Season's Greetings : Christmas Box Set

“Charlotte’s the oldest. She has to keep Jamison and Graham in line.” I sink into the chair behind my desk in my office and click on my green banker’s lamp.

“Indeed.” My father’s face appears on the screen.

“Hey, Dad.”

“Hello, son. How’s life across the pond treating you?”

“Good. I was just about to leave to start my holiday.”

“That’s good. I worry about you and all those hours you put in.”

“It takes a lot to get a practice up and running. Now I can ease off a bit.”

He nods. “I understand the ins and outs of the business. But I want you to know that time can’t be regained. Make sure you’re living life outside of work, yeah?”

“I know, Dad.”

“Good. Now how are you spending the holidays?”

“Doing a lot of nothing. Catching up on the tele, visiting friends. That sort of thing.”

“Any dates?” Mom calls.

I roll my eyes. “No.”

“What? Three grandchildren aren’t enough for you, Mum?” Thomas calls.

“No,” Mum responds without missing a beat, and I laugh.

“See what I’ve been putting up with for all these years?” my father asks.

“It keeps you young, Reginald.” Mum’s sassy response reminds me of why I’m still single. If I can’t grow into that, I’m wasting my time. My last relationship failed because she didn’t want to wait for the white dress and babies. I wasn’t naïve enough to think I could do all of that and focus on my practice. I wan

t to be a present parent. She’s happily married now, and I don’t begrudge her the life she’s built for herself. I just want to find my happy ending, too.

“Guys, come say hello to your Uncle James.”

The pitter-patter of feet over the carpet makes me laugh. Cherub faces press together as they battle for screen time. The chorus of, “Hi, Uncle James,” melts my heart. Not seeing them is the biggest drawback to remaining in America. Dad relocated us when we were in our teens for a once in a lifetime promotion and remained until he retired.

“Hello, my favorite nieces and nephews. Are you keeping everyone on their toes?”

The resounding, “Yes!” is accompanied by snickers and groans from the adults. I spend thirty minutes talking to them before saying good-bye, and I leave the office, feeling lighter and slightly melancholy.

AS I PULL INTO THE drugstore for last-minute snacks, the snow is coming down in large flakes that are sticking. Raising my hood, I lean into the wind, whipping and moaning like the ghost of Christmas past, and enter the blessedly warm safety of the store. Stomping my boots on the rubber mat at the entrance, I take down my hood and walk to the alcohol section. Tonight, I’ll make mulled wine, light the fireplace, and indulge in the biscuits and Jammie Dodgers my mother frequently sends me. A little taste of home will chase away the holiday blues in no time. Grabbing a mini cart, I take my time perusing the shelves. I’m not opposed to a little retail therapy, and drug stores have surprisingly thoughtful and useful gifts.

I place a few bottles of red wine into the cart. It’s important to start with the essentials.

“Stop.” A hushed whisper draws my attention from the cornucopia of crisp bags I’d been trying to decide between

“No. You’re being ridiculous. We need to go home.”

“And leave Monty to fend for himself? No. This is all your fault anyway.”

The male voice guffaws. It’s embarrassing to hear the spat. I try to tune them out, but their volume increases.

“How? You were the one who was distracted.”

“Yes, by you showing up, uninvited might I add, and arguing with me.”