never failed to tease them with double entendres and some spicy irony. Unlike Raphael, however, there was little good-naturedness in her. Despite her initial good intentions, she had really never stopped pestering her brother, any talk Alec had given her about it had just not worked. After three months together they had simply gotten used to it. To Izzy's sexual innuendos, yeah, but also to certain insinuations from Jace, who claimed they spent more time in bed together than doing anything else.
“Just so everybody knows,” Magnus exclaimed, entering the living room after stripping off his coat and leaving his and Alec's suitcase at the bottom of the stairs leading upstairs. “We didn't delay because we had too much sex to have, you know we do a lot of other things.”
“Yeah, and we believe that,” replied Jace, speaking in a very loud voice from the kitchen. He sat on one of the island stools peeling potatoes. Between them, after that famous argument the morning after Clary's birthday party, there had been a kind of truce. They teased each other, but there was never malice in their intentions. It was a fact that they hadn’t become friends and had never gone out to dinner alone, but always with Alec and Clary, however, they tolerated each other. His having made such an insinuation at that juncture made him smile; in the past, it probably would have bothered him much more than it did.
“Magnus spent half an hour on the phone with the editor of Vogue,” explained Alec, who had barely blushed on his cheeks. The silver lining in his sibling's behaviour was that Alexander had stopped being too embarrassed and uncomfortable. Magnus was convinced because all the sex they were having actually repaid him handsomely for any displeasure, but it was quite likely that this was not the case.
“Still not giving up, huh?” intervened Luke, who was in the kitchen too. He was helping Jocelyn and Clary prepare lunch. His task was not different from Jace's, as he sat next to them and cut the aforementioned potatoes into chunks. Everyone knew how his superiors had reacted when he had quit; it had been enough to ask Aunt Jocey's advice on how to behave for, before long, all their friends knew. And probably neighbours, acquaintances, passers-by as well... Jocelyn's enthusiasm about having found Magnus again had struggled to die down and she was telling practically everyone her private facts.
“Not at all,” denied Magnus, stepping forward a few steps. They must have been working on that meal for a long time, he told himself, because there was a scent of turkey in the air that was obviously already in the oven. Looking more closely he noticed a sweet potato pie that had been placed on the countertop. By its side, however, was a bowl of cranberry sauce and nearby, in a basket, cornbread. Oh, Magnus loved cornbread. It was like his favourite thing since Turkey.
“But it's Thanksgiving!” said Simon in a whiny voice. “One should be thinking about more than work.” Magnus shifted his gaze to him, Simon sat on the couch exactly next to Raphael and they were holding hands. In fact, that one he had noticed immediately upon entering. By now it was not unusual to see them in intimate attitudes, although they never let themselves go too far. Raphael was a very private person and being in a relationship had not changed him all that much; it had perhaps smoothed out a few corners, but these were such subtle changes that they were barely noticeable even to him who had known him for years. While Simon, well, he was in his first same-sex relationship and although he had a more outgoing nature, he still didn't let loose in public. Then again, they had only been together for three weeks! Unlike him and Alexander, who had instead put on the accelerator and got together right away, Raphael and Simon had been dating as friends for more than two months. In all that time, no one had ever really understood what was between them or how Simon really felt. At least until one day, at a dinner party, they had announced that they had gotten together. They had not, however, answered any of the questions they had asked him, and there had been quite a few. Or rather, they had answered some, albeit rather evasively. Magnus thought it was a kind of compromise they had reached. On the one hand, Simon tended to be talkative while Raphael had always been of few words. In this way, everyone had convinced themselves that they were compensated perfectly. According to Magnus, this couldn’t have been truer.
“Yeah, that's exactly what I told her,” Magnus resumed, returning his gaze to Luke. “But that woman won't accept that I got fired. I had to hang up the phone in her face this morning after spending half an hour listening to her chatter, she's convinced I'm being smart and playing catch-up.”
“But did you tell her that what you did was a life choice and that you will work for another magazine?” intervened Clary, wiping her hands on the flowered apron she was wearing as she approached the living room.
