Chapter 5
Five
T his Christmas Eve afternoon may very well rate as the best of my life. Perhaps you thought Kate’s first Christmas Eve would be in the running? But, no. She was sick with croup, and we were all tired, run down, and frazzled. And with her regular pediatrician’s office already closed for the holiday, we spent most of the day questioning every cough and sniffle, endlessly debating about whether a trip to the emergency room was necessity, or overkill.
The first Christmas Eve I spent with Scout should also have been a contender. That time it was my cousin Joey (that would be Lucy’s brother, in case you’re wondering) who spoiled it for us by being a dick. We’ve all made up now, thank goodness, but things were frosty between us for a couple of years.
This year, in contrast, is serene and joyous—almost magical. Which is usually the sort of thing that would worry me. But it’s Christmas, or near enough. Surely any magic afoot today would have to lean more toward miracle than maelstrom, right?
Scout seems, for once, to have been truly infected with holiday spirit and it’s a beautiful thing to see. Even from the kitchen (where I’m keeping an eye on the pot of cocoa warming on the stove while assembling a small charcuterie board to tide us over until dinner) I can hear her and Cole—laughing and giggling together, singing nonsense songs and telling each other wild and totally preposterous Christmas-themed stories while they trim the tree.
Once the cocoa is done, I pile everything onto a tray and carry it into the living room. On the way I pass through the dining room where those sorry-looking roses from the airport are still languishing in their vase, dropping petals all over the table. I make a mental note to throw them out before our guests arrive for dinner tomorrow. And, when I say ‘dinner’ I mean they’ll come for brunch and stay through supper. Because that’s how my family rolls.
“Who’s ready for a snack?” I ask, as I place the tray down on the coffee table. Cole scrambles over, grabs a sandwich in each hand, and immediately gobbles them down.
I start to hand Scout her cocoa, then pause and ask, “Unless you’d like a glass of wine, instead?”
She smiles and shakes her head. “No, this is perfect. I’m sure there will be plenty to drink at Lucy’s. And I don’t think it’s a good idea if I start now. I might fall asleep too early.”
“Probably a good plan,” I agree, coming to sit beside her. “We need to conserve our energy.”
It’s funny how, when you’re a parent, so much of Christmas is spent chasing sleep. From staying up late to fill stockings and arrange presents—and to leave trails of fake snow on the floor, to deal with the cookies and milk that can’t appear to have been left untouched. To being awakened far too early in the morning, to being expected to ooh and ahh, and evince surprise at your own handiwork—all before that lifesaving, first cup of coffee. Not that I would skip a minute of it, of course. But sleep is a highly underrated commodity.
After we eat our snack, and admire the tree, it’s time to get ready to head over to Lucy’s…and that’s when the day begins to lose a little of its shine.
Scout’s spirits seem to take a dive as soon as we’re in the car. Once again, she seems ill at ease. When we arrive at Lucy and Dan’s house, she greets everybody with a quick wave, before disappearing into the kitchen. Curious, I follow after her only to find that she’s wrapped Lucy in a fierce hug, while Kate and Mandy look on in surprise. My cousin seems surprised as well, given the alarmed look she shoots me over Scout’s shoulder.
“I’m okay, really. Yes, I promise. Everything’s fine,” Lucy assures Scout, then mouths, “what is going on?” to me.
I shrug and mouth back, “No idea.” I’m also on team surprised, even though I suppose I shouldn’t be. But the two of them squabble so much, more like sisters than like friends, that it’s easy, sometimes, to forget how really close Scout and Lucy are, how long they’re known one another, how deeply attached they’ve always been.
Still, as Scout shoulders continue to shake, as she muffles yet another sob, I have to admit that usual has left the building this holiday season. We’re in uncharted territory. I don’t know what anything means.
My Uncle Joe, who—God bless him—is as oblivious to the atmosphere as ever, chooses that moment to blunder into the kitchen, carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. “Nick, Scout, just the people I was looking for,” he says, beaming at us both. “I want you to try this spiced wine that Rose and I made. It’s really good!”
