A Small Miracle Happened by Mari Donne Page B

the candles. “Hot,” he warned, as every adult did when they let her get anywhere near the menorah. “Don’t touch.” Arielle ignored him, reaching her pudgy hand out to the flames, and he stepped back. Toddlers, he noted, found fire as hypnotic as adults did. Well, it was amazing, mundane and magical at the same time. It wasn’t alive, but you couldn’t think of it as dead. It consumed, but gave the illusion it could create as well. It certainly transformed. He held the baby close, enjoying the feel of her tiny arm around his neck. She turned her head, then planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek.
    “She’ll be big enough to help light them next year.” Dan came up to stand next to him. He rubbed Arielle’s back gently. “If someone holds her hand.”
    Not me . Chris was comfortable playing with the baby now that she was old enough to toddle around and could say a few words, but she was so tiny he worried constantly she’d be hurt. He didn’t know how parents ever slept knowing they had responsibility for such fragile little creatures. So when she stretched out her hand again, he took a second overcautious step back.
    The traditional menorah with its gracefully arching branches was larger than the one he and Dan had used last year. They’d left that one at home tonight. It sat in their front window, the row of bronze dancers appearing not in the least intimidated by the huge tree standing beside them. On their coffee table lay the enamel dreidel Chris had given Dan the previous year. And last night, when they’d been alone, they’d taken out the more serviceable wooden one and enjoyed a very special game of dreidel, after which they’d played with some of the toys they’d bought each other as holiday presents. Now that they were exclusive, Dan was able to use the scented oil instead of lube.
    Best of all, the tree, menorah, and dreidels all lived very far from those ugly condos on Prince Albert Circle. Chris had sublet the one he’d moved into the previous dreary autumn, so he’d been able to leave it in the spring of this year. It had only made sense to save on the rent, because they spent almost every night together anyway. So many of his things had found their way over to Dan’s that almost all they’d had to do to confirm their cohabitation status was sell off the pieces of Chris’s furniture they didn't need.
    By the time Dan’s lease had run out the following autumn, they’d been ready to move. They were still renting, but now they shared a small house that needed lots of work but had plenty of character. There’d even been talk of buying it on contract.
    Chris had stocked the kitchen; Dan had done everything else, including investing in new bookcases. He said Chris’s books deserved them. Chris expected his battered collection to look out of place, but it seemed comfortable there. At home.
    He was familiar now with the several family residences in this area. They visited often. Here at Dan’s parents’ house, all the decorations were Hanukkah themed, but Sharon’s place was as eclectic as Dan and Chris’s. Sharon’s in-laws went completely overboard for Christmas, lighting up their home inside and out. The previous weekend, they’d announced they were going to Midnight Mass on the eve and holding a champagne breakfast on the day. Chris and Dan were still trying to figure out how to skip the first and make the most of the second.
    Chris wondered what his parents were doing this year. His mother hadn’t been chatty, possibly because he hadn’t been able to hold back a laugh when she’d called to complain that he wasn’t coming home. Now that he lived too far away to make Sunday dinners twice a month, she didn’t see him often enough. He was welcome on Christmas, she said. She’d tell his uncle not to say anything about the sinfulness of his lifestyle, provided, of course, that he came alone. His father had gotten on the line to confirm that, an astonishing move from a man who almost