“I explained it to her, but I think that's exactly what she can't accept. If I had quit my job to put myself in... I don't know... cook, she probably wouldn't have acted this way.”
“Don't think about that now,” Jocelyn said, cutting it short, though without looking at him and not stopping cooking. “In fact, why don't you and Alec relax a little before lunch? Clary, will you walk them to their room?”
“Sure, Mom,” she nodded, preceding them up the stairs.
Everything was exactly as he had left it. Clary had had the foresight, as well as the kindness, to let them have the room Magnus had occupied the previous summer. It was that of their first time when he and Alec had made love after their fight with Jim. He thought back softly to those moments, pausing just inside the door and stretching a smile as he noticed a flowered bedspread in every way similar to the one he remembered. He was as happy as he had ever been. Because that was the room in which they had danced naked, to the notes of A Thousand Years. The one in which they had pulled morning to the sound of silly talk and lovemaking. Nothing had really changed, not even in the landscape Magnus found himself admiring a few moments later after the door had closed behind Clary. Everything was the same, except for the autumn that tinted the valley below in entirely different colours. There were no apple trees laden with fruit, no flowers in the bowls along the paths. The vineyard had yellowed and the hills were much less verdant, muddy in places. The sky, instead of a beautiful blue mottled here and there with fluffy white clouds, was grey and a thick fog covered the lower parts of the valley.
“I find it wonderful even so,” he commented, voicing though only part of those thoughts. The truth was that there was much more, there was more about his mother, but he kept silent, shoving the memories back down the back of his throat. Alexander reached him at that very moment, encircling his waist with her arms and resting her chin on his shoulder.
“You're absolutely right,” he nodded, snapping a resounding kiss on her cheek as Magnus intertwined his fingers with his. Alexander's hugs were special, different each time and at the same time giving him the feeling of coming home. In that position, they stayed there until he felt the urge to kiss him. At that point, he didn't think twice and, turning in that embrace, lost himself and Alec in a long, languid kiss. The view was beautiful, sure, but the boy he was in love with was much more so.
Magnus was happy to the point of feeling elated. It was the getting back there, of that he was sure. But maybe it was also a little bit about getting rid of all those burdens that had burdened his chest for too long. Or probably it was that feeling that he felt even now, that made him feel his mother's presence in every corner of the house, even in the objects. She may be standing there somewhere looking at them. Maybe it was that, already or maybe it was all those feelings together, however Magnus was fine. As good as he had felt in a very long time.
“You know, Jocelyn said we could relax before lunch,” suggested Alec, mentioning the bed. They weren't going to have sex, but he on the other hand wasn't what he was alluding to. Magnus knew him all too well and knew that no matter how much he wanted it, he would be embarrassed. Plus, when Alec wanted sex that was exactly what he was asking for. He wasn't one for double entendres, he didn't go for subtlety, and he certainly didn't allude. Maybe he would say it blushing, that he did, which made him adorable. If he told them he wanted to relax that's what they would do. They unpacked, laughing about silly things. Kissing from time to time, or rather often. And finally, they snuggled on that bed, where they stayed there until it became awkward how much time they had spent alone. There was still the promise of being together for a while, maybe that night, actually doing that sergeant and recruiting role-playing or probably doing nothing at all but cuddling. Magnus felt he was in no hurry about it and wanted to enjoy that weekend quietly.
“We have plenty of time for wild sex, little flower,” he told him, before leaving the room. Alexander hadn't complained at all about the cuddling and talking that late Thanksgiving morning, but Magnus avoided pointing it out. He had responded to him without his asking, more because he loved seeing him blush like that. Oh, that night would have made him blush even more. But he had time, as he had said, he had all the time in the world.
