Christmas Eve
Scotland
I siton the same stool, in the same pub, surrounded by the same faces.
I shouldn’t be complaining. Life is grand. My daughter is safe and happy. Thriving in her relatively new environment, getting spoiled by her aunt and older cousins. I don’t know what I would have done without them. When we arrived in Scotland, I was a mess. Brokenhearted without a leg to stand on. I saw the bottom of way too many pints, and like a good Irishman I wasn’t sorry about it one bit. But I realized in time, no amount of alcohol was going to make me forget. So, I finally moved on. Fallon made her decision, and I made mine.
And now here I am.
Sitting alone, on Christmas Eve. Drinking my way to the bottom of yet another pint. Enjoying it, too. Listening to Eddie play Christmas songs on the piano and getting eyed by the hot brunette at the end of the bar.
Life could be worse.
The crowd sings along to an exaggerated version of “Fairytale Of New York” as Eddie pounds on the keys. It’s good spirits all around.
I have trouble deciding which I like better, the holidays in America or the ones back home.They seem to run an even match.
“Another, Declan?” Mac, the bartender, asks. I slide my glass to him. “With a whiskey chaser. A good one. It’s Christmas Eve.”
“Aye.”
I turn and join in with the rowdy crowd, clapping along with the beat.
“’Scuse me?” I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. I shift to find the pretty brunette from the end of bar standing next to me. “Are you Dax?”
I’m sucker-punched by the use of that name. “Maybe. Who’s askin’?”
“Someone asked me to give you this.” She holds out a white box. Now I’m straight up suspicious.
“Who?” I press.
“Don’t know. Some blonde lass.”
“Blonde?” I take the box, tempted to check if it’s ticking. It’s light as a feather though.
“Thanks.”
“Sure.” She smiles cute-like, then walks off.
Mac drops my pint and whiskey. “Whatcha got there?”
“A Christmas present?”
“From who?”
“Don’t know. Secret admirer?” I joke, knowing full well only one person in the entire universe calls me Dax.
“No one admires you,” Mac waves me off.
I scratch the tape off the sides of the box with my pulse pounding in my ears. It kind of looks like the type you’d get at a bakery. When I pop the lid open, my heart seizes.
“What the hell are those?” Mac looks at the doughy white clouds strangely.
I frantically look around the room. I scan the whole entire thing like a laser beam, but there is no one familiar to be found. “Declan, what are they?” Mac has garnered the attention of the few people sitting around me, all curious about the foreign pastries.
“Beignets.”
“Ben-what?”
