Page 33 of The Christmas Mittens
“No, Anders, it isn’t. It’s Bateman Hill,” Gilda hurried to correct me and then waved at her friend Kimmie as she bounded up to join us.
“Batman Hill because you need a superhero to ride down with you to ensure you don’t die,” I mumbled into the scarf wrapped around the bottom half of my face. Anders howled with glee.
“Okay, why don’t we double up and ride down?” His offer sounded feasible. We did have a big enough sled that we’d rented from the Ladies Church Auxiliary for five dollars. They were selling hot chocolate at the bottom of the mountain of death for two dollars and roasted peanuts for four bucks a bag. After the bazaar cash that Anders had dropped, they should be well set for the year. He’d been so thrilled to see his decorated eggs on sale among Franny’s crafts that he went on a spending spree that had netted him bags and bags of baked goods, doilies, crocheted critters, holiday door hangers, and a huge polar bear that he gave to Gilda. I had to pull him out of the basement to ensure there were things left for the next four days of the sale.
“Come on, Dad. It’ll be spring soon,” Gilda teased.
“See, the thing is that if I ride down then I have to walk back up,” I explained just as a family of four went flying past. I poked at my little dad tummy hidden under two sweaters and a coat. “I’m not sure I can make a second trip. Too many cookies over the years.”
“You lie on the sled and I will pull you up,” Anders offered before waving at Nigel and Pete trudging back up the snowy hill. “I’ll be your Saint Bernard.”
“Will you have brandy around your neck?” I asked and got a wink from my super-close friend.
“No, but I will have a kiss when we reach the top,” he answered, which made the girls giggle. My face grew warm under my scarf.
“Well, if there’s a kiss for each ride, then okay.” I gave his hand a quick squeeze. The two girls hooted.
“Come sit between my legs.” Anders placed our plastic toboggan on the snow, sat his tasty ass on it, and patted the space between his thighs. I glanced around nervously to see if anyone was giving us dirty looks, but everyone was enjoying the sledding.
“Don’t get fresh,” I playfully warned, maneuvering myself over the long black sled and dropping down to rest between his legs.
“Don’t worry. I’ll be steering us,” he said just as my daughter shouted something and shoved Anders and me over the crest of the hill. With a shout of pure terror, I grabbed Anders’ knees as we sped down the hill ala Clark Griswald inNational Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.
When we slowed to a halt, Anders rolled off the sled laughing like a loon, taking me with him as I was still clutching his kneecaps in a death grip. We’d not crashed or hit any trees or even run through a shed as Clark had done. I rolled onto my back, the back of my head resting on his chest, and stared up at the bright blue sky.
“That was fun!” Anders announced as Gilda and Kimmie arrived with a sluice of snow that coated both me and my sled steerer. Cheeks wet with snow, heart pounding, I could only agree with Anders. It had been fun. Lots of fun. “Shall we go again?”
“Only if you haul my out-of-shape ass back to the top, then give me a peck on the cheek when we arrive,” I panted.
“That I can do,” he said, giving my face a pat with a snowy mitten.
Lips coated with snow, I had to retaliate. The face patting with snowy mittens devolved into snowballs being chucked at each other as the citizens of Grouse Falls watched and shook their heads in amusement. Most were smiling. And those smiles lasted when Anders pulled me to the top and gave me a kiss, not on the cheek but on the lips. That afternoon, we did five trips up and down Bateman Hill. It’s amazing what a grown man will do to make his daughter happy and get a few kisses from his super-close friend.
***
When we were all soaked, cold, and hungry, we left the sledding and community fun behind to take Anders home.
Or that had been the plan. Seems my daughter, clever thing that she was, had other plans.
“Dad, you know we could get two pizzas at Mama Cheesy.” I shot Anders a look as he rode along beside me, damp but smiling. Gilda sat in the back with the bags Anders had piled into the rear. He met my sideways look with one of his own. “We could just pick up Della, and they could come to our place to eat with us. We still have to finish making the nutcrackers for the middle school table. There are so many little nutcrackers that we need to have done by tomorrow morning…”
“And why do we have to construct two hundred cardboard nutcracker tree toppers by tomorrow morning?” I asked, shifting my sight from Anders to the road and then to Gilda in the back seat. She did have the decency to look a little chagrined.
“Because I forgot I told Mrs. Johnson I would do them.”
“Correct.” I tried my best not to let myself smile. “And when was it that Mrs. Johnson asked for volunteers for this fundraiser?”
“The day before we had Thanksgiving break,” she admitted. “But in all fairness, it was easy to forget because I had tests and the play and then there was that essay for history and the field trip to—”
“And there was Timmy,” I whispered to Anders.
“No, Timmy had nothing to do with it. I just got busy and forgot. But my forgetting is to your advantage because now you can spend the night with your new boyfriend!” she exclaimed with pride in her cleverness.
My eyes flared. “Whoa, just cool your jets, missy. Anders and I have not officially made any kind of statement about our status more than saying we’re close friends,” I rushed to say.
“Sure, like close friends make out every time they climb a hill,” Gilda snickered in the back as we turned into the campgrounds.
“She makes a fine point,” Anders commented dryly.
