The Geek Who Saved Christmas

“And this way, you don’t have to.” Gideon grinned like he’d cornered me. And he had. Despite being steps from my door, escape seemed futile as he continued to hype this harebrained plan. “You can support the neighborhood efforts by simply loaning me your house.”

“That easy?”

“Yes. I can put everything on timers. And with the newer LED lights, you’ll scarcely notice a power bill impact.”

“You sure have thought of everything.” I whistled low because, in several years of living here, this was the most sentences Gideon had strung together around me without tripping over his words and definitely the most enthusiastic I’d seen the guy. Talking about lights, he practically glowed himself, radiating warmth and energy in the dark, damp November night.

“Yes, I have.” He beamed at me.

“Look. Gideon. No offense, but I’m not sure I’m up for the hassle.” When he opened his mouth, no doubt to tell me it wasn’t a hassle, I held up a hand and used some of my rusty manners. “And I wouldn’t want to impose.”

“Oh, it’s not an imposition.” Predictably, Gideon didn’t take the hint. One truly had to admire his dedication to the cause. “It would be fun! Since you’re not into any specific celebrations, we can go with snowflakes and snowpeople. Yes, that’s it. Cheerful snowpeople.”

Lord save us. If I didn’t put a stop to the runaway Gideon express, I was likely to have a lawn full of those inflatable glowing snowpeople with their serial killer grins and silly top hats. “I’m not sure—”

“Why don’t you think about it?” Gideon gave me another winning smile right as Jim barked from my front window. She wasn’t usually loud, but I also didn’t usually dally in the driveway. “No need to give me an answer right now. Your furry friend seems eager for you to go in.”

“It’s dinner time.” At last, escape seemed in reach. I meant myself, though, as I’d been late leaving a worksite, but I’d never make Jim wait. By the time I finally got my own dinner, she’d have conveniently forgotten her hasty supper and turned those big brown eyes my way, much like Gideon and his pleading. He was a tough guy to say no to.

“Of course. I wouldn’t want to keep you.” Gideon made a shooing motion like I’d been the one drawing the conversation out. “Think about my offer. I can draw up some plans to show you.”

“That’s not necessary.” Why I couldn’t manage a firm no was beyond me. Maybe it was his enthusiasm for his idea. Maybe it was his commitment to neighborhood causes. He might be a hammer short of a toolbox, but his wackiness sprang from good intentions.

He means well, my mom would have said.

“Maybe not necessary. But it sure will be fun.” He stamped his feet, either from cold or excitement. With him, it was hard to tell. I liked a good blueprint myself, but I’d never had the prospect make me boogie.

“Uh-huh.” Again, I couldn’t seem to say no, shut him down. Sometime between now and when he inevitably flagged me down for further discussion, I’d have to find some backbone. I didn’t want my front lawn to become a holiday circus, didn’t need Gideon underscoring everything I disliked about this blasted time of year.

“Night, Paul. Thanks again.” Giving a last smile, Gideon strode away before I could tell him he could save the thanks. I hadn’t agreed to anything, and I wasn’t about to let Gideon Holiday have his way on this. I knew better. Somehow, I needed to convince him to let me have my seasonal funk in peace.

Chapter Three

Who needs a place for Thanksgiving? Always room for one more! ~Cheryl Bridges

Us too! We’ve got a full house and twenty pounds of turkey! ~Frisk Family

People! Please pay attention to where your guests are parking. Common courtesy goes a long way. ~Ernest Morrison posted to the What’s Up Neighbor app

Gideon

Kneeling up on my roof was a relief, not that I’d ever admit it aloud. But “I have to work on my decorating” was such a nice excuse to leave Friendsgiving before the tipsy shenanigans we were all getting too old for anyway started. Each year our group shrunk a little more as people coupled and throupled up, adopted, reconciled with biological families, and otherwise found new connections with more compelling invites.

I’d had no shortage of other invitations myself, of course. My ex and her wife. Cheryl and her brood. The Jordans down the street. Peggy from work. But being the fun, single guest was exhausting. I’d had years where I’d attended multiple events, and as much as I loved people, dealing with my lights was a far better distraction from my sorry single state than all those happy clans.

Thus, here I was, Thanksgiving evening with the light fading over a neighborhood filled with family gatherings in full swing. But I was alone on the roof with thousands of LED bulbs, plastic hanger hooks, and all my timers. Bliss really, getting everything hooked to my new app for managing all the timers, setting the decorations just so, and reminding myself how much joy strangers were going to take in visiting our neighborhood. If I could light up one person’s dark day, then all the work was worth it. Humming softly, this time a show tune that refused to leave my brain, I finished the front half of my roof and turned back to my ladder. Except…

No ladder.

“What the hell?” I said to the empty night. I’d left it against the same eave as always, the side porch the best and safest access point. But no ladder. I peered down and—

“Fuck.” Sometimes there was no better word because there my ladder was, laying lazily across the driveway. “Fuck.”

Not only was I blocking the driveway, a neighborly no-no, but more pressing, I had no way down. I wasn’t some nimble skinny teen able to shimmy down the drainpipe. And all my upstairs windows were locked, a fact I verified. Butterscotch sat in his cat tree in the spare bedroom window, unmoved by my plight. I’d probably have to break a window, and wasn’t that going to be a mess? I had my phone, but who would I call? Everyone I knew was either with family or in no shape to drive. Maybe if I yelled, Paul would hear. Embarrassing as hell, but rescue beat the alternative.

But no, Paul’s truck was missing from its usual spot by his garage. He too was probably out at a gathering. Breaking a window seemed my only alternative. I removed my scarf to wrap my hand and was giving myself the requisite pep talk when a decidedly grouchy sigh cut through the night air.

“Holiday, what are you doing?” Paul called up. Damn it. The rescue I’d wanted, with a side of the humiliation I’d hoped to avoid.