Hull for the Holidays

I’ll start this by saying I clearly cannot keep away from the world of literature as I had first assumed upon completing my recounting of the wedding. I suppose the nature of storytelling just keeps drawing me back in, at least for the special occasions. And what better time to share in the joy of storytelling than Christmas?

There was a touch of deliberation when it came to picking how we would celebrate our first Christmas as a married couple. Obviously this wouldn’t be Veronica and I’s first Christmas together, as we’d spent last year’s in a Shari’s restaurant while visiting San Francisco. But since that was how we celebrated our first year together, she was very insistent we did not have a repeat of something so casual. So our options came to two things: a traditional Christmas at home, or a traditional Christmas with family.

I have nothing against my brother, truly I don’t. And I love my sister-in-law. I also love my nephews, but sweet mother of all things good and holy on this Earth are those boys rambunctious. I’m not sure there is a force that exists capable of tiring them once they get going. If we were somehow able to harness the energy produced by these kids, we’d have enough power to keep the world going for the rest of eternity.

My first Christmas back in the states was spent with my brother, and there was only one boy at the time. Once Joshua had been born, it was like Pandora’s box had been torn open at the hinge. So I was a touch reluctant to spend five days cooped up in the same house with the gang. Surprisingly, I wasn’t very concerned about the prospect of returning to Newfield. Truth be told, Los Angeles was starting to grow a bit stale.

In the end, the missus won, and she very much wanted to spend the holidays with Henry’s crew. So on the very early morning of December 23rd, we threw our packed duffel bags into the back of the car and went on our merry way, with Christmas music playing the entire drive. I kid you not. That’s sixteen hours of Santa coming to town, kissing our mothers, and watching us sleep.

God, the concept of contemporary Christmas is remarkably creepy when you look at the music we choose to play.

Newfield was, as usual, in its peak of unpredictable weather. When we reached Henry’s house, it was cloudy but not too cold. Although compared to the sunny and 70 weather back in LA, this was a hefty change. Had I become one of those snobby beach boys who was so accustomed to good weather that the slightest change was unnerving?

Now you see why it was growing stale.

We got to Henry’s at a little after 7 PM, and he was the one to greet us. I don’t think I’ll ever forget his first words upon seeing us.

He opened the door with a smile at first. “Hey there guys! It’s great to see you.” And then he looked at me. “What the Hell is under your nose?”

I scrunched my face and felt the bristling mustache press down on my lip. “It’s a mustache, you should be familiar with them.”

“And you’re okay with this?” he replied as he hugged Veronica.

“If it makes him happy, I’m happy,” she chimed back.

“But you have to kiss a furry caterpillar!”

I scoffed as I thumped my brother’s shoulder. “Not even through the door and you’re already giving me crap. Dad rocked a mustache, did he not?”

“Dad hasn’t had a strand of hair on the top of his head in thirty years, it’s all on the sides now. Of course he rocks a mustache, it’s the only hair he can properly grow.”

“I’ll give that one to you,” I replied as Henry stepped aside, granting us entry. It had been a long while since I’d been here, to be honest. In fact, it would’ve been… two days after Sheridan’s death. I’d vacated the flat and they offered me the same room I’d stayed in when I’d returned, which is the same room we’d be staying in now. Needless to say, it had been a while.