“Great. I’d love a glass,” I say and I’m pretty sure Scout’s about to echo that—until Lucy jumps in.
“No! That’s okay. I mean you go ahead, Nick. Give it a try. But Scout and I already have drinks.” Then she leads…more like drags…Scout over to the fridge.
And now it’s Scout making WTF? eyes at me behind Lucy’s back. Although, honestly, I can’t imagine why the hell either of them suddenly thinks that I know something they don’t. Usually, it’s the other way around.
My uncle shrugs and pours a glass for me. It is good, and I tell him so. I mean, I probably wouldn’t serve it to Scout’s stepbrother, who’s the biggest wine snob I have ever met. Unless I wanted to annoy him. Which, come to think of it, is always a good time. So, who knows? Maybe I will.
“You don’t happen to have a spare bottle, do you? I’ll pay you for it.”
“Sure, sure.” Uncle Joe sounds pleased. “I’ll hook you up with a bottle.” Then he turns once again to Scout, and asks, “You really don’t want to try a glass?”
“No thanks, Dad,” Lucy insists as she shoves a bottle (of what appears to be soda) into Scout’s hand. “She’s good. See?” Then she lowers her voice. “Seriously, Scout; forget about the wine for now. Try this, instead. I want to know what you think.”
“I’ll have a glass of wine,” Kate, always the smart ass, tells her great uncle.
“Not so fast,” I tell her. “You can have one drink today—that’s it. And you can either have it now, or with dinner. It’s up to you”
“Fine.” She heaves a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll wait for dinner.”
I nod. “Good choice. Now c’mon, you two,” I tell the girls. “If you’ve finished in here, why don’t you come help me with the gingerbread? All those cookies aren’t gonna decorate themselves, you know.”
“That’s not even a joke,” Kate complains. “Never mind a good one. Maybe you should join one of those online Dad Joke groups for inspiration?”
“Ooh, burn,” laughs Dan, who’s also followed us into the kitchen. “But, speaking of gingerbread, I came to tell you that I got the table in the family room all set up for you.” Then his glance strays to his wife, and he frowns. “Lucy, what on earth are you drinking?”
“Sparkling rose lemonade,” his wife informs him. “It’s really good, although I wouldn’t expect you to think so.”
“Well, no,” Dan agrees. “That’s probably because you’ve met me.” His eyes narrow for an instant, then he shakes his head and apropos of nothing says, “Forget it, Luce. You’re wasting your time. I’ll bet anything you like that I’m right on this.”
Lucy angles her chin at her husband. “We’ll see about that.”
“Yeah, we will,” Dan answers—sounding every bit as stubborn.
“So, when you say anything,” Lucy asks. “What exactly do you mean?” And judging by the sudden gleam in both their eyes, they’re about ready to lay out the terms of said bet—right here, right now. And none of us need to be on hand for that. Definitely time to peace out.
“C’mon,” I say once again. I head for the family room with Joe and the girls and—surprisingly—Dan falling in behind me. We pause at the door to the living room to collect Cole, and Lucy and Dan’s son, Seth.
“Why don’t you go ahead,” Seth urges his girlfriend, Deirdre. “And I’ll be right with you. I just need to talk to my grandma for a sec.”
“How about you, Aunt Rose?” I inquire. “You want in on this? We’ll save you a seat, if you’d like.”
“Oh, I don’t think so, dear,” she tells me. “I think I’ll go and see if Lucy needs any help in the kitchen.” She shoots a fond look at her grandson and adds, “After Seth and I have our little talk, of course.”
I don’t know how well Lucy will like it if her mother tries to take over, but I’ve been warned about my tendency to try and fix other people’s problems when they haven’t asked me to. So…not my circus, I guess.
