Page 71 of Santa Has a Six-Pack
She waited for me.
“Care to walk?” I nod toward the door.
“I’d love to,” she says.
When we reach the street, I pull a small, sealed bag out of my pocket. “You didn’t end up texting the other day. But I figured you might like these anyway.”
I hand her the root beer candies.
Penny takes them from me and smiles. “That’s very sweet of you, thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.”
She tears open the bag and pops a candy in her mouth. “Want one?”
“Hell no,” I say. “Root beer is hell in soda form. Or in this case, candy form.”
She gasps. “Root beer is life!”
“Well then,” I joke. “I’d rather be dead.”
She laughs, then gets thoughtful as we start walking. “I was never allowed to have sugar as a kid, so now that I’m a big grown-up, I try to treat myself from time to time.” She pauses. “Does that sound silly?”
“Not at all. I’m a big believer that no matter how old we are, we need to give our inner child some love.”
She snorts. Then stops. “Oh, I’m sorry, were you serious just now?”
“Completely serious,” I say. “A little something I learned from my therapist.”
“You see a therapist?” she asks.
“Off and on, yeah.” I almost launch into a whole thing about what life was like after my father died and why I still see a therapist from time to time as an adult, but instead I say, “Wait, you didn’t have any sugar growing up?”
“Not really, no.”
“I’m guessing that’s because of the mom who orders iceberg lettuce on the all-you-can-eat cruise?”
She cocks her head to the side. “You remember me saying that?”
“I remember everything you tell me, Penny.”
We lock eyes for a moment. She smiles but then turns ahead and keeps walking.
“Look,” I say gently. “I don’t know your mom, and you didn’t ask for my opinion, but that approach with kids seems problematic. We all know sugar isn’t great for you, but if you demonize it or put it on a pedestal… I can only imagine that leads to issues.” I pause. “Did it?”
“Did it what?”
“Lead to issues.”
She doesn’t answer me right away, and I’m kicking myself for pushing too hard. She said she wants to be friends, but maybe she only wants the kind of friend who jokes around with her and co-directs silly kid holiday shows, Yule cats and pumpernickel parties, and wise men walruses?
Geez, I really am creating a weird-ass show, aren’t I?
Penny might not be up for a friend like me who wants to dive deep into her past and share our traumas. Let’s be real, most people aren’t up for that. Also, we’ve only known each other for a month, and she was avoiding me like the plague during at least half of that time.
When we stop at an intersection to wait for our light, I realize something.
“Hey! It’s December 8th,” I say.
