Page 19 of Naughty-ish

“What?” Nick mock-shrieks, lifting his hand to his cap and forcing it back on his head before swiping it forward to right it in place. “You have to have presents.”

“I know and I will. For the kids.”

Nick stares at me, answering a question he doesn’t ask. Who is going to give me a present this year?

I understand the season isn’t about receiving but giving, and I’ll gratefully gift my children what I can, but there’s a lot of pressure in gift giving. And it sucks to get shitty presents.

Mitch was the worst gift giver.

“Our second Christmas together, I’d just found out I was pregnant with Eloise and Mitch gave me a magazine subscription. He’d convinced me to stay home to be a mom and said he wanted to prepare me for sitting home all day, eating candy, and reading magazines.”

“What a fucking motherfucker,” Nick grumbles.

“Yeah,” I sigh, unable to defend Mitch in that gift-giving decision.

“Did you want to stay home?”

Facing Nick, I slowly smile. “I did. I didn’t think I was going to be a stay-at-home mom, but when Eloise was born, I didn’t want to leave her all day. Mitch and I were well enough off that I could stay home then.”

I’m grateful for the years I had at home with my children. With Nash now in full-day kindergarten and Eloise in third grade, I couldn’t justify being home alone. Plus, I need the money. Still, the bank isn’t my dream job.

“What did you do before you were a stay-at-home mom?” Nick asks.

“I was a bank teller.” He already knows that’s what I do now. “But I don’t love the job.”

“So do something else.”

“Ha. It’s not that easy.” We start walking again as the kids run to the next wooden display of headless elves.

“Why not?”

“It’s just not. I have a mortgage and two kids.” I didn’t want to start calling Mitch a deadbeat dad, but he was leaning in that direction. Illinois is an equitable state and I got half of everything in the divorce, including half the value of our house, that Mitch easily shelled out in order to stay there.

“I might not have kids, but I have a mortgage and I forfeited working in the family business to become a fireman. I chose me and my happiness over everything else.”

“A fireman is a noble profession,” I remind him. Bank telling is not glamorous.

“It is, but it wasn’t exactly approved of by my family. And it didn’t pay great right away either.”

Nick’s house is small like mine, but plenty big enough for a bachelor. If he’s been with the fire department for decades, he must be at a higher paygrade. Plus, he’s a captain.

“What does your family do?”

Nick glances at Nash and Eloise as they run to another cut out of elves. “It doesn’t matter. What would you do if you weren’t a bank teller?”

Accepting how he sweeps away an answer about himself, I say, “I always wanted to be an author.”

The words tumble out before I can rein them back. As an English major in college, that had been the plan. Only inspiration for the next great American novel hadn’t struck and student loans did. My dad demanded I get a real job, not one that was whimsical or involved waiting for a lucky break.

“So you write a book.”

I scoff again. “Also not that easy.”

“What would you write about?”

While I’d always thought I’d write something profound or philosophical, since having children, I discovered how much I adore children’s books.

Instead of answering Nick, I shrug.