Page 34 of Just for the Holidays

When they reach their destination, Nichol sighs at the sight of his parent's car parked behind Anthony’s 4Runner and Katie’s mini-van in the driveway.

A collection of shadowy figures appears in the picture window of the living room on the upper level, looking down as he exits the truck and makes his way toward the house.

The little truck backs out of the driveway and grumbles on, down the road, with a quick double-toot of the horn.

Nichol takes a deep winter inhale as he pushes the door open and enters the split stair foyer.

“There he is.” Rebecca is standing at the top step grinning down her nose.

“Hey.” Nichol slowly trudges up each rise but meets his mother with a hug. “Katie says you’re working at Buttercup… with Theodore Monroe?” Her face is lit with hopeful anticipation.

“I’m helping him out until I get back to Seattle.” He squashes that joyful interpretation quickly.

Her hope dims slightly. “And you didn’t come home last night?” Her eyes spark back up.

“Mom.” Katie calls abruptly from the kitchen. “Dinner is ready.”

“We got drinks at a bar, and I crashed on his futon.” Nichol deflects, without lying.

“C’mon,” Carl wraps Nichol in one arm for a quick hug. “Let’s eat.”

“I’m not really hungry.” Nichol protests.

“You’re too thin, get in here,” Rebecca demands.

Nichol flares his nostrils but follows into the kitchen where Anthony and Max are already sitting in front of their plates. Stuart is circling table-legs and around their feet, wagging his curly tail.

Rebecca and Carl claim seats.

Katie passes Nichol a plate of steak, mashed potatoes and charred asparagus soaking in melting blobs of butter.

He claims a chair across from Max, who’s staring at him accusingly.

Nichol pokes his tongue out at the child, whose furrowed brow relaxes with the edge of his mouth, curling into a slight grin.

Nichol barely stabs his steak with his fork and slides the knife between prongs when his mother starts in.

“Nichol, do you remember Brett Hinkley?” She shoves a heap of mashed potatoes into her mouth and stares in his direction. Covering her lips with her fingers, she adds, “He was a year ahead of Katie in school.”

He avoids meeting her eyes. “Nope,” he says shortly and taps Max’s shin with his toe, under the table.

The boy grimaces, aiming a piece of asparagus off the tip of his fork, drawn back like a catapult, ready to launch, and smiles.

Nichol flashes a warning smirk and a threatening nod toward Katie at Max’s side.

The boy backs down, gritting teeth on the asparagus with a snarled lip.

“He’s Max’s teacher now.” Rebecca carries on.

“Yeah?” Nichol swigs cola from the yellow acrylic cup that’s lived in the house as far back as his childhood.

“He’s single.” She hints pointedly.

“Are you going to ask him out?” Nichol gibes.

The other adults at the table chuckle.

“I ran into him at the Shop-n-Stop tonight, and was telling him that you’re here in town for a bit . . .” she pauses.

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