Anyway, Christmas Eve dinner here is always an event. And, much like with Forrest Gump’s chocolate box, you never know what you’re going to get. Lucy will tell you that she’s paying homage to the Italian ‘Feast of Seven Fishes’ tradition, but there’s nothing traditionally Italian about either her lobster mac and cheese, which is killer, by the way; or her seafood pizza piled with scallops, smoked salmon, arugula and brie. Sounds weird, I know. But trust me, it’s good.
Because her parents are visiting this year, she’s sure to have put some classics on the menu; baked branzino, perhaps. Or spaghetti with clam sauce, Frutta di Mare, seafood Fra Diavolo—you get the idea. In other years, we might get any of those in combination with fried calamari, shrimp puffs, crab bisque or stuffed clams—along with veggies and sides, and all the little extras. Obviously.
And since my aunt is just as obsessed with food as the rest of the family, we’re sure to also have an overabundance of pastries and desserts. But you know what they say: too much is never enough. So I’ve still brought my usual contributions—a mountain of Struffoli and an industrial-sized pan of Tiramisu. In addition, of course, to the gingerbread—which has been carefully packed in air-tight containers, and was stored in the refrigerator until today.
Once all the pieces to the house have been decorated, and allowed to dry, I’ll pack them back up to be assembled at home. There’s no question that it was easier in the past, without all the moving around, but this works. And since it allows more of the family to participate, I’m willing to make the extra effort—even though it requires me to stay up late on Christmas Eve in order to put it all together.
But hey, I can sleep when I’m dead—or, you know, in the new year, whichever comes first.
With Dan’s help, I set out jars of edible glitter, fill bowls with an assortment of candies—gumdrops, cinnamon hearts, candy canes, mint wafers—and open bags of sprinkles, some shaped like stars, others like leaves, or snowflakes. And of course, there are tubes of icing, to stick it all together.
Before you know it, we’re all hard at work creating this year’s holiday centerpiece.
Seth is smiling when he joins us a few minutes later—a giddy, excited expression that catches my attention. In other circumstances, I’d have said he’s up to no good. Deirdre notices it too, apparently. “What’s going on?” she leans over to ask quietly, once he’s taken his seat beside her.
But Seth merely shakes his head. “You’ll find out.”
“Seth,” she protests, her mouth dropping open. “How come? Can’t you tell me now?” If she’s anything like her mom (who I knew pretty well, once upon a time) I should warn Seth that there’s no point in trying to put her off. Once she sets her mind to knowing something, she’s not gonna rest until she does.
But, for the moment, he’s standing firm. “Nope. So quit asking.”
“What? Why not?”
“Because …” Seth pauses, looking momentarily stymied. I observe him from the corner of my eye, wondering where he’s going to go with this. Finally, he concludes, “It’s a Christmas thing, all right? If I told you now, it would spoil the surprise. You can wait until tomorrow, can’t you?”
That’s seems reasonable—and plausible enough that Deirdre, apparently, decides to give him a pass. But perhaps she’d have chosen otherwise had she caught the knowing glint in his grandfather’s eyes, the slight smile that, momentarily, curved his lips.
Whatever is going on, my Uncle Joe is in on it, too—I’m absolutely certain that’s the case. But this, too, is not my circus, I suppose. So, I try my best to put it out of my mind.
The rest of the evening passes pleasantly enough. True there’s a bit of a fuss at dinnertime, when someone’s alle vongole (clam sauce, to you) leaks onto their seafood lasagna, a tragedy that necessitates an emergency change of plates. And Lucy’s parents aren’t all that impressed with her explanation for why she’d decided to add bacon and chopped pimentos to the Swiss chard—“because red and green are Christmas colors.” But none of this is out of the ordinary.
Still, I find myself growing antsy, wondering how soon we can leave. Scout and I were doing okay at home. Here? Not so much. She’s acting weirdly awkward around both Dan and Seth. And despite her earlier sob-fest, it’s clear she’s growing progressively more annoyed with Lucy who, in Scout’s defense, is unquestionably, being more overbearing than usual. To the point that I’m almost about to say something—for which read snap at her—except that I know how that would end.
