Page 10 of Nutcracker with Benefits
“And him and Pop-Pop are married.” Ricky’s scratches at his chin, and then he pinches his lip.
“Yes,” I say, wondering where this is going.
“Why do you call him Uncle D?” he asks.
“We recently also learned about stepdads,” Whitney explains.
“Ah, okay. Well, my dad and Uncle D have been best friends for a very long time. And sometimes, when you’re best friends with someone, your kids might call them aunt or uncle to make them part of the family.”
Ricky and Molly both nod, big exaggerated movements like they don’t know how heavy their heads are.
“So when I was your age, I started calling him my uncle, but I had a hard time saying Uncle Drosselmeyer. Can you say Drosselmeyer?”
“Drothlmay!” Molly shouts. Ricky’s finger comes out of his mouth and wriggles up to his nose.
“Ricky, we don’t pick our noses while we talk to people,” Whitney reminds him.
“Close,” I tell Molly. “It’s kind of a hard name, right? So he told me I should call him Uncle D, which is a lot easier to say. Now, do you want to know a little secret?”
I lean in, and the kids lean in too because they are at the age where secrets are super exciting, but they can’t keep one to save their lives, as I discovered last time I was in town and told them the extra slice of cake was “our little secret”. Molly, god bless her, tried her best not to tell her parents but didn’t have the foresight to check her hair for bright blue frosting.
“When my mom passed away, Uncle D was around even more, and eventually, he and Dad got married, right?”
That’s, of course, a massive oversimplification. Dad always said his love for my mom had sparked and combusted, burning hard and bright. His love for Uncle D had been embers, banked but glowing steadily for years. All the things they went through together—Mom’s passing, raising two kids, starting and growing Uncle D’s business—they were like adding logs to the embers, and soon enough, they had a steady, reliable fire going.
“So here’s the secret,” I say, leaning in. The room’s quiet around me, everyone listening in to my so-called secret. “Uncle D actually means Uncle Dad now. A lot of people have stepdads in their lives, but no one has an Uncle Dad. Ours is very special, okay?”
They both nod, and Whitney reminds them to thank me.
“Hey, kiddos,” Fritz calls from the tree. “I’ve got the railroad track done.”
Molly leads the charge, and soon the kids are busy playing. I glance over at Uncle D, who’s covering his mouth with his hands, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
“Sugar plum,” Dad says softly, “that was so sweet.”
Uncle D moves his hand, and he manages to choke out two words before the tears spill over. “Love you.”
I lean into him, wrapping my arms around his waist. Uncle D and I have always shared a different connection than me with Dad or Uncle D with Fritz. The feel of his body, the tickle of his gray stubble against my cheek, is familiar and warm.
Whitney sniffs behind me, and when I turn around, she’s wiping her eyes. “Sure, it’s all cute when you have the back story, but when the kids tell their teacher they have an Uncle Dad, it’s going to sound incestuous.”
“Mom,” Molly calls from where she’s playing with her train. “What’s incestuous?”
4
Clara
“Okay, I’m going to head home, too,” Nash says, and I rise to my feet, glancing at Uncle D and my dad. Fritz and his family left about an hour ago when the kids got too cranky. I think the parents were cranky, too, because Fritz argued that they should put the kids in bed here and stay longer, but Whitney said that waking the kids up in the middle of the night to move them back home would mean they were twice as irritable tomorrow.
It had been surprisingly hard to say goodbye to Fritz and his family. I knew I wasn’t going to have time to see them again this trip, and I found myself wanting to side with Fritz. Don’t go yet.
I’m not sure where that came from because, though I love my brother and his family, we haven’t been super close.
I guess it’s just the holiday season making me feel a little extra lonely. The four of us have been enjoying adult beverages—Uncle D sips cognac and the rest of us are drinking Madeira, a bottle I’d brought home after my trip to Portugal years ago that we never opened.
I glance at my dads. Dad looks mildly uncomfortable while Uncle D is trying hard to keep a neutral face.
Nash gives me a look and tilts his head toward the foyer leading to the elevator. I linger while he says his goodbyes and then we stand together at the elevator doors.
