Chapter 8
Harrison
Dinner is quiet.
Too quiet.
Mark didn’t stick around. He figured I needed space to talk to the kids.
Which is odd. He’s usually more sane than that.
I shake my head.
As if I’d leave them the day before Christmas.
Not a chance.
But it doesn’t mean I don’t wish he was here right now.
Connor’s already on his second plate, eating in steady silence. I’d like to believe it’s because the kid grows in his sleep like a redwood.
But he seems… off.
Snooki’s playing with her mashed potatoes. Ever since Pix was here, she builds castles before she eats them.
Right now, she’s sculpting something that looks like a snowman.
Then smashing it back to a blob.
She glances up every few seconds, like she’s waiting for me to say the magic word.
Dessert.
Yeah. Not happening when she’s barely touched the stuffing she swore she needed two scoops of.
And my middle child—Ollie—is eating his vegetables.
Voluntarily.
That’s when I realize this silence has gone on long enough.
I eye him. “Who are you and what have you done with my son?”
He shrugs, chewing. “Ava said if I keep it up, I’ll be bigger than Connor.”
Connor snorts, and for a brief second, just the mention of her name lifts the mood.
But just as quickly as the smiles form, they fade again.
More silence.
I lean back in my chair, watching them, and wondering if Mark was right.
They miss her too.
I reach for my drink, ready to steer the conversation toward me going to California—
“Dad?” Connor points a roasted carrot at me. “Ava’s going to be by herself for Christmas. Isn’t she?”
Every set of eyes turns to me.
I clear my throat. “She’ll probably be with Gabe, and—”
“We saw Uncle Gabe,” Ollie cuts in.
Uncle Gabe.
That was fast.
“He FaceTimed you too?” I ask.
“He stopped by Uncle Mark’s,” Connor explains. “He said he’s taking his mom and abuela to Europe for Christmas. It’s their gift. They’re just stopping here on a… Land Rover.”
“Layover,” I say softly as a small flutter stirs in my chest.
Is she here? Even for the night?
I glance between them, trying to sound casual. “Is Ava with them?”
Ollie shakes his head. “No. She has to work.”
Snooki leans forward, placing her small hand on mine. “No one should be alone at Christmas.”
I set down my fork. “She won’t be alone,” I say too quickly.
“She won’t?” Connor asks.
“Of course not,” I insist. “She’s… busy. Surrounded by people. All the time. Hollywood types.” I swallow. “She’s never really alone.”
“They’re not family,” Ollie pouts, biting into another piece of broccoli.
A bite of broccoli I couldn’t have bribed or begged him to eat a month ago.
Ever since Pix told him it was like being a giant eating little trees, he can’t get enough. They’re his favorite freaking food.
He takes another angry bite, and whatever he’s feeling, I feel it too.
Snooki reaches for my hand, her small fingers curling around mine. “She shouldn’t be alone.”
Ollie looks at me, all dramatic and forlorn. “Not on Christmas.”
I exhale slowly, dragging a hand over my jaw. “Guys… it’s Christmas,” I say finally. “You’ve got your uncles, your aunts… and apparently reindeer. I’m not taking you away from all that. And that’s final.”
They all drop their heads, and we eat in silence again.
They say a parent is only as happy as their saddest child.
Try times three.
Connor clears his throat, then just like that, switches gears.
“Can we have dessert?”
Snooki perks up immediately. “Dessert!”
“We didn’t have any yet,” Ollie pleads.
And… why not? Dinner’s officially a bust. I blow out a breath. “I guess so.”
In a rush, they stack their plates one on the other and hand them to me.
Because apparently I’ve raised three tiny dictators.
Connor glances toward the kitchen, then back at me. “We’ll need silverware, too.”
I cock my head. “Anything else, Your Highness?”
He considers it, then shrugs. “I don’t think so.”
Tough love, meet pick your battles.
Plates in hand, I head to the kitchen, rinse them off, then open the fridge and start shifting containers until I find the glass casserole dish tucked in the back.