It would have been natural to think that such a villa, so big and with all those rooms, would also have a respectable dining room. Yet as he reflected on it while entering a large hall in the middle of which stood a long, well-set table, he couldn't recall ever having entered it. He certainly hadn't seen it during his summer stay in late August, since they had always dined on the patio, which, being sheltered, was therefore suitable even for rainy summer afternoons. But the dining room at the Fairchild villa was something else. Something else compared to everything he had seen up to then. It was sumptuous, to begin with, but also old-fashioned. It was rectangular in shape, so long and narrow. Unlike the living room, it hadn't been overly remodelled. Clary pointed out upon entering it that the walls had been repainted a very light green, but that the furnishings had remained the same as they had been in the past. There was, of course, a long wooden table and many chairs with velvet seats and backs, the fabric of which was a particular shade of antique pink. There were no pictures of Clary and Jocelyn on the walls, as there were in some of the hallways. There were no photographs either, but a long row of windows on the left side while, on the right, wall lamps that resembled those late nineteenth-century lamps. Magnus bet with himself that they had left everything as the Fairchild's grandparents, or more likely, great-grandparents, had furnished it. No, he definitely did not remember that living room, he said to himself as he stepped forward, followed by Alexander.
“I have no memory of this place.” * he said, making an unintentional Lord of the Rings reference that Simon quickly found himself pointing out.
“Since when do you quote Tolkien?” he immediately asked him, somewhere between bewildered and elated, with that smile widening as it did every time someone said something that had to do with the nerdy world he held so dear. Simon always became very excited when someone referred to something he knew. Especially the fantasy sagas that he was passionate about.
“From never,” Magnus denied, shaking his head. Behind his back, he heard Alec chuckle and a surge of pride spread in his stomach. He always loved to make him laugh, even at stupid things. “I didn't remember it being a passage from that movie,” he then clarified. “And it is true that I have no memory of this place. Except for...” he said, but without completing the sentence. Instead, his gaze was lost observing the fireplace that stood on the opposite side of the entrance, taking up most of the back wall. That told him something, although his memory about it was very vague. This one was large, much larger than the one in the living room. It was lit, so much so that the heat of the flames could be felt as far as where he stood.
“You've certainly been there, we've always had lunch here at every Thanksgiving or Christmas we've celebrated here,” Jocelyn pointed out. Magnus nodded distractedly, this time bringing his attention to the table. Surely she was right, but his brain was completely blank. And again he found himself observing rather than thinking. He noticed the white linen tablecloth and a set of silver cutlery. There were also crystal glasses, fine china plates, candelabra and pumpkin decorations. The table was also sumptuous and it was evident that Clary and Jocelyn had gone to great lengths for that lunch. Lunch that had already been served, however. There were three pies, one sweet potato and two pumpkin pies. Cornbread, as Magnus had noticed earlier in the kitchen, cranberry sauce and finally a huge turkey, which had been placed where Luke would later sit. He would be the one to cut the first slice.
“Please sit down,” Jocelyn invited them. Magnus only then discovered that each seat was marked with a name, written in neat cursive handwriting. He stood exactly opposite Alexander's, who sat opposite him. At his side was a Ragnor who until then had done nothing but admire that mansion rapturously while, on the other side, sat Clary.
“That turkey is the biggest I have ever seen,” commented Catharine, drawing everyone's attention to the gigantic turkey placed on a platter.
“I should think so, it weighs thirty pounds!” ** said Jace, triggering the surprise of everyone, who took to commenting some on the size of the turkey and others complimenting the glasses or those shiny cutlery. Magnus did not really hear the appreciations, nor the remarks that his friends had taken to making. Even Alexander had indulged in a few compliments, but Magnus hadn't paid any attention to that either. He had a strange feeling about him, one he couldn't quite explain. It was like a tickle in the back of his neck that ran like a chill down his spine. What was strange was the fact that, despite everything, it was not all that unpleasant. Yeah, but what was it? It had something to do with his mother; it had been since he had arrived, indeed probably since the previous summer, that he had had the impression that she was there somewhere. Oh, he had never believed in spirits, and he was not the type to be impressed by certain talk regarding life after death. But that house was different; he had repeatedly made Magnus review all his certainties. He could not explain why he found himself believing it, he just did.
