Page 4 of Grace & Henry's Holiday Movie Marathon
Bella makes kissy noises, wiggles her fingers. “Here, Spot.”
Spot presses his backside into Barbara’s shin.
“Does he not like us?” asks Bella. That would be just our luck: a perfectly manageable dog who’s just not that into us.
“Oh hush,” says Barbara. “He likes you fine. Just nervous is all.”
The kids squat and hold their hands out. “Here, boy.”
Slowly, Spot leaves Barbara’s leg and sniffs the kids’ hands. Whatever they smell like seems to work, because he hops up onto his hind legs now and licks their faces.
“What’d I tell ya?” says Barbara.
“I love him!” Bella shouts.
The kids sink to the floor. Spot’s tail blurs as he bites Ian’s tie. Dad jokes and printed-out agendas aside, Tim was right, and I feel a lightness I haven’t felt in months. Finally, something that doesn’t suck.
“His noseiscold!” says Bella. “And Idofeel warm!”
“Looks like we’ve got a love connection here, Mom,” says Barbara.
“Does his name have to be Spot, though?” asks Bella.
“Nah. That’s just temporary. You all get to come up with his forever name. Fresh start.”
“Can we name him Tim?” asks Bella.
Ian and I look at each other again. Pooping, sleeping arrangements, crate training, dog walkers. There must be a million things I haven’t thought about. This, though, I never could’ve anticipated.
First of all, I’m irreplaceable,says Tim, his voice like a smile in my head.
“No, babe,” I say. “We can name him anything. But not that.”
“Why, though?”
“Because that was Dad’s name,” says Ian.
God only knows what Barbara has witnessed in this little room. I see her expression change now, though, as she takes in our outfits, like something has just clicked. She eases down to the kids’ level, knees cracking. “Well, whatever name you settle on,” she says, “he’s one lucky boy.”
Spot, his tail still a blur, smiles up at us: his new, totally unprepared forever family. And maybe I really am doing okay. Because for the first time since Tim died, I feel like I can do this. Likewecan do it.
National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation
November, Somehow
Why is it that the holidays always seem to arrive out of nowhere? One day you notice a leaf turning orange—then, ten minutes later, guys in commercials are buying their wives Lexuses with big red bows on them, and you think,Wait, what?
It’s like that every year, I guess. This year, though, the passage of time has been particularly confusing, because there were a few months early on that I barely remember. I have no recollection of the Super Bowl, for example, or who hosted the Oscars, or what springing forward was like.
Today, somehow, is the Sunday before Thanksgiving, and I’m in my parents’ living room playingMario Kart.I found my brother Cal’s and my old Nintendo 64 in their basement a few weeks ago, and I’ve been remastering this game ever since. As the older son, I got to be Mario when we were growing up. For accuracy’s sake, Cal was always Luigi. Speeding around the final turn now, I can practically hear a tween version of him trash-talking beside me.I’m coming for you, Henry! You can’t outrun deez nuts!
When I cross the finish line, Mario lets out his little victory hoot, and I enjoy a small surge of dopamine. “Good news, Mom,” I say. “I won the Mushroom Cup again.”
She’s just appeared between the kitchen and TV room to fetch me for dinner prep. After an impressive sigh, she says, “That’s great, Henry. Your father and I are very proud.”
She’s dialed up the sarcasm recently, which I could do without.
I hold out the controller. “Wanna race? I’ll give you a head start.”