Both Scout and Lucy are fully capable of speaking up in their own defense, but only an idiot would diss Dan’s wife in Dan’s house and expect it to go unchallenged.
Remember my list of foolish things I may have done? Yeah, that’s definitely not on it.
At some point following dinner, Mandy and Kate disappear for a while, which is not unusual. In fact, I don’t even realize that they’ve left the house until they walk back in through the front door.
Kate’s carrying a small duffle bag—one that I recognize as being ours and I have to ask, “What’s with the bag?”
“I went home and got some overnight stuff for me and Cole,” she tells me. “We’re gonna be spending the night here.”
“You’re what? Since when?”
“Spending the night. Since…now, I guess? Is that a problem? I thought it would be nice for you and Scout to get a little time to yourselves. Sounds like a win-win to me.”
I blink in surprise. It’s a little unclear where the other win is in that scenario. Unless I get one W and Scout gets the other? I barely manage to hold my tongue and not point out that, if that’s the case, Kate’s using the phrase incorrectly. I also manage to not scold her for driving after drinking. Which definitely counts as a double win for me.
I mean, yes, she’s underage, but it was just one glass. And, really, what kind of dick would kick a gift horse in the mouth like that? Particularly when said horse is one’s daughter. “Thank you,” I say instead. But then I notice the somewhat stricken expression Scout is wearing and add, “Is this okay with you?”
“I-I guess so,” Scout says. “I mean, it’s Christmas Eve. But if Cole wants to, and if it’s okay with you, Lucy?”
“Of course it’s okay,” Lucy replies, looking vaguely insulted. “Why are you even asking? Mi casa, su casa. Don’t be dense.”
“How ’bout it Cole?” Kate asks, crouching down so that she’s on eye-level with her brother. “Wanna stay here tonight with me and Mandy, and Seth, and?—”
“Puppy?” Cole asks hopefully, which makes me smile. He’s seated on the hearth rug, sandwiched in between two of Seth’s biggest dogs—Mouth and Zeus—both of whom have massive heads, with tongues that are nearly as long as one of Cole’s arms. But he’s not even slightly cowed.
Neither am I, in case you’re wondering. Seth’s dogs are the best behaved, best trained dogs I’ve ever seen. Even Deirdre, who has more reason to fear them than any of us, has learned to trust them.
“Yep. All the puppies will be here, too,” Kate promises Cole.
“What about Santa?” he asks.
“Well, I’m sure he’ll stop here, too. But he’ll probably drop your presents off at our house. I’ll drive you home tomorrow morning, and you can have them then. Okay?”
Cole eyes his sister narrowly. “You promise?”
“Of course!”
Then he turns to Scout and says, “And you promise you’ll put cookies out for Santa?”
She smiles at him. “Yes, Cole. I promise.”
“And carrots for the reindeer?”
“Of course. I’d never forget the reindeer!”
“Wait, what about his car seat?” I ask Kate. “How’re you gonna drive him home without it?”
“I’m way ahead of you, Dad,” my daughter says—positively smirking at me as she does. “I grabbed the spare one out of the garage. You know, the one you keep for when Tori comes over?”
“Right. I guess you’ve thought of everything, then.”
“I have.” Kate grins. “Don’t look so surprised.”
It’s not until we get home that I remember about the mistletoe that I forgot to pick up—yet again. I’m standing alone in the living room fuming about it—hands fisted on my hips, a scowl on my face as I stare at the empty doorway that leads to the entryway—when Scout comes up behind me and slides her arms around my waist.
“What’s wrong?” she asks. “This is not your usual Christmas Eve expression.”
“No, it’s not,” I agree. “I’m frustrated with myself. I asked Dan to bring some mistletoe home for me, and then I forgot to get it from him.”
