Page 136 of The Holiday Hate-Off
I pause, thinking of the honesty Lucy and I have been exchanging, first in letters, now in person. Then I admit: “I miss you. We all miss you. It won’t seem like Christmas without you, and this year it really feels like Christmas, Aria.”
I tell her a little bit about the taffy pulling and singing carols in the square last night. About how funny it was to watch Nico’s expression when he saw his ice sculpture.
“You’d still be able to see it,” I say, wheedling. “Resa seemed to think it would last a while.”
“I love you, but no means no,” she says.
“I love you too,” I say, deflated, then try one more tactic. “I also really want you to meet Lucy.”
“Soon,” she promises. “I’m happy for you, Enzo. It’s about time you got your head out of your ass.”
Sisters.
She hangs up, and I finish making our cappuccinos—in to-go cups, because we need to head to the library.
“You made me a Frenemy,” Lucy says when she sees it, her eyes lighting up.
“To prove my cappuccino supremacy,” I joke. “Shall we?”
She studies me for a moment, looking for something, andthen takes her cappuccino from me. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
“I want to do it with you.”
She gives me a doubtful look. “It occurred to me… I know you did a lot for your brothers and sister at Christmas when you were a kid. This won’t bring back any hard memories?”
“No, Lucia. Reading a children’s story isn’t going to send me into hysterics.”
Her skeptical look doesn’t waver. “We don’t have to go.”
But we do. It’s part of the plan I cooked up, and I’menjoyingthe plan. Last night, laughing with my brothers, seeing my grandmother smile—several times, in fact—experiencing it all with my arm around Lucy, I found myself thinking,I want more of this.
“We’re going,” I say.
We walk to the library together, talking easily, and when we get there we ditch the coffee cups and enter. There’s a crush of people, probably because the actor, Brody King, is doing the last reading. He’s already there, surrounded by a large crowd, including Piper Locke and probably two dozen mothers in clothing more revealing than the weather calls for.
The book Lucy signed up to read is calledStick Man. She chose it because she found the name funny. What it has to do with Christmas is a mystery to me.
“Oh, Brodyisreally hot,” Lucy says, but she’s grinning at me, and it’s obvious she’s only giving me shit.
“Be careful. I’ve been known to attack circuit breakers in fits of jealousy.”
She kisses me on the cheek, then whispers in my ear, “No one’s as hot as the Italian Stallion.”
One of the moms gives us a dirty look, as if cheek kissing is the gateway drug to pornography, but I just grin at her.
There’s a magical feeling in the air, as if all of the season’smiracles exist simply because the children surrounding us believe in them.
I’m reminded of when I was a kid, trying to make this time of year special for my brothers and sister. At the time, I’d felt so alone, but I remember being here at this library. I remember adults reading to us. I remember how my teacher gave me a bag of presents for all of us Cafieros, telling me that Santa had come to the wrong house, but they were meant for us.
They’d tried to help.
I hadn’t been as alone as I’d felt.
Portia squeezes her way to us through the crowd and reaches out her hand for a fist bump. “There’s my Peppermint Man.”
Someone gives her a dramatic hush, so she adds in an undertone, “Amanda’s reading too. I’m here for moral support.”
I nod to Lucy. “We’re reading together.”
