“This is what I get for not going to the build parties.”
I grunt. “So you got volunteered too?”
“Lesson learned. Don’t say you want to help with the float, then get sent out of town on assignment for all of November.” She’s grumbling, but she’s saying it with a grin and a wave as we slowly roll past the first batch of parade-goers lining both sides of Main Street. Our float’s piping out old-timey Christmas music from a fake Victrola that warbles and warps the sound around us, giving everything a slightly surreal feel.
“I bet we were the only two not at the meeting when they voted on who’d ride up top.” I don’t bother to smile as I wave. Victorian Husband isn’t having a good day.
Everyone in the crowd is bundled into hats and scarves that show mostly pink noses and red cheeks and the glint of eyes between the swaddling. But they’re all excited and waving, which makes Victorian Wife flap her arm even harder. She uses her other arm to jam an elbow into my ribs.
“Stop looking so scary, you weirdo,” CJ says through gritted teeth.
I clutch my side with a grunt, then fake a grin and resume waving.
Before long, though, the excitement of the kids along the route washes away my shitty mood, and my waving becomes a little more natural. The volunteers handing out candy are popular with the kids, and I can’t help but notice that they all remembered their gloves, which means I’m the only one whose fingers are slowly turning into icicles.
CJ and I ride in silence for ten interminable minutes before I’m in too much pain to ignore it anymore. Trying to keep the motion casual, I cup my hands and blow into them. It provides a tiny bit of warmth, but it’s not enough, and it doesn’t last. And oh my god, we’ve only gone a quarter of a mile with who knows how much more to go.
I rub my hands together like I’m trying to build a fire in the wilderness, then go back to the smile-and-wave routine, just a little more stiffly than before.
My oh-so-loving wife clucks her tongue. “Did you not bring any mittens with you?”
“They’re in my other frock coat,” I say sulkily, rubbing the blocks of ice at the end of my arms together. Friction produces heat, right?
“Hopefully you won’t lose all of your fingers to frostbite.” She picks up my right hand with her mittened ones. “Maybe only the weakest. Pinkie. Ring finger. But thumb and pointer look strong.”
“Quit picturing it,” I snatch my hand away.
“I won’t, and you can’t make me.” Her voice is cheerful, and I’m annoyed all over again that the nicest she’s sounded since that night we met is over the thought of me losing digits.
I clench my hands into fists, then release them, trying to keep the blood flowing. “If I have to have any fingers amputated, guess which one I’m saving to mail to you.”
She snorts, again sounding genuinely amused. But she stiffens right afterward, her whole demeanor changing. “Wow,” she says. “So that’s still happening.”
I follow CJ’s gaze to a cluster of people on the sidewalk in front of a local accountant’s office, and there’s Reese standing off to the side, ramrod straight and dressed in her black coat with a gray scarf wrapped around her neck.
“Our third anniversary’s just around the corner,” I say. “Despite your best efforts.”
Reese and I got through the rocky patch after CJ threw grenades into the middle of our relationship last year, and we came out the other side even stronger. If anything, I should be thanking her for the juvenile outburst that prompted many discussions about the best vacations for busy professionals.
Aaaand like clockwork, CJ gives another juvenile outburst.
“Wow. What a picture of a loving and supportive girlfriend.”
Fuck. She’s not wrong. The expression on Reese’s face says that she’s not here to joyfully support her boyfriend but only agreed to come under duress. Worse, she’s standing noticeably apart from the rowdy group she came with.
Said group gets even rowdier when they spot me, squealing and jumping up and down.
“Fans of yours?” CJ asks. Normally, I’d ignore her, but all that little-kid enthusiasm tugs a smile out of me.
“That would be my family.”
“Geez, you and Reese have been busy.”
I heave a long-suffering sigh. “My brothers and sisters. That’s my mom and my stepdad with them.”
“Oh, right.” she says quietly. “The youngest are Kai, Tristan, and… Sophia, was it?”
I blink. “How the hell did you come up with that?”
