Page 21 of Spicy Nick

“Well, I don’t know if you noticed, but Lucy wasn’t going anywhere near the wine tonight—which was weird enough. But then she wouldn’t let me have any either. Is she getting an early start on Dry January and hoping I’ll join her?”

“Who knows,” I say, stifling a yawn. Honestly? I’m too tired to think about it. “So, what’ll it be—wine or eggnog?”

“Ooh, eggnog, please,” she replies. “Let’s be festive.”

Out in the kitchen,it occurs to me that this might be the perfect opportunity to spice things up. It’s just the two of us, we have all night. True, we also have a shit ton of prep-work to get through, but surely that can wait a little bit. Can’t it?

I salt the rims of our glasses with honey and tajin spice mix, add a shot of cinnamon whiskey, and one of this strange Ancho Chile liqueur that Adam had gifted me the previous Christmas. Then I julienne some fresh ginger root—for added spice, top it off with a dollop of whipped cream and then finally, perhaps inspired by Lucy’s chard, I drizzle Chamoy syrup—left over from last summer’s mangonadas—over the top and add a sprig of mint. Christmas colors, right?

“Wow. Fancy,” Scout says when I rejoin her in the living room.

“Holiday drink,” I say as I take a seat beside her, hand her one of the glasses. “I have it on good authority that it’s ‘part of the holiday experience’ and that, if you don’t indulge, you’ll always feel like you’ve missed out.”

“I see. And whose authority was this?”

“Lucy’s.”

“Really? And what’syourtheory on holiday drinks?”

“Go big or go home?”

“Ah-hah. And since we’re already home, I guess big was the only option you had left.” She takes a sip and adds, “Mm. Spicy. What’re we calling this concoction anyway?”

“I’m thinking something like, A Little Spicy Nick Action,” I say and try not to laugh when she nearly chokes on her drink—because it’s not funny, but it sure looked it.

“A little what?” she asks, eyes gleaming with mirth.

“What, you never heard about that old nickname?” I ask, and then—because of course she hasn’t—I have to tell her the whole story, ending with my conversation the other night in the park with Lucy and Dan. Although I omit the part where we talked about her.

“Wow,” Scout says when I finish. She shakes her head and adds, “You think you know someone.”

And, of course, I can’t let that stand. “You know me,” I say. And, setting the glasses aside once more, I kiss her. It’s even hotter now, between the spice and the heat from the liqueur, and the fire kicking in.

And maybe it’s the drink, or the fire, or the night. Or maybe it’s the couch, but all at once I’m swept away on a wave of memories…

“You know,I really like this couch,” Scout had said, four years ago, as she snuggled against me.

“Mm-hm,” I mumbled in response. It was furniture—it wasn’t mine, it wasn’t even hers. It had more or less, come with house—and I couldn’t bring myself to care overmuch about any of it.

It wasn’t even comfortable! Our clothes were tangled around us, sweat was drying on our skin, the leather stuck to us in away that hampered movement and was occasionally painful. But what I did like (and very much, indeed) was making love to her on it. This wasn’t the first time we’d fucked on it. It wouldn’t be the last time, either, but?—

“I swear it used to be bigger.”

That got a laugh out of me. “No, it didn’t,” I said, trying and failing to stifle a yawn. “It’s just that you used to be thinner.” She was seven months pregnant at the time so, you tell me. I still insist I was justified in saying so.

“Oh, really?” she replied, twisting around to look at me, moving so abruptly and so awkwardly that she overbalanced, and I had to quickly slide an arm around her to keep her from toppling off the couch. “Whose fault is that?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Hmph,” she responded, as we both fell silent again. I didn’t think, at the time, that she was mad about it—I’m still not sure. But she did bring it up again the next day, and then again, several weeks later. So, you know, I probably wouldn’t say it again now.

At the time, however, that was the last thing on my mind. I was preoccupied with my own thoughts, so if there’d been signs to suggest I’d stepped in it, I would’ve missed them anyway.

I remember exactly what I’d been thinking about. I was thinking about the baby she was growing inside her, about the family we were making together. And I won’t apologize for having felt a little…trepidatious…at the prospect. Sure, we’d gone into it with our eyes wide open. But that’s not to say we’d thought it through. And parenting… I’d already made mistakes. I hadn’t always made the best job of things with Kate. And if past truly is prologue, I was concerned that I’d screw up again with this baby.

But thinking about family inevitably led to thoughts of the family that Scout already had—her long lost stepbrother, Adam,who’d recently crawled out of the woodwork to bring joy to all our lives. Just kidding. I felt no joy.

All the same, “I’m glad you found your brother again, Scout,” I told her. Giving her the words I knew she needed to hear. “I guess I’ve just gotten spoiled these last few months. I kinda got used to the idea that I was your family now.”

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