“Yes, I know how much it upsets you to forget anything,” she teases.
“Well, it does,” I say, pouting a little as I turn to face her, sliding my own arms around her waist. “But also, now we don’t have any.”
“I’m sure that’s annoying, too,” she tells me. “But can’t we just pretend that it’s there?”
“Pretend?”
“Yeah, like this.” Then she lifts a hand above my head and wiggles her fingers. “Yoo-hoo. We’re standing under the mistletoe. You have to kiss me now.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Yoo-hoo?”
“Or whatever. I don’t know what you’re supposed to say. What is the official mistletoe greeting, anyway?”
“I don’t think there is one,” I tell her, as I tug her closer. “Maybe…Look up? But basically, I think you just kiss.”
“So, then what are you waiting for?” she asks, going up on her toes.
Her lips touch mine and, just like that, I’m home. My world automatically rights itself and all my worries and frustrations melt away.
She clings to me, hands gripping my neck, fingers tangling in my hair. I deepen the kiss, and let my own hands slide down to cup her butt, to hold her lifted in place. I swipe my tongue across her lips then dip inside. She opens her mouth on mine, sucking my tongue deeper into her mouth.
And what can I tell you? It sure feels like mistletoe to me.
“All right, so, what’s the plan here?” Scout asks when we finally break apart. “What are we doing first?”
We’re both breathing pretty hard and I can’t initially make sense of her words. “Well, we could keep doing this,” I suggest hopefully.
She laughs and shakes her head. “Stockings,” she says ticking the items off on her fingers. “Gifts under the tree, preparing Santa’s snack, or assembling the gingerbread house? Pick one.”
“How about none of the above? How about we relax for a moment, sit on the couch, admire the tree, enjoy the fire, and unwind for a little bit?”
“Unwind?” she repeats, eyeing me skeptically. “Is that code for have sex?”
“It could be. If that’s what you want it to mean?”
“Don’t you think it might make more sense to get all those tasks I mentioned done first?”
“Sure.” I shrug. “But sense is for suckers.”
“Okay, you win. I’m not even going to try and argue with logic like that.”
Moving away from me, she flips the switch that illuminates the tree, then takes a seat on the couch. Meanwhile I toss a fake log into the fireplace. Yes, the kind everyone hates. All I know is that it ignites in under a minute with a minimum of fuss. That’s my kind of fire.
I’m about to join her on the couch when a thought strikes me. “Hey, do you want a drink?”
“Oh, hell, yes,” Scout surprises me by answering. “I thought you’d never ask.”
Once again, I’m caught off-guard. “Really? I didn’t think the day was that stressful—what did I miss?”
“What?” She frowns at me, for a moment, and then her face clears. “Oh, no. The day was fine. But your cousin! Omigod, what’s going on with her?”
“I’m not sure. Why? What’d she do now?”
“Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but Lucy wasn’t going anywhere near the wine tonight—which was weird enough. But then she wouldn’t let me have any either. Is she getting an early start on Dry January and hoping I’ll join her?”
“Who knows,” I say, stifling a yawn. Honestly? I’m too tired to think about it. “So, what’ll it be—wine or eggnog?”
“Ooh, eggnog, please,” she replies. “Let’s be festive.”
Out in the kitchen, it occurs to me that this might be the perfect opportunity to spice things up. It’s just the two of us, we have all night. True, we also have a shit ton of prep-work to get through, but surely that can wait a little bit. Can’t it?
I salt the rims of our glasses with honey and tajin spice mix, add a shot of cinnamon whiskey, and one of this strange Ancho Chile liqueur that Adam had gifted me the previous Christmas. Then I julienne some fresh ginger root—for added spice, top it off with a dollop of whipped cream and then finally, perhaps inspired by Lucy’s chard, I drizzle Chamoy syrup—left over from last summer’s mangonadas—over the top and add a sprig of mint. Christmas colors, right?
