“So you guys are an item now?”
“Yeah.” I set the cell aside and looked at the Skype video again. “And his son…. Alan is so sweet. I really like the kid.”
“No one has given you guys beef about dating, right?” Scarlet picked up her computer, and the video blurred for a moment before she was lying on the couch with the laptop on her stomach.
“We only decided yesterday not to—damn, Scarlet, put your boobs away.”
“And what exactly am I supposed to do with them?” she countered.
“I’m trying to talk to you and they’re taking up the entire screen.”
She grumbled and sat up. “Maybe I should come visit.”
I perked up. “Yeah?”
Scarlet shrugged. “Well, yeah…. This is a big deal. You’re my best friend, and it sounds sort of like… you know, not to rush you by any means, but it sounds serious.”
It was so bizarre to see Scarlet struggling for words. She always had something to say, whether it was right or wrong.
“Aww!” I cooed.
“Shut up! You’re such a bitch.”
“I love you too, Girl.”
Scarlet raised her beer bottle. “Cheers, man. I mean it. But I do need to meet him. If you’re going to be adopting a family or—adopted into—orhoweverthis works, I need to rubber-stamp it.”
“I hear you. You’re always welcome.” I raised my own beer and we both took a sip. “But FYI, it’s cold here.”
“It’s cold here too,” she replied.
“Oh no. New York is not cold compared to this shit,” I answered, trying not to laugh. “My inhaler is nearly empty. I’ve been sucking on that thing like it’s a dick.”
“Classy.”
“Check out Amtrak,” I said, changing the subject. “I can always drive down to White River Junction to pick you up.”
“You want me to ride a train?”
“I’m sure they have liquor.”
“The things I do for you.”
“I’ve gotta go,” I said. “I need to finish this grading before bed.”
“All right. Hey, you going to buy my train ticket too?”
“Are you kidding? I’m a public-school teacher. I don’t love you that much.”
Scarlet laughed, gave me the finger, and signed off.
I spent another hour going through the first composition assignment I’d given out last week—writing four bars of music. It wasn’t enough to really grade, but I was using the project more as a way to gauge the levels and styles of each of my students in second period. I left them all feedback, input the grades on my computer, and finally started packing up for bed around eleven.
I picked up the ornament before leaving the living room and brought it over to my bare tree. I slid the hook around one of the boughs, turned it slightly in one hand, and stared at the figurines.
Dear Santa,
I’ve been good this year.