Magnus had a plan for that lunch. Or rather, he had been thinking about Thanksgiving for weeks, but in every speech he had come up with he had found trite and silly. Until the right idea had popped into his head and neck one evening not long before. He had been flipping through the diary his mother had written before she died, when he noticed a page that had caught his attention. He had reread those words for days and days and finally decided that reading them would be the best way to honour Mom along with all the people who had loved her. Walking into that dining room and being carried away by the thoughts had almost made him forget about that page he had folded and shoved in his pocket. A page that he found himself brushing over with his fingertips. It was still in his jacket pocket, and he had slipped his hand into it as if to satisfy himself that he had really put it there. He had. He had checked dozens of times about it. First that it was actually in the suitcase, then that it had not vanished into thin air once he arrived and finally that it was there, where he had put it. It was there, of course and Magnus called himself stupid.
It had taken him weeks before he opened the diary that Jocelyn had given him, the day he left for New York. The homecoming, the job, Alexander... He had blamed a lot of things, even Chairman Meow, but the truth was that he had only wanted to open it and read it when he really felt ready. And when he had done that, well, it hadn't been easy to deal with the feelings it had stirred in him. It was as Aunt Jocey had said, there were thoughts of various kinds written in there and very often also disconnected from each other. Indonesian recipes, messages addressed to this or that person, words for Clary, for Luke and of course for Jocelyn as well. Magnus had cried like a fountain when he had read, and reread, and reread again every single word Mom had dedicated to him. However, the passage he had loved the most had been about Thanksgiving itself. Which was funny when he considered that he had once even come to dislike that holiday. And it was for that exact reason that that page of that diary sat in his jacket pocket. Oh, not her specifically. He had transcribed it because photocopying it or taking a photograph of it had seemed to him as if it detracted from the effort that Mom had put into writing, and it hadn't even seemed appropriate for him to take the diary with him. And so he had transcribed every single word, imprinting them in his memory while the stylograph travelled swiftly on a randomly found sheet of paper in a kitchen drawer.
“Before the turkey, we should say thanks,” he heard Jocelyn say at one point. Those words had the power to redeem him. Magnus flickered his eyelashes and stood up, under the inquiring gaze of Alexander to whom he had said nothing. He couldn't blame him if he was then sceptical about the choices he made in life. But communicating had never been his strong suit; he would have to apologize about it when they were alone. When he stood up, at any rate, the chair slithered across the floor, making the hardwood floor squeak, thus attracting everyone's attention.
“If you don't mind I'd like to start.” Magnus avoided giving any weight to Raphael's testy comment that he was being his usual self-centred self because it would be the hosts' turn to start first. After all, that was how tradition dictated. Ridiculous words coming from someone who had been born in Mexico and had never celebrated an American holiday in his entire life. He didn't point this out to him, partly because the expression that dwelt on his face had drastically changed Raphael's mood. It had only taken him an instant to realize it, for he had understood before everyone else, even before Alexander.
“Of course, son,” nodded Luke, settling down, waiting.
“Thanks,” he nodded, clearing his throat and taking a moment to begin. Suddenly it was as if he was at a loss for words. Yet it was all right there on that handwritten paper. Perhaps that was where he should have started, he told himself as he took a long breath before beginning.
“In the diary my mother wrote before she died there was a page dedicated to Thanksgiving. Few people read that diary and not everyone here knew her, so it seemed nice for those who never met her to hear something directly from her. I'll speak for Mom,” he added at the end. Maybe it was nonsense, after all, they were just words written on yellowed pages now more than five years ago, but they had value. He felt they did, at least they did for Jocelyn, who had winced and let out a soft sob. She more than anyone else knew what he was referring to.
“When we came from Indonesia” he resumed, still without reading. There were more things to say before she began. It was only right that people like Alexander knew who his mother was. “Mom loved this holiday right away, even though it didn't belong to our culture. I never perceived Thanksgiving as something to celebrate, not as she did at least. When I read those words I was not surprised that she had dedicated a whole page of a diary to it. If you don't mind, I would like to read it to you.”
Magnus took the silence that had fallen in the dining room as a kind of tacit approval, then unfolded the paper in his hands. He sensed Alec's piercing gaze on him, more than anyone else's. The way he looked at him was different; it was like a caress that lightly caressed him.
“
Among the things worth living for,
she writes,” he finally added. The paper in his hands barely trembled, as did his voice, which came out unexpectedly hoarse. “
There’s certainly Thanksgiving.