“Wow. Fancy,” Scout says when I rejoin her in the living room.
“Holiday drink,” I say as I take a seat beside her, hand her one of the glasses. “I have it on good authority that it’s ‘part of the holiday experience’ and that, if you don’t indulge, you’ll always feel like you’ve missed out.”
“I see. And whose authority was this?”
“Lucy’s.”
“Really? And what’s your theory on holiday drinks?”
“Go big or go home?”
“Ah-hah. And since we’re already home, I guess big was the only option you had left.” She takes a sip and adds, “Mm. Spicy. What’re we calling this concoction anyway?”
“I’m thinking something like, A Little Spicy Nick Action,” I say and try not to laugh when she nearly chokes on her drink—because it’s not funny, but it sure looked it.
“A little what?” she asks, eyes gleaming with mirth.
“What, you never heard about that old nickname?” I ask, and then—because of course she hasn’t—I have to tell her the whole story, ending with my conversation the other night in the park with Lucy and Dan. Although I omit the part where we talked about her.
“Wow,” Scout says when I finish. She shakes her head and adds, “You think you know someone.”
And, of course, I can’t let that stand. “You know me,” I say. And, setting the glasses aside once more, I kiss her. It’s even hotter now, between the spice and the heat from the liqueur, and the fire kicking in.
And maybe it’s the drink, or the fire, or the night. Or maybe it’s the couch, but all at once I’m swept away on a wave of memories…
“You know, I really like this couch,” Scout had said, four years ago, as she snuggled against me.
“Mm-hm,” I mumbled in response. It was furniture—it wasn’t mine, it wasn’t even hers. It had more or less, come with house—and I couldn’t bring myself to care overmuch about any of it.
It wasn’t even comfortable! Our clothes were tangled around us, sweat was drying on our skin, the leather stuck to us in a way that hampered movement and was occasionally painful. But what I did like (and very much, indeed) was making love to her on it. This wasn’t the first time we’d fucked on it. It wouldn’t be the last time, either, but?—
“I swear it used to be bigger.”
That got a laugh out of me. “No, it didn’t,” I said, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. “It’s just that you used to be thinner.” She was seven months pregnant at the time so, you tell me. I still insist I was justified in saying so.
“Oh, really?” she replied, twisting around to look at me, moving so abruptly and so awkwardly that she overbalanced, and I had to quickly slide an arm around her to keep her from toppling off the couch. “Whose fault is that?”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Hmph,” she responded, as we both fell silent again. I didn’t think, at the time, that she was mad about it—I’m still not sure. But she did bring it up again the next day, and then again, several weeks later. So, you know, I probably wouldn’t say it again now.
At the time, however, that was the last thing on my mind. I was preoccupied with my own thoughts, so if there’d been signs to suggest I’d stepped in it, I would’ve missed them anyway.
I remember exactly what I’d been thinking about. I was thinking about the baby she was growing inside her, about the family we were making together. And I won’t apologize for having felt a little…trepidatious…at the prospect. Sure, we’d gone into it with our eyes wide open. But that’s not to say we’d thought it through. And parenting… I’d already made mistakes. I hadn’t always made the best job of things with Kate. And if past truly is prologue, I was concerned that I’d screw up again with this baby.
But thinking about family inevitably led to thoughts of the family that Scout already had—her long lost stepbrother, Adam, who’d recently crawled out of the woodwork to bring joy to all our lives. Just kidding. I felt no joy.
All the same, “I’m glad you found your brother again, Scout,” I told her. Giving her the words I knew she needed to hear. “I guess I’ve just gotten spoiled these last few months. I kinda got used to the idea that I was your family now.”
“Oh, Nick.” She sat up and stared at me. “You are my family! You’re the most important person in the world to me.”
“I know,” I told her as I pulled her down to lie against me. And I did. I knew it beyond all doubt. How had I lost the certainty I’d felt as I’d assured her, “You’re my most important person, too.”