Page 47 of Naughty-ish

“You’re the one who must be exhausted.” After a vigorous night, followed by a long day spent making Christmas cookies on his day off.

“Yeah, but I can sleep tomorrow.” He works two days on, two days off. “So, answer my question. What’s on your mind?”

“Eloise is having doubts about Santa again. I don’t think I’m doing a good job this year, and I’m worried this might be the last year she believes.”

Nick chuckles. “I’m in my forties and I still believe in him.”

I weakly smile although he can’t see me.

“But Christmas isn’t really about a man in a red suit with a jolly smile and a white beard. It’s a feeling, honey. It’s magic and mystery. And it’s belief in the good in people.”

“I know, but I’m struggling to explain that to my eight-year-old.”

“That’s because children need something concrete until they can understand the abstract. A man passing out presents as a reward for good behavior might seem archaic but it’s also a phase until children can be the present. Give rather than receive.”

I nod. “Eloise said she wanted to go home tonight. Our former house had a fireplace.” My eyes suddenly prickle with tears over something so silly as a fireplace and a previous life. “I’m worried I’m not building a home here.”

“Honey, you are their home. Comfort and joy. Safety and peace. Look at today. It doesn’t matter where you made those cookies, it’s the time you spent together. Same with chopping down a tree and starting a new tradition. She’ll see that your house gives her something equally magical as the old place. Maybe even more special than years past.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Holliday.” He sighs, compassion in the breathy exhale. “You have a great house, but you and your kids make it a home.”

He was right. It didn’t matter if we lived here or there, my children were what made any house feel like our home.

“I should let you go. I need to work tomorrow and you need sleep.”

A weighty silence falls between us, and I wish Nick could come over, hug me like he did earlier, and stay the night, just holding me tight, offering comfort and quiet joy.

“Peace, Holliday. Sleep well. Nestle into your kerchief. I’ll be putting on my nightcap.”

A strong laugh bursts forth. I’d like to see him in his red cap with nothing else on his glorious body.

“Night, Nick.”

Send Peace.

He’s been an olive branch.

+ + +

The next four days go by in a flurry of activity. Final dance lessons for Eloise. Final karate class for Nash. The last week of school before a break, which leads to overexcitement and high energy with emotional breakdowns or sugar crashes, depending on the day. And of course, a last-minute costume needed for the Christmas musical.

How the heck was I supposed to find green sweatpants the night before the show during freakin’ Christmas?

When Thursday night arrives, Mitch does not show for our kids’ holiday performance. His excuse involved drinks with a customer. More Christmas excitement for him and Paige.

I had considered asking Nick if he’d like to attend, but it seemed like a big ask. We haven’t crossed paths in days, not since the glorious night we spent together, or the day we shared with my children baking cookies. While I worked, he undoubtedly slept. Then he had two twelve-hour shifts. He’d sent a simple text to say he hoped to see me soon. Still, the relative silence between us has been unnerving.

My parents attended the concert, applauding loudly and taking a million pictures before inviting the kids and I out for ice cream afterwards.

And, by Friday morning I’m on edge.

No apology from Mitch about his no-show.

No text from Nick.

By the time I’m taking my lunch break in the staff lounge, I’m irritable about the most minute things, like my lackluster lunch of a peanut butter sandwich and apple slices. Randomly, I scroll through emails, swiping past promotions for shoes I can’t afford and vacation suggestions I desperately want to take when I pause at an email from the bank.