Just For The Holidays (Home for the Holidays)

5. Nichol

Chapter 5

Nichol

Where’s your mother?

T hree-point-five miles is an eternity in awkward silence. The bearded baker, diffusing that delicious aroma of fresh bread and warm honey—unless it’s just the boxes of baked goods in the cab—could have left the music on.

Headlights startle the facades of depressingly familiar houses, excluding the perky new-constructed ranch on Charlotte Drive, where an abandoned mobile home used to live, forever swallowed by overgrown wild grass. Looming shadows point and whisper, in passing, as the night veils all signs the buildings have aged, but stretches of forest between properties have grown more dense than Nichol remembers.

The little truck’s shuddering floorboards send irritating vibrations through his body, rattling his skull. That nineteen-hour drive, lack of rest, and caffeine jitters, only enhance its grating effects.

Teddy’s raw sex appeal is going to fade really quickly if he keeps chewing with his mouth open.

A faint indigo aura, hints at waking daylight over the horizon, and gravel pops under tires as the truck pulls into Katie’s driveway.

“Here we are,” Teddy says.

“Here we are…” Nichol echoes with a crooked smile.

“Looks like someone is up.” Teddy nods toward a lit window on the side of the split level.

Nichol is relieved he doesn’t have to wake anyone.

“Thank you for the ride.” He pries the squawking door open and steps out of the cab.

Teddy follows suit, gathering the two rolling suitcases from the truck bed.

Nichol hurls the duffle over his shoulder and grabs the cardboard box, soaked underneath, after sitting in the snow.

“Yuck,” he whines, gripping the disintegrating paper, struggling to keep it together as he trods toward the front door.

He props the soggy box on his knee and knocks.

The awkward pair stand silently, waiting for several minutes.

Nichol knocks again, slightly harder.

“Maybe they left that light on accidentally?” Teddy suggests.

A bright light beams down on their faces, blinding them.

“Jeezusss…” Nichol winces.

The locks unhitch and the door slowly inches open. A small freckled nose pokes through the crack and a single blue eye narrows suspiciously.

“Hi Max.” Nichol regroups the mushy box. “Where’s your mother?”

“Sleeping.” Max’s little voice rasps. “You’re late.”

“I know. Can I come in now?”

“I don’t know. Can you?” Max giggles.

Nichol huffs, pushing the door with his toe.

Max shuffles backward, swinging the door wide open. “Brrr,” he shakes his strawberry blond mop and hugs himself to guard against the frigid air.

Nichol ushers Teddy inside, setting the box and duffle bag on the stairs, turning back to collect his suitcases from the baker and shoving them into a corner. “Thank you for the ride.” Bye now.

“You’re welcome. Hey Max,” he extends a hand to greet the nine-year-old. “I’m Teddy.”

Max closes the door and shakes Teddy’s hand, turning to Nichol. “I thought you didn’t have a boyfriend?” His bright citrus eyebrows quirk.

Teddy peels his hand back and stares at his palm, curling his lip in disgust.

“I don’t, Teddy gave me a ride. My car broke down. He has to go deliver bread.”

“Could I wash my hands?” Teddy presents his palm, smeared with peanut butter and jam.

Max’s cheeks, hands, and belly are splotched all over.

“Max! What are you up to at this hour?” Nichol bites back a scowl.

“I’m hungry,” his spindly legs carry him up the stairs, cackling all the way to the kitchen.Max has splotches all over his cheeks, hands, and belly.

“Bathroom is up here.” Nichol leads the way, pointing Teddy toward the door.

It’s the same house Katie and Nichol grew up in. Their parents downsized into a single-bedroom condo after their father retired last year. The furniture is the same as his last holiday visit four years ago. A few new knick-knacks are sprinkled around surfaces and the family photo wall is rearranged with new additions of his sister’s little crew.

Nichol passes under the broad arch, into the disastrous mess. “Max!” he gasps. A loaf of bread is dumped and scattered over the counters with a massacre of nut butter and berry jam glopped on surfaces that make no sense. How does a nine-year-old smear peanut butter on the lace valance hanging high above the window behind the sink?

“Your parents are going to be pissed!” Nichol can’t stop laughing, erupting from his belly. He’s far too tired for this and should leave the kid to face the consequences.

“Oh my god!” Teddy chimes from the arched entry.

“We better clean this up before your mother is awake.” Nichol declares.

“Do you want some help?” Teddy grits a concerned smile.

“No. Thanks.” Nichol wings his brow. “We’ve got this.”

“Okay. I’ll get going. It was good seeing you again, Nichol.”

“Sure.” Nichol ushers Teddy back down the stairs, to the landing at the front door and presents the exit. “Thanks again.”

“Nice meeting you Max. Good luck,” he giggles, strutting out to his truck.

Nichol slowly swings the door, deeply inhaling Minnesota winter air, and soaking up a lingering gaze on the hunky baker’s backside, until the gap closes. Headlights flash in through the long side panel window beside the door, as they back out of the driveway, disappearing in the direction they’d come from. Fresh bread and warm honey, soaked into his clothes, still lingers under Nichol’s nose.

He trots back up to the kitchen and ruffles Max’s hair, now seated at the table taking tiny bites of a soggy mess. He wipes up the kitchen and puts away the slices of bread he could salvage, trashing the ones tainted with sticky fingerprints. Just in time . . .

Footsteps shuffle up the hall from the bedroom that used to belong to his parents.

“Max? What are you doing up?” Katie asks groggily.

Max twists in his chair and points a soiled finger at Nichol.

“Oh! I thought I heard a car outside.” She forces a drowsy smile. “We were expecting you last night. You didn’t text me back, I figured you stopped somewhere, to sleep.”

“My phone doesn’t have service here. Surprise surprise,” Nichol snarks.

“Where’s your fancy car?” Katie is peering out the window.

“Sitting on Main Street, it ran out of juice.”

“How did you get here?” Katie yawns.

“Mrs. Monroe’s grandson. Luckily he was in the bakery and the lights were on.”

“Theodore?”

“Teddy, yeah. I had no idea who he was, but he remembered me.”

“Of course he does,” Katie says.

Nichol’s brow twitches.

“Coffee?”

“No. I need to sleep. I’m going to bed.”

“Your old room is set up for you. We cleared most of the clutter out, and I put clean sheets on the bed.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you guys in a few hours. I just need a quick nap.” he wriggles his fingers in Max’s wild bedhead. “Later kiddo. See you after school.”

“Mm-hmm.” Max gnaws on gooey mush.

“—and now YOU need a bath, young man.” Katie grimaces at Max’s filthy body. “What have you done?”

Nichol drags down the stairs, turning at the landing and continuing into the basement level. His childhood bedroom is the only thing that has changed here, but his old twin bed is still where he left it. He doesn’t even flick the light on, just pushes the door shut, kicks off his shoes, and peels away wet socks, before falling onto the mattress, and drifting off In record time.