” Magnus noticed his own voice reverberating in the room, the strange, at least unusual silence descended upon them all. The crackling of the wood in the fireplace, which burned and exuded a pleasant warmth, was the only noise that was heard in those moments of his not speaking.
“
The Americans give a lot of thanks on this day, I realised it when Jocelyn invited Mags and me the first time. We had just arrived and knew no one but she and Luke. Jocelyn was very kind, as she always would be. I remember I was surprised and fascinated by this celebration, I had heard something when I was staying in Jakarta, but I never understood. Not really. Specifically, there's one thing I love: cranberry sauce.
” Magnus paused again, he always did at this point. Mom had been singing the praises of Jocelyn's cranberry sauce since the day she had tasted it. At the memory of her attempts to reproduce it, a smile stretched across his face. “
They take these cranberries, which I have never seen in Indonesia, and make a sweet and sour sauce with which they accompany the turkey. I've never been able to make a decent one, not like Jocelyn's at least. But she has golden hands in the kitchen. Hell, I would trade my Nasi Goreng for any of her recipes. And then that cornbread... even Mags, who really doesn't like this feast, loves it. There's another thing, though, that I love and that is saying thanks. And I would like to say thanks to so many people before I leave.”
When he had read that word for the first time, Magnus had hurriedly closed the book and left it there on the nightstand without touching it for days. And then he had cried, he had done so much during that time.
“
First, I would like to thank Asmodeus who despite his meanness and perfidy gave me Magnus, who is the joy of my life. Thank you, Jocelyn, because you have been like a sister. To Luke, on the other hand, I want to say thank you for always being there for me whenever I asked you to fix the shower or needed a good book. Thanks Clary, for your wonderful drawings, which incidentally are better than your mother's (But don't tell her I told you, biscuits).
” Yeah, she called her that, too. Magnus had forgotten that. When he uttered those words, unexpectedly a general hilarity spread through the room. It was, however, bitter amusement. If he had turned around he would have seen Jocelyn's eyes become glazed and an increasingly insistent biting of the lips, as if holding back a cry. He would certainly have noticed Clary's face streaked with tears, for she, holding herself back, just couldn't do it. He was certain that he wouldn't bear his cookie's tears and would burst into tears. So he kept his eyes fixed on that paper, still held up by trembling hands, and resumed reading.
“
Thank you, Simon, for your music. Please never stop playing the guitar or singing, and tell your mother to remember me every Hanukkah. Thank you to Raphael, my Mags' guardian angel. Please, mi angel, never let him out of your sight. Watch over him and don't stop cooking him your tacos, he'll tell you he hates them, but we all know that's not true.
” That time, when Magnus found himself without realising it laughing, he found his eyes were moist. Oh, that was just silly, crying over tacos. “
Thank you, Ragnor,
” he resumed, after coughing to clear his voice. “
Thank you for your wisdom, for the always interesting chats and for all the teas you made for me. Thank you, Catarina, for all the times you fjxed my broken heart. And finally, thank you, Magnus. Despite all the misunderstandings there have been, you are a wonderful son and you will grow into a wonderful man. And even though you will probably hate me for what I am about to tell you, I hope that one day you will find someone who really loves you. Someone who is “That Person.” Your person, the one. When it comes, you will just feel it. Have faith in that because no one deserves it more than you. Thank you all for the life you have given me.
” And when he had finished reading, silence fell in the dining room of the Fairchild villa. This time, Magnus felt his own chest explode with incomprehensible joy. She was there, he said to himself as he closed his eyes and inhaled slowly.
As much as he had cried every time he reread those words, Magnus did not shed another tear that day. Instead, he folded the paper, shoving it into his pocket and looked up at his friends, the people closest to him. They were suffering, but that was understandable. It was obvious that even a swaggerer like Jace was struggling. Meliorn, Izzy's boyfriend, also seemed touched, although he as well as no Lightwood had never known his mother.
