Mere nodded, completely serious. "I'll go first."
Fifi raised an eyebrow but didn't argue. Huey, meanwhile, stuck to his chair like glue. Between the sweater and his "on-duty" seriousness, he looked like a canine version of the parade marshal.
Within minutes, people started commenting on his outfit. Three separate kids asked to pet him. One lady in a bedazzled jacket snapped a photo. Huey ate it up.
Mere and Fifi wanted to explore the booths lining the street while things were still quiet. I agreed, tossing them some cash for drinks. "Hot chocolate. Nosubstitutions," I called after them. "Ask about mint to be sure there isn't any!"
Mere flashed a thumbs-up, already dragging her sister toward the rows of vendor tents. The smells hit me first. Sweet rolls, cinnamon, hot sugar, layers of coffee and fried dough. If there's a heaven, it probably smells like a parade at nine in the morning.
I stayed glued to our camp chairs, watching families construct parade fortresses. Some had collapsible tables loaded with food. Others had wagons stacked with fleece blankets, wired speakers, and even battery-heated seats. The most impressive setup involved a company-logoed tent, metal thermoses of cider, and a cooler the size of a coffin. I considered myself outgunned, but not outclassed.
Vendors hawked their wares up and down the street. A guy on stilts set up shop at the edge of the vendor line, handing out balloon animals. Only Christmassy shapes, of course. I spotted at least two "elves" in rented costumes, and one Grinch with a remarkably lifelike mask.
The longer I sat, the thicker the crowd got. Entire tribes of toddlers in fuzzy coats zipped past, parents in tow. Someone blasted "Jingle Bell Rock" from a hidden speaker.
Huey barked once, eagerly, but settled when I tossed him bits of his favorite peanut butter treat.
After about forty minutes, the girls returned. Mere looked recharged, cheeks pink from the cold. Fifi had a death grip on her insulated cup, but she was upright and not twitching with anxiety, so I counted it as a win.
"Mission accomplished?" I asked.
"They have apple fritters the size of your face," Mere announced, eyes huge.
Fifi looked at the ground. "I got hot chocolate."
"Good job," I said. "Want to swap?"
She shook her head. "This is perfect."
We took turns after that. Next, it was my time to wander. I warned the twins not to lose the camp, then made my way up the crowded sidewalk.
Time to get hot snacks. I picked up two cinnamon rolls and a box of fried pies, fresh peach and apple, then circled back toward a row of food trucks with lines already out the door.
The most popular one had a menu so extensive that I barely made sense of it. The line moved slowly. The small-town parade machine revved up as I waited. Townsend had a wild, wonderful parade, a mix of professionals and total amateurs, with no care about perfection.
The line finally lurched forward. I bounced from foot to foot, using my breath as a hand-warmer, and rehearsed the complicated order in my head. Chili cheese dog, which was Mere's favorite. A bacon biscuit for Fifi, and an egg and cheese for myself. Plus, three hot ciders. I'd regret the carbs later.
I paid with numb fingers and shuffled to the pickup window. When the order came out, it barely fit on the tray. I stacked the drinks in the middle, balanced the pies on top, and held the breakfast sandwiches with my spare hand. Looked stable enough.
Parade floats still lined the curb, crews in matching t-shirts fussing over the last details. A set of carolers practiced "Silent Night" over by the antique shop. I took the shortest path back to our camp, cutting through the thick of the crowd.
I didn't even see the cop until we collided. He was a solid wall of navy blue and cold-weather vest, the kind of guy who could probably bench-press several toddlers in snowsuits. He caught my elbow just as the tray started to tilt.
"Careful there," he said, steadying me with one hand.
I immediately went into apology overdrive. "Oh! So sorry, I wasn't looking, this is, like, half the menu, I'm?—"
He grinned. "No harm done. Enjoy the parade, ma'am." He glanced at my food mountain. "Looks like you're supplying half the block."
I tried to laugh, but it came out as a wheeze. "Honestly, it wouldn't surprise me."
He tipped a gloved hand in salute and moved on, already blending with the stream of festival-goers.
I recovered, restacked, and hustled the final stretch to our parade zone. The air had turned colder. The sidewalks were packed now, wall-to-wall people jostling for space. Kids shrieked as someone handed out spiced popcorn. Every tree along the route blinked with little lights.
Then I saw it.
Fifi, curled in her camp chair, hunched over her phone like it was a lifeline. Her body twitched in tight shivers, the kind that always kicked off right before a full-scale panic meltdown. Her lips moved soundlessly, maybe trying to recite something, maybe pleading with the voices in her head to chill out.
