Holiday Ever After

I T IS A UNIVERSAL TRUTH that being a man in a close-knit community means that if you sass the town matriarch, and later forget to return the plate and cutlery you took during your dramatic exit, she will immediately begin making phone calls and tattle on you to the entire town.

By the time I’m walking into the Hungry Fox after closing the store, I’ve had two texts from Maggie, one from Winnie, and a voice note from my high school basketball coach telling me he’s worried about the choices I’m making.

Tommy, naturally, is busying himself behind the bar and pretending he didn’t send me a text that read “DID YOU STEAL FROM FLO” in capital letters and with twelve alternating question and exclamation marks.

“You’re really robbing local businesses now? In this climate?” he says as I settle myself on a bar stool. “What’s next, knocking over the post office? Stealing from the collection plate at church?”