9. Nicole
Chapter nine
Nicole
D ad meets me at the baggage claim and I throw my arms around him. When he squeezes me, my whole body stills, and my chest expands more fully than it has in months. My parents have always been a sanctuary. Peaceful and secure, I always feel centered in the midst of their love. Not that they’ve never lost their cool, but when they did, I always knew they loved me unconditionally.
“You should have waited in the cell phone lot,” I chide. “You didn’t have to pay for parking.”
“Eh, I didn’t know how much you brought, and I wanted to help with your luggage.” He squeezes me again. “I’m glad you’re home, baby girl.”
As we wait by the luggage carousel for my roller bag to come through, I study my father. He’s just under six feet tall with long legs and a round middle. His head of hair is full, but graying, combed back in the same hairstyle he’s maintained all his adult life. I notice a few more lines across his forehead and around his gray-blue eyes since the last time I saw him. He doesn’t look weathered by any means, but he looks his age, fifty-five years of life and laughter and experiences written across his features. He’s wearing jeans and a bright red and green sweater.
I grin and nod at his chest. “Still a week until Christmas,” I tell him.
“Your mother made me wear it,” he grumbles. “Molly got in yesterday, so everyone’s staying up late to decorate the tree tonight.”
I hold up my hand. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it. It’s very festive.”
He shakes his head. “Uh huh,” he says.
“Oh, there’s my bag,” I exclaim.
Dad insists on pulling it from the conveyer belt for me and rolls it out the airport doors toward the parking garage. When I step outside, I’m glad for my sweatshirt. St. Anastasia hasn’t cooled off much yet, but here in Austin, it feels ten degrees colder.
My childhood home is in the southwest suburbs of Austin. The two-story brown and gray brick house was a beautiful refuge growing up. I had my own bedroom, which is still furnished how it was in my teens, and a large backyard that backs up against a protected green space—twenty acres of woods to explore. My sisters and I had secret hideouts throughout the wilds of that space, and I had a few hideouts for just myself, where I would go to read or think, especially during my tumultuous high school years.
My mom and sisters greet me when we get to the house, and then we dive right into decorating. Though my parents have already hung decorations in the grand entryway of the house and around the exterior, the Christmas tree is traditionally tucked in the back, in our family room overlooking the backyard, just for us. Dad has already set up the artificial tree next to the gas-powered fireplace. Stacked on the couch and the floor are plastic bins holding our family’s hodgepodge collection of Christmas ornaments.
As predicted, Mom puts out plates of Christmas cookies and hands us each a mug of hot chocolate. We dim the family room lights so we’re awash in only the glow of the twinkle lights on the tree. Olivia sets up her Bluetooth speaker and blasts Christmas music as Dad unpacks ornaments wrapped in old newspaper and tissue paper. Many are homemade—disfigured foam reindeer or Santas with cotton ball beards that me or my sisters crafted when we were children, name and age written on the back with permanent marker in my mom’s handwriting. When Dad unwraps one of these treasures, he hands it to its artist, who hangs it on the tree.
Mom is in her element. Her hazel eyes dance with merriment as she tugs a hair tie off her wrist and loops it around her long, straight hair—gray for years now since she stopped coloring it in protest of unrealistic beauty standards for aging women. She’s petite—several inches shorter than me—and plump in the way giving birth to three babies will do to a woman who has always liked sweets too much. Her red and green Christmas sweater matches my dad’s, and her jingle bell earrings jangle with her every step.
We’re finishing up the last few baubles when I check my phone. I have a text from an unknown 239 area code. I open it and see an image of a one-panel cartoon. In it, a woman sits in the center seat on an airplane reading a book with the title Stabbing Strangers Who Talk to You while her seatmates stare forward with wide eyes. The caption says:
“Wendy gets privacy by creating her own book covers.”
The message attached reads:
“Hope you had a quiet flight! -Adam”
I laugh to myself, shaking my head. Then, still holding my phone, I tune back in to my family’s chatter in time to catch the tail end of my mom’s comment as I type a quick reply and save the number in my contacts.
“...pack up your ornaments for your own households,” she’s saying. “Before long, we might have some new young men and maybe even grandchildren in the family.”
Olivia scoffs. “Don’t get too excited, Mom,” she says. “Molly hasn’t been on a date in years, or even talked to anyone outside of her lab — ”
“Hey!” protests Molly, but she’s laughing.
“...I’m not even out of college yet, and Nicole — ”
Molly cuts in again, smirking at me from across the room. “Nicole,” she intercepts, “is smiling dreamily at something on her phone, so maybe there’s hope after all, Mom.”
