Page 64 of The Lipstick Flip

The mulled cider was ready. Disposable cups. Napkins. All of it conveniently at the end of the tour, because as I’d told Noah—after the third time I’d explained we didn’t have to offer cider, and they didn’t need cider, and cider wasn’t in the budget—I didn’t want them spilling it in my house.

Which, of course, had made Noah roll his eyes. But he had put the cider near the back door, where the tour ended and the visitors were supposed to exit. I did a quick check out back: the walk was heavily salted, the porch lights were bright, and I’d put in some extra battery-powered lights to line the path just in case.

When I went back inside, I could hear Jonathan from the front of the house.

He, Tracy, and Marty were standing in the living room. Noah stood next to Jonathan, a look on his face like he was waiting for a chance to break in and talk. The early arrival foursome was still there too, standing in a circle now and enjoying each other’s company. Jonathan, on the other hand, was saying, “—you don’t see work like that these days.” He spotted me and boomed, “Howie, the place looks fantastic! Great job!”

“It’s beautiful,” Tracy said. She’d had trouble doing her eyes tonight, and the eyeliner got a little squiggly at the end. “Oh Howie, it’s gorgeous.”

Marty said, “Where’s the TV?”

“Thanks,” I said. “Actually, Noah did all the decorating, so he deserves the credit. Noah, do you want to tell them about the theme for this room?”

“Beautiful,” Tracy said. “It looks just like Christmas. I think I’m going to cry.”

“For the house tour,” Noah began, “they wanted you to do a different theme in each room—”

“I’m not talking about that,” Jonathan said, waving a hand. “This place was a hole when I bought it. I thought it was going to end up being a tear-down. And now look at it. The floors. The walls.” He hammered on one of the walls in case I didn’t know what a wall was. “Look at those windows! That’s craftsmanship.”

“I was just telling them,” the older man from the foursome put in, “that the woodwork in this house is outstanding.”

“This is the man,” Jonathan said, gripping my shoulders and giving me a friendly jostle. “This is who you want to talk to. Did this himself, if you can believe it.”

“Not by myself—”

“Really?” the older man asked. “I wanted to ask about the casements.”

Jonathan shoved me toward them, and for the next five minutes, I had to stand there, answering questions about the casements, and then about the overhead beams, and then about how we’d saved the original flooring. After the awkwardness of the introduction, it wasn’t actually that bad of a conversation—the man, Rod, knew a lot about working on older homes, and he asked good questions and seemed to appreciate the answers.

As we talked, more people began to arrive. I was vaguely aware of Noah directing traffic along the runner, of Tracy disappearing into the kitchen, of Marty sitting on a chaise and playing on his phone. Jonathan was moving around the room, talking out loud to nobody in particular about the fireplace, or the windows, or the floorboards. He spent five minutes on the fucking door, swinging it back and forth like he was making his own punch list.

Rod and his family were moving away, and another group was pressing in to get a look at the Christmas tree, when Noah appeared at my elbow. “So, we’re kind of having a traffic jam.”

“What?”

But as soon as he said it, the background noise of horns—which hadn’t really registered until that moment—reached me.

From the front door, I looked out at the street. People were trying to pull into our driveway. People were trying to back up against hydrants. People were trying to pull into and back into the same spots at the same time. Sure, it was a residential street. But it was also New Year’s Eve. In addition to the holiday house tour, other people on the block were hosting their own get-togethers. There simply weren’t enough spots.

“All right,” I said. “Let me grab my coat—”

“The whole point is for you to be here, to meet people, so they can see the work you did.” Noah took a breath like he was bracing himself. “I’ll do it.”

“Everybody come take a look at these shelves,” Jonathan called from inside.

“You know what?” I said. “I’ve got a better idea.”

When I told Jonathan what I wanted, he actually puffed up inside his coat. “Well, sure, Howie, I can do that.”

“I know you can,” I said. “Just hold the flashlight like this.” I showed him. “And if they start getting lippy, shine it in their eyes.”

Jonathan looked so excited, I thought he was about to nut.

“The most important thing is to keep the cars moving. If there aren’t any spots, there aren’t any spots—they can circle around the block and try to find one somewhere else. But we can’t have the street jammed up.”

“You got it,” Jonathan said. “This is what I do for a living: solve problems.”

He headed for the door, pulling on a hat and gloves as he went.