Chapter 3 Tash #2
Fifi raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. Huey, meanwhile, stuck to his chair like glue. Between the sweater and his "on-duty" seriousness, he looked like a canine version of the parade marshal.
Within minutes, people started commenting on his outfit. Three separate kids asked to pet him. One lady in a bedazzled jacket snapped a photo. Huey ate it up.
Mere and Fifi wanted to explore the booths lining the street while things were still quiet. I agreed, tossing them some cash for drinks. "Hot chocolate. No substitutions," I called after them. "Ask about mint to be sure there isn't any!"
Mere flashed a thumbs-up, already dragging her sister toward the rows of vendor tents. The smells hit me first. Sweet rolls, cinnamon, hot sugar, layers of coffee and fried dough. If there's a heaven, it probably smells like a parade at nine in the morning.
I stayed glued to our camp chairs, watching families construct parade fortresses.
Some had collapsible tables loaded with food.
Others had wagons stacked with fleece blankets, wired speakers, and even battery-heated seats.
The most impressive setup involved a company-logoed tent, metal thermoses of cider, and a cooler the size of a coffin.
I considered myself outgunned, but not outclassed.
Vendors hawked their wares up and down the street. A guy on stilts set up shop at the edge of the vendor line, handing out balloon animals. Only Christmassy shapes, of course. I spotted at least two "elves" in rented costumes, and one Grinch with a remarkably lifelike mask.
The longer I sat, the thicker the crowd got. Entire tribes of toddlers in fuzzy coats zipped past, parents in tow. Someone blasted "Jingle Bell Rock" from a hidden speaker.
Huey barked once, eagerly, but settled when I tossed him bits of his favorite peanut butter treat.
After about forty minutes, the girls returned. Mere looked recharged, cheeks pink from the cold. Fifi had a death grip on her insulated cup, but she was upright and not twitching with anxiety, so I counted it as a win.
"Mission accomplished?" I asked.
"They have apple fritters the size of your face," Mere announced, eyes huge.
Fifi looked at the ground. "I got hot chocolate."
"Good job," I said. "Want to swap?"
She shook her head. "This is perfect."
We took turns after that. Next, it was my time to wander. I warned the twins not to lose the camp, then made my way up the crowded sidewalk.
Time to get hot snacks. I picked up two cinnamon rolls and a box of fried pies, fresh peach and apple, then circled back toward a row of food trucks with lines already out the door.
The most popular one had a menu so extensive that I barely made sense of it. The line moved slowly. The small-town parade machine revved up as I waited. Townsend had a wild, wonderful parade, a mix of professionals and total amateurs, with no care about perfection.
The line finally lurched forward. I bounced from foot to foot, using my breath as a hand-warmer, and rehearsed the complicated order in my head.
Chili cheese dog, which was Mere's favorite.
A bacon biscuit for Fifi, and an egg and cheese for myself.
Plus, three hot ciders. I'd regret the carbs later.
I paid with numb fingers and shuffled to the pickup window. When the order came out, it barely fit on the tray. I stacked the drinks in the middle, balanced the pies on top, and held the breakfast sandwiches with my spare hand. Looked stable enough.
Parade floats still lined the curb, crews in matching t-shirts fussing over the last details. A set of carolers practiced "Silent Night" over by the antique shop. I took the shortest path back to our camp, cutting through the thick of the crowd.
I didn't even see the cop until we collided. He was a solid wall of navy blue and cold-weather vest, the kind of guy who could probably bench-press several toddlers in snowsuits. He caught my elbow just as the tray started to tilt.
"Careful there," he said, steadying me with one hand.
I immediately went into apology overdrive. "Oh! So sorry, I wasn't looking, this is, like, half the menu, I'm—"
He grinned. "No harm done. Enjoy the parade, ma'am." He glanced at my food mountain. "Looks like you're supplying half the block."
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze. "Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me."
He tipped a gloved hand in salute and moved on, already blending with the stream of festival-goers.
I recovered, restacked, and hustled the final stretch to our parade zone. The air had turned colder. The sidewalks were packed now, wall-to-wall people jostling for space. Kids shrieked as someone handed out spiced popcorn. Every tree along the route blinked with little lights.
Then I saw it.
Fifi, curled in her camp chair, hunched over her phone like it was a lifeline.
Her body twitched in tight shivers, the kind that always kicked off right before a full-scale panic meltdown.
Her lips moved soundlessly, maybe trying to recite something, maybe pleading with the voices in her head to chill out.
Mere was already there. She'd abandoned her own chair and crouched beside her twin, hand wrapped tight around Fifi's, rubbing slow, even circles into her palm. She talked low and steady, but I was too far to hear the words.
Huey had stationed himself directly on top of Fifi's feet, anchoring her in place. She dug her fingers into his fur, white-knuckled and desperate. His little reindeer antlers wobbled every time her legs jumped.
My heart cracked. The parade, the food, my excitement, all of it dropped to the back burner. I beelined for them, barely noticing the way the tray bucked in my hands.
I settled the food on the blanket and dropped to my knees beside Fifi. "Hey, sweetie. You okay?"
She didn't look up, just pressed her forehead to her phone and shook. "Can't… can't stop. Too many people. Too loud. I know we're outside, but it's in my head, and it's not working."
I put my arm around her, careful not to crowd her. "That's all right. You're not stuck. If you want to leave, we'll leave."
Mere squeezed her hand tighter. "You're doing so good. Just keep breathing, like when we watched the creek."
It hurt so much seeing her like this.
I glanced at Mere, who nodded and mouthed, "It started five minutes ago."
I nodded back, then turned my attention to Fifi. "You remember this morning? With the hellbenders? Just try to breathe how the creek was moving. Slow, steady. See if that helps."
She clenched her jaw. "I'm trying. I promise."
Huey licked her hand, a slobbery, sticky mess, but it loosened her grip on the phone for half a second.
Mere kept up the slow circles, and I kept my arm around Fifi's shoulders. Together, it pushed the worst of the panic back a notch.
The parade music blasted from the nearest speaker, sharp and way too cheerful. The crowd around us laughed and jostled, oblivious. It was like living in two worlds. The party outside and the storm inside our little circle.
Fifi started blinking, breath stuttering in and out like a broken metronome. I counted her breaths in my head, willing her to match the rhythm. The flush had faded from her cheeks, replaced by something gray and stretched thin.
"Is it better if we walk away, or stay put?" I asked carefully. "You tell me."
She swallowed. "Leave. Please."
Mere was already folding her camp chair when I helped Fifi up slowly, keeping one hand on her back. Huey pressed against my leg.
In a few minutes, the chairs were in their containers, the food in our basket, and the drinks in our hands as we headed out. We skirted the edge of the crowd, using a quieter side street to get to the parking lot.
Fifi's breathing finally evened out. Not perfect, but not a total collapse, either. That was a victory in my book. When we got to the car, and she sat down, Huey climbed up instantly and laid across her lap, all twenty-two pounds of anxiety buffer. Fifi let him, her hands buried deep in his fur.
For a long minute, she just sat. Then she mumbled, "Sorry. I thought I could do it."
I shook my head. "You did do it. You stayed as long as you wanted, and you told us when enough was enough. That's huge, Fifi. I'm proud of you."
She went quiet again, watching people drift past through the window. The parade was in full swing now. We could still hear the music, but it was manageable from this distance.
Mere rifled through the bag of food. "Ooh! Chili cheese dog for me! You get the bacon biscuit."
Fifi made a shaky-laugh sound. "You're so weird."
But she took the biscuit from her sister, taking the smallest bite.
We sat for a while, watching glimpses of the parade, then headed home.