20
“Ready or not,” Noah said from the window. “Here they come.”
I took one last look around the house. I straightened my jacket. Ran my hands over my thighs.
And then the door opened, and the sleigh bells Noah had hung there jingled, and voices burbled as people came in: an elderly couple, followed by a middle-aged couple who had to be related somehow. They smiled at us, turned to follow the runner into the living room, and kept moving.
“What a beautiful tree,” one of the women said.
“And there we go,” Noah said, stepping over to me. He smoothed a hand down the front of my shirt. “It’s going to be great.”
He was dressed conservatively, for Noah.
Only the faintest hint of makeup. No glitter.
The earring reduced to a simple gold stud.
He was wearing the birthstone necklace I’d given him along with a chunky, oversized sweater, and instead of leggings, he had on wide-legged trousers and a different pair of suede boots.
He stretched up on tiptoe to kiss me, and then he gave me a nudge and laughed.
“Go,” he said. “I know you’re dying to check on everything again. I'll be here.”
So, I headed deeper into the house. Just to be sure.
The four early arrivals were still in the living room, and the older man was pointing out some of the woodworking to the younger man, following it with one finger as he talked.
The women were looking at one of the throw pillows Noah had selected, but mostly they seemed to be enjoying chatting.
I followed the runner past the bathroom—we’d strung some garland across the door to rope it off, which was what the organizers of the house tour recommended—and reached the kitchen.
The mulled cider was ready. Disposable cups. Napkins. All of it conveniently at the end of the tour, because as I’d told Noah—after the third time I’d explained we didn’t have to offer cider, and they didn’t need cider, and cider wasn’t in the budget—I didn’t want them spilling it in my house.
Which, of course, had made Noah roll his eyes.
But he had put the cider near the back door, where the tour ended and the visitors were supposed to exit.
I did a quick check out back: the walk was heavily salted, the porch lights were bright, and I’d put in some extra battery-powered lights to line the path just in case.
When I went back inside, I could hear Jonathan from the front of the house.
He, Tracy, and Marty were standing in the living room.
Noah stood next to Jonathan, a look on his face like he was waiting for a chance to break in and talk.
The early arrival foursome was still there too, standing in a circle now and enjoying each other’s company.
Jonathan, on the other hand, was saying, “—you don’t see work like that these days.
” He spotted me and boomed, “Howie, the place looks fantastic! Great job!”
“It’s beautiful,” Tracy said. She’d had trouble doing her eyes tonight, and the eyeliner got a little squiggly at the end. “Oh Howie, it’s gorgeous.”
Marty said, “Where’s the TV?”
“Thanks,” I said. “Actually, Noah did all the decorating, so he deserves the credit. Noah, do you want to tell them about the theme for this room?”
“Beautiful,” Tracy said. “It looks just like Christmas. I think I’m going to cry.”
“For the house tour,” Noah began, “they wanted you to do a different theme in each room—”
“I’m not talking about that,” Jonathan said, waving a hand.
“This place was a hole when I bought it. I thought it was going to end up being a tear-down. And now look at it. The floors. The walls.” He hammered on one of the walls in case I didn’t know what a wall was.
“Look at those windows! That’s craftsmanship. ”
“I was just telling them,” the older man from the foursome put in, “that the woodwork in this house is outstanding.”
“This is the man,” Jonathan said, gripping my shoulders and giving me a friendly jostle. “This is who you want to talk to. Did this himself, if you can believe it.”
“Not by myself—”
“Really?” the older man asked. “I wanted to ask about the casements.”
Jonathan shoved me toward them, and for the next five minutes, I had to stand there, answering questions about the casements, and then about the overhead beams, and then about how we’d saved the original flooring.
After the awkwardness of the introduction, it wasn’t actually that bad of a conversation—the man, Rod, knew a lot about working on older homes, and he asked good questions and seemed to appreciate the answers.
As we talked, more people began to arrive.
I was vaguely aware of Noah directing traffic along the runner, of Tracy disappearing into the kitchen, of Marty sitting on a chaise and playing on his phone.
Jonathan was moving around the room, talking out loud to nobody in particular about the fireplace, or the windows, or the floorboards.
He spent five minutes on the fucking door, swinging it back and forth like he was making his own punch list.
Rod and his family were moving away, and another group was pressing in to get a look at the Christmas tree, when Noah appeared at my elbow. “So, we’re kind of having a traffic jam.”
