Page 11 of Nutcracker with Benefits
“Do you want me to come over?” The hope in my voice is nearly pathetic.
Nash shakes his head, and my stomach flips. What’s happening? Is Nash changing our relationship now that Dad and Uncle D know? Or is he actually seeing someone? What if he wanted to tell me in person?
As if he can read it in my face, Nash comes forward and threads my fingers through his and pulls me close to him. “Hey,” he says, and I look up into his rich brown eyes. “I get you all day tomorrow. Why don’t you spend some time with your dad and Uncle Dad.” His lips quirk up at the tease. “Be ready at eleven o’clock tomorrow, okay?”
“Okay.”
A hand slips from mine and Nash touches my chin, tilting my head up to look at him. Our breaths mingle for a moment, and I think he’s going to kiss me.
And he does. On the cheek. I try not to be too disappointed; try to understand, given that my parents are probably trying hard not to listen from the other room.
“Eleven o’clock,” he reminds me.
I try to inject excitement into my voice. “See you then,” I say. And then I tease him one last time. “Nutcracker!” I shout as the door closes, and Nash’s laughter disappears.
The first thing I do when I wake up in the morning after sleeping in is check my emails.
Nothing.
Well, okay, not nothing. There are Boxing Day sales and a few corporate marketing Merry Christmas emails, but not the particular email I was hoping for, nor any fun emails from my globe-trotting friends.
I go limp in disappointment but remind myself that businesses are probably still closed for the holiday and my friends—most of them are online friends, people I’ve either met out traveling and have kept in touch with or other bloggers like myself—are probably visiting their own families or celebrating local Christmas traditions or sleeping off hangovers.
I force myself to roll out of bed. I’m in a tank top and underwear, so I should put something else on before exiting my room.
I send Nash a text.
Um, if today is a surprise, then what am I supposed to wear?
Nash’s response is immediate. What are you wearing now? It’s followed by a winking face, so Nash is in a flirty mood this morning.
I snap a selfie, sticking my tongue out, crossing my eyes, and throwing up a peace sign.
Sexy and perfect, he answers.
I send him an eye roll emoji, even though he actually made me smile and blush. This man does not need to know how much he affects me. Seriously, Nash. What should I be wearing?
I’m serious, Clara. Wear whatever you want. And be prepared to eat.
If only I could greet you at the door like this, I text back.
He sends me back a horny devil emoji.
I don’t want to scandalize my dads, so I grab my pajamas from yesterday and throw on some of the fluffy socks that were in my stocking.
I hum to myself as I walk down the hallway. Wear pajamas and be prepared to eat. What could that be a hint for?
Uncle D and Dad’s apartment is a far cry from how we grew up. My parents were high school sweethearts, married young, and had me and then Fritz. Money was always tight, especially after mom died.
It was tight for Uncle D, too. Heartly was his third startup, and the first two had flopped. He likes to tell us stories of living on ramen and tutoring college kids, even though he didn’t even have a college degree.
Dad and Uncle D have lived in this new place, a penthouse in Manhattan, for the last five years. The building itself is glassy and modern, but the home inside is warm. It’s covered in pictures of our family. I walk down the hall past photos of the original four—Mom, Dad, me, and Fritz—and the new four, with Uncle D instead of my mom. But there are a few with all five of us back when mom was still alive. I stop in front of one of them, a picture of us at a Christmas party, Fritz on Dad’s hip and me holding Mom’s hand. I don’t remember which company of Uncle D’s this was, but the adults are dressed in cocktail attire and Fritz and I are in matching red velvet outfits. It’s very cringe.
When I was five years old, my mom got diagnosed with cancer. I was too young to remember much, but the biggest memories of that time included Uncle D. He took care of Fritz and me when my parents were busy. To us, it was fun—Uncle D was Dad’s best friend, and he quickly became ours. He was the one who introduced us to video games and rock music, and some of the best memories I have with Uncle D are complicated dichotomies—Fritz and I bouncing on Uncle D’s couch in his apartment in Dover, screaming A Horse with No Name at the top of our lungs and then he would return us to my parents where we would hear Mom vomiting at night. Once, it was so bad Dad called the ambulance, and Uncle D came to pick us up in the middle of the night.
We started staying over at Uncle D’s a lot more after that.
Until our time with Mom was spent in hospice.
