Page 17 of Spicy Nick

She does have one piece of good news to impart, however. “By the way, I think I found what you were looking for,” she says, lowering her voice—although I’m not sure who she thinks might be listening in.

“I picked them up earlier and hid them in your bedroom closet,” she continues, still speaking in stealth mode. “I also got them wrapped, just in case you didn’t have time to do it yourself, and also so that no one could peek. They look great, though. I think you’ll like them.”

“Thanks,” I tell her. “That’s awesome. I owe you.”

“Oh, I know,” my daughter says, laughingly. “And don’t you worry, Dad. I’m keeping a very detailed list.”

“Okay. You do that,” I tell her, signing off. “We’ll see you later.” And I go back to join Scout and Cole with the tune to Santa Claus is Coming to Town running through my mind. Only the words that I sing in my head are a little bit different. And, in that version, it’s Spicy Nick who’s coming…and it’s got nothing to do with town.

Awesome Christmas, I tell myself;awesome Christmas Eve. Let’s make it the best.

Five

This 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 warmingon 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 spiritsseem 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.”

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