“What?”
But as soon as he said it, the background noise of horns—which hadn’t really registered until that moment—reached me.
From the front door, I looked out at the street.
People were trying to pull into our driveway.
People were trying to back up against hydrants.
People were trying to pull into and back into the same spots at the same time.
Sure, it was a residential street. But it was also New Year’s Eve.
In addition to the holiday house tour, other people on the block were hosting their own get-togethers. There simply weren’t enough spots.
“All right,” I said. “Let me grab my coat—”
“The whole point is for you to be here, to meet people, so they can see the work you did.” Noah took a breath like he was bracing himself. “I’ll do it.”
“Everybody come take a look at these shelves,” Jonathan called from inside.
“You know what?” I said. “I’ve got a better idea.”
When I told Jonathan what I wanted, he actually puffed up inside his coat. “Well, sure, Howie, I can do that.”
“I know you can,” I said. “Just hold the flashlight like this.” I showed him. “And if they start getting lippy, shine it in their eyes.”
Jonathan looked so excited, I thought he was about to nut.
“The most important thing is to keep the cars moving. If there aren’t any spots, there aren’t any spots—they can circle around the block and try to find one somewhere else. But we can’t have the street jammed up.”
“You got it,” Jonathan said. “This is what I do for a living: solve problems.”
He headed for the door, pulling on a hat and gloves as he went.
“He would have made a very enthusiastic Nazi,” Noah said.
I laughed, but I said, “Hey, at least he’s helping.”
Noah nodded, but he was looking at his phone.
“What?” I asked.
And for a split second, I thought, He has a date.
But Noah said, “The pianist isn’t here.”
“What pianist?”
“I hired a pianist.” The fight-me set to his jaw was back. “It’s a nice touch, Howie. The house tour is supposed to be a multisensory experience.”
And yeah, it probably was. But when Noah started saying things like that, it made me hate those people on HGTV.
“It’s fine—” I began. But Noah was already tapping furiously at his phone.
“How long are we going to be here?” Marty asked as he joined us. “I’m bored.”
“You can leave whenever you want,” Noah said without looking up from his phone. “Leave right now.”
“Do you have anything else to drink besides cider and beer?”
“Stay out of the fridge!”
The question of drinks made me think of Tracy, and I said, “Let me check something really quickly.”
I found her in the kitchen, and she almost got the flask back into her purse before I saw it.
“Howie,” she said, and she sounded like she was a few inches deeper than she’d been at the start of the party. “This is all so wonderful—”
“Thanks, Tracy. You play piano, right?” And then, because this was Tracy, and she technically was still my mother-in-law, and sometimes, when you’re tied up with another person like that, you get trapped playing the stupidest roles, I leaned on the counter, grinned at her, and said, “Remember that hole-in-the-wall in Vegas? There you were, looking like a million bucks, and me just a lounge lizard who wasn’t brave enough to say two words to you. ”
Tracy laughed. “You’re so silly.”
“Would you mind playing a little something until the pianist arrives?”
“Oh, I couldn’t, Howie. I’m so out of practice. I don’t even know what I’d play.”
“Whatever you want, beautiful.”
“I can’t. You’re making me nervous.”
“Well, I guess I could ask Marty—”
“I’ll do it!” A blush was rising in her cheeks, and she beamed at me. “But only because you’re my favorite son-in-law.”
And that was how Tracy ended up at the piano, running her fingers over the keys as she sang in a surprisingly sweet alto, “Jingle Bell Rock.”
When I got back to Marty and Noah, Noah gave me a lopsided smile I couldn’t read.
“Great,” Marty said. “We’re going to be here all night.”
“You know what—” Noah said.
“Ice,” I said.
Noah looked at me.
“We need some ice, Marty.”
That was enough for Marty to stare at me for several seconds before saying, “Why?” And then, as though I were stupider than he’d realized, “It’s cold outside.”
“To cool down the cider. If people want. A woman burned her mouth earlier.”
Noah’s eyebrows were drawn tight, but there was a hint of a smile too.
“Maybe you could pick up a couple of bottles of something stronger, too,” I said as I fished out my wallet. “In case anyone wants a real drink.”
“I told Noah you needed something besides cider.” When I held out the cash, Marty grabbed it and hurried off so fast he practically burned a hole in the floor.
“He’s going to score,” Noah said bleakly.
“Oh. Shit.”