“My mother was an extraordinary woman,” Magnus resumed, after a few moments. He had the firm intention of breaking that oppressive silence, of lightening the hearts of those who had loved her as well as those who, like Alec or Jace, would have wanted to ease the pain of those they loved instead. “Anyone who has known her, knows this perfectly well. Just as you know that it took me years before I came to terms with her death and if I succeeded it was thanks to all of you. However, there are two people in particular I would like to thank: Jocelyn and Alexander.”
“Oh, dear,” Aunt Jocey murmured, shaking her head as Alec stretched a sweet smile. “What you have done you owe solely to yourself.”
“Yeah, perhaps, but it’s also true that you have helped me, as well as this place. And it will be silly, but I think she’s here somewhere. Mom loved this place, the garden, the valley and when I stay here it's like I feel her closer. I think we should all say thank you to her for being part of our lives.” So Magnus raised his goblet of wine and invited all his friends to toast. Yes, he thought with a smile, Mom was there with them.
It was night that was almost morning. Somewhere between four and five o'clock, before dawn with the sky still dark. Magnus had slept little that night. And it was not just because of sex, that game of recruit and sergeant that yeah, they had played for real. He had tossed and turned in bed, continuing to think, until he had felt the need to get up and get out. He had done so in silence, while his boyfriend had been burying himself in the blankets. He had dressed warmly, putting on one of Alec's sweaters, the kind of stale ones that looked more mousy grey than black and with a few holes in the collar. And then he had walked out of the house, past the woods and down the hill, his cell phone acting as a flashlight. He had passed the gazebo with the Marvel of Perù's flowers, ugly from the cold and too much rain and finally passed the poplar grove. From there, he would see the sunrise. Like that morning three months earlier, with Alexander, when they had kissed at the end of a night spent getting to know each other. Oh, it was cold that time, cold as hell, but he didn't care. He was going to see the sunrise from behind the hills, even if it was freezing. He, Alec, reached him that already the sun was about to rise. He heard it coming, but he didn’t turn to look at it. He smiled, however, as soon as he wrapped his waist around him, just after throwing a plaid over his shoulders. He was always so very thoughtful...
“I woke up and you were gone, you could only be here,” he murmured, kissing his cheek.
“You were sleeping so well, I was sorry to pull you out of bed to come and freeze your cute butt off in this place.”
“I don't care about the cold, but just about you. You're here for your mother, aren't you?” he asked, rubbing his nose against one of her flushed cheeks. Burning with cold, Alexander's warmth felt good.
“Not for her, but for something she wrote on that page.” It was something he had read before but hadn't paid attention to. Never had he paused to think about it, as he had that night.
“When she wrote that I would find that person... I think that person is you, Alexander. I think, yes, in short, you are my person.” Magnus distinctly felt Alec's arms leave him and let go of the grip he had on his life. If, however, he had feared at first that he would pull away, he was surprised when he instead forced him to turn around and then encircled his face with both hands. And that look he gave him, heaven, was like eternal. It was like looking at each other forever without ceasing, with the sun rising behind the misty hills, with the meadows covered with frost. Alexander looked into his eyes, heedless of everything and then just kissed him. Theirs was a deep, intimate finding of each other. It was a passionate kiss, as Alexander's kisses always were.
“And you are mine,” he whispered in his mouth before kissing him again. And then again and again. He wished he could stay there forever.
Back at the villa, there would be many other things, all beautiful in their own way. A cup of hot chocolate was drunk snuggled tightly under the blanket. Chatting until mid-morning, with the house slowly waking up. A hug with Jocelyn later. Laughter with Raphael, Ragnor and Catarina... A Coldplay song was played by Simon on guitar while, Luke and Isabelle organized games to play for the afternoon. Clary sketching a pencil sketch on a drawing pad watched by Jace, who couldn't take his eyes off her as, in the air, the scent of homemade bread wafted. Magnus would have been happy that weekend with all his friends. In fact, he was always going to be happy every time, in his whole life, that he would return with Alec to the villa. Because he really was his forever. Alexander was the: happily ever after that Camille had never been. But at those moments, with the dawn rising, illuminating the low mist of orange and pink, with cold fingers intertwining with Alexander's and their kisses, warming them, Magnus didn't think about the future. That dawn was his now.
The end