I drop my phone onto the table. “What!” I sputter. “I’m not staring dreamily at anything. It was just a funny text, that’s all.”
“From who?” asks Olivia.
“Just a coworker.”
Dad clears his throat. “A male coworker?” he asks.
The traitor. I feel my cheeks flush .
“Yes, this coworker happens to be a man,” I say.
“A young man?” Mom asks, her eyes gleaming.
“Youngish,” I hedge.
“Texting you at,” Molly checks her watch, “eleven at night when the library is closed for the break?”
I don’t correct her that it’s actually already midnight in Florida.
I sigh heavily and frown. “You are all being ridiculous. Adam is my coworker, and he gave me a ride to the airport today after — ” I ignore the clamor of voices that revelation elicits and talk louder, “AFTER my airport shuttle canceled last minute. I paid him gas money.” No, I didn’t. “And he was simply texting to make sure my flight went smoothly. As polite coworkers do.”
I survey the faces of my family members. My mom looks gleeful, with Molly’s expression only a slightly toned-down copy. Dad’s eyebrows are raised in interest, a smile playing at the corners of his lips. Olivia looks smug.
Mom speaks first. “Well,” she clucks. “Adam sounds like a gentleman. How old did you say he is?”
I send a syrupy smile in her direction. “I didn’t,” I say sweetly. “And I’ve had a long day of work and travel and decorating, so I’m going to bed.”
“Okay, okay,” Mom relents. “We’ll leave you alone.” She envelopes me in a hug. “Goodnight, my darling. Welcome home.”
The next morning my parents are out playing pickleball with some friends. Olivia and I are eating breakfast when Molly walks into the kitchen. She’s still in her pajamas, her brown hair mussed and her blue eyes blinking sleepily behind her round-rimmed glasses. Of the three of us, Molly is the one who looks most like Mom—petite like her with the same oval face.
As Molly sits to join us, my phone pings. It’s Adam. Hiding my phone under the table, I open the message. Another meme. This one is a picture of hamburgers and hotdogs cooking on a charcoal grill with the caption:
“Eating two burgers in a restaurant: greedy, people are shocked. Eating two burgers at a BBQ: ‘Is that all you’re having?! Here, have a sausage!”
I swallow my laugh and settle for pressing the “laugh” reaction button on the message.
Nicole:
As a Texas girl, I can’t let this meme get away with calling hamburgers and hotdogs on a grill a “BBQ”. That’s a cookout
He texts back right away.
Adam:
Noted. What’s a BBQ then?
Nicole:
A BBQ is barbecue. Smoked meats, BBQ sauce … You didn’t know this??
Adam:
I do now
Adam:
About to get on the road to Naples. Have a great day
Nicole:
Safe travels
I look up from my phone to see both my sisters smirking at me.
“What?”
“The dreamy smile is back. What were you looking at on your phone?” Molly demands.
“Cute puppies,” I lie.
Olivia blinks at me. “Looked like you were texting.”
“Huh. Weird,” I deflect.
“Was it Adam?” Molly asks.
“Guys, stop. I’m not interested in Adam. He’s just a coworker.” I roll my eyes and shift my feet under the table.
Molly holds up a hand. “Okay, okay,” she placates. “After everything with Steven, we all just think it would be nice to see you in a happy relationship, that’s all.”
I sigh. “I’m not hung up on Steven, and I’m not interested in Adam.”
“Good,” Molly says.
After a few beats of silence, Olivia speaks up. “That is good,” she says. “Because that means you are free and clear to come on a double date tonight with me, Brent, and Brent’s cousin.”
“Uh.” I stare at her. “Who’s Brent?”
She shrugs. “This guy I’ve been dating. His cousin is in town for Christmas and he’s around your age.”
“A blind date? That sounds truly awful,” I gag.
“If you’re not hung up on Steven or interested in Adam, I would think you’d be open to meeting new men,” Olivia reasons.
“But I don’t live here. Why meet a man in Texas when I live in Florida? I need a man who lives in Florida,” I argue.
“Like Adam?” she asks innocently.
I growl. “No. No, not like Adam,” I say through my teeth. “Fine. I’ll go on the double date, if only so you will both stop badgering me!”
“Great.”
Molly glances between us and clears her throat. “By the way, Olivia. You’re heading into your last semester of college. Have you given any thought to your future?”
“Yes,” Olivia responds.
“You have?” Molly raises her eyebrows. “What are your plans?”
Olivia smiles sweetly. “Tonight, I plan to go on a double date.” She jumps up from the table. “And right now, I plan to take a shower.”
Molly rolls her eyes. “We’re not done talking about this!” she calls after a retreating Olivia.