“I’m a little afraid of what this is,” I mutter, easing it out.
Then I pop the lid.
Well, I’ll be damned.
“Banana split cake,” I say under my breath, a grin tugging at my mouth.
My favorite.
Except instead of a graham cracker crust, Jess used Oreos.
Which means my kids probably hollowed out half a box to make this happen.
For the sake of being able to eat it, I’m going to assume Jess scraped out the middles like a normal person… and not picture my kids licking them clean.
I grab plates, a serving spoon, and carry the whole thing back in.
The second I hit the doorway, they all shush each other.
All three of them sit there, quiet and innocent.
That’s not suspicious at all.
I ladle out scoops of dessert, handing them each one.
“We had a talk,” Connor says.
“I see.” I brace for impact.
The last time they had a talk, one of them—and I still don’t know which—decided a Fluffernutter sandwich belonged in the toaster.
Connor glances at his brother and sister, then back at me.
“Ava.”
I take a slow bite of dessert. “What about her?”
Then he looks up, suddenly excited. “What if you go, and we stay here?”
I blink at him.
Right.
Because leaving my kids at Christmas is totally something I would do.
Might as well leave the keys to the liquor cabinet while I’m at it.
“Yeah,” Ollie cuts in, nodding like it’s the best idea ever. “We’ll be fine.”
For a split second, I actually think it through. Then I shut it down.
This isn’t an option.
It’s more like three kids bringing it up in therapy. For the rest of my life.
Connor starts ticking off options. “We’ve got Aunt Hannah. And Uncle Zac. And Mrs. D.”
“And Uncle Mark and Jess,” Ollie adds.
“And Uncle Brian and Princess Peach Pop.” Snooki’s nickname for her Aunt Jules.
I shake my head. “Absolutely not.”
Snooki squeezes my hand. “You don’t have to worry about us, Daddy. I’m practically grown.”
I look down at her. “About ready to ask for the keys to the car, are we?”
“Yes!” she says, lighting up.
Ollie points to the dishes. “And we’ll clean up after dinner.”
“And call you,” Connor adds. “Every day.” Then, he clasps his hands. Is my oldest child… begging? “Please, Dad. Don’t let Ava suffer all by herself on Christmas.”
I roll my eyes. Oh, if only Pix could see this now. She’d love how the future heartthrob’s laying it on a little thick.
They all start talking at once, bombarding me with we’ll be fine and you have to, painting a picture of Ava all alone like she’s stranded somewhere in Antarctica without food or water.
And here I thought I had a few more years before the we don’t need you, Dad. Just your credit card phase kicked in.
“Hey,” I holler over them, fighting a smile. “Even if I did go, and that’s a big if, you guys can’t just get dropped on someone’s doorstep. People have plans. I’d need to check who’s actually available.”
“Mrs. D. says she can watch us,” Connor informs me. “And to tell you if you happen to be unexpectedly out of town, she’s ready for me to teach her how to shoot zombies.”
Can he maybe not sound so thrilled about me not being here?
And, wait a minute—
I lean in, hands clasped. “And exactly when did she say that?”
They all exchange guilty looks.
I raise a brow. “There wouldn’t happen to be a phone in your lap at the dinner table, would there?”
Connor sighs, resigned, and sets it on the table.
I look at them.
Really look at them.
“You’d all be okay with that?” I ask. “Me leaving?”
Ollie nods, like it’s no big deal. “Yup.”
Connor pats my shoulder, sympathetic. “We’ll FaceTime as much as you want,” he says, like I’m being shipped off to camp.
Snooki looks up at me, all tender eyes and pleading. For a second, I think she’s going to beg me to stay.
She’s my sweet, sensitive one, after all.
“Can we open our presents tonight?” she asks.
Wow.
Et tu, Snooki?
A stocked fridge and early Christmas, and I’m downgraded from essential patriarch to FaceTime dad.
Defeated, I sigh.
“Yes.”