"All right, hang on a minute. What time is it? Oh, jeez—"
Brendan turned and shook Tony. "Tony, hey Tony—we got to get up. If you want to go to Teri's with us, we have to go, it's past nine."
"Go?" Tony blinked and sat up, stretched, moaning. "Aw, man, it's so early."
"Well, it's Christmas. And it's nine-fifteen, so it's late. Teri's going to kill me, come on come on come on …"
He unearthed Peter's knapsack, tore through it until he found a red-and-green sweater and bright red corduroy pants. Peter's whining turned to shrieks when his father started dressing him, but Brendan only shook his head and pulled off the boy's T-shirt and pants, pulled on the clean clothes and then started on the socks and shoes. Tony stumbled past, rubbing his eyes, and disappeared into his room. A few minutes later he reappeared, hair dishevelled and a bulky plastic bag tucked under one arm.
"Aren't you going to change?" asked Brendan, yanking on one of Peter's sneakers.
Tony frowned. "I did change." He pulled open the front of his leather jacket to display a black t-shirt and faded black jeans. "See?"
"Right. Well, do me a favor, sit with him for a minute so I can get changed."
"Sure, man. C'mere, Petie. Did you like watching Chip Crockett? Yeah, he was pretty good, huh! Did you see Ooga Booga? Huh? Good ol' Ooga Booga …"
Brendan dressed quickly. He shaved, forgoing a shower, then raced back into the kitchen. For a moment he stood gazing longingly at the coffee machine, but finally turned, gathered up his keys and overcoat, and headed for the door.
"Grab his coat, will you, Tony? You don't need to put it on him, just bring it, and his knapsack and that other stuff—"
Tony got Peter's things, and Brendan got Peter. "Merry Christmas, Merry Christmas," Brendan said, hurrying outside and holding the door for Tony. "C'mon, put a spin on it, Tony!"
"Consider it spun, man," Tony yelled. He jumped down the steps to the sidewalk. "Ooof &3133;"
They headed for the car, Peter digging his heels into the sidewalk and starting to cry, Brendan pulling him after him. "We're going to see Mommy," he said desperately, as a family in their Yuletide best hurried past him, on the way to church. "Come on, Peter, we'll be late—"
At last they were all in the car. Peter was strapped safely in his carseat, Tony was hanging out his open window, waving.
"Merry Christmas!" he called as another family walked past. The parents smiled and waved back, the children shouted Merry Christmas. "That's a beautiful coat, ma'am, Santa bring you that?"
The woman laughed and did a little pirouette on the sidewalk, showing off a bright red duster. "You bet!" she cried.
"Get your arm in, Tony, before it gets cut off," yelled Brendan as the engine roared. He backed up and did an illegal U-turn, and started for Teri's house.
"Hey, look at Dave the Grave!" Tony waved furiously. "Dave, my man! Nice lid!"
On his park bench, Dave the Grave sat with a bottle in his lap. As they drove by he doffed a green-and-red-checked fedora. "Whoa Whoa!" he cried. His dog yelped and jumped onto his lap, and Dave pushed him down again. "Murr' Curssmuss, mrr' crussmuss—!"
Brendan smiled in spite of himself. The sun was so bright his eyes hurt, and he drove a little too fast, running a red light. He no longer felt like apologizing to Teri—that would just scare her, probably—but he felt quiet, almost peaceful. Well, not peaceful, really, but resigned, and somehow satisfied. It wouldn't last, he knew that. Terrible things would happen and just plain bad ones, and most of all the relentless downward toboggan run of his own life as a just-good-enough father and barely tolerable ex-husband. But for now at least the sun was shining and the road crews had somehow managed not to totally screw up holiday traffic. His developmentally challenged child was in the backseat, chewing on a yellow rubber duck, and his oldest friend, the village idiot, was leaning out the window and startling churchgoers as they passed the National Cathedral.
And, somehow, this was all okay. Somehow it was all good, or at least good enough. Later he knew it would be different; but for now it was enough.
They arrived at Teri's house a little after ten. Kevin and Eileen's red Range Rover was parked in the driveway, and a car Kevin didn't recognize, an ancient Volvo sedan with a rusting undercarriage held together by virtue of about thirty-five different liberal Wiccan feminist No Nukes bumper stickers.
"Whose car is that?" asked Tony.
"I have no idea." Brendan pulled in behind it, crossly, because now the end of his car was sticking out into the cul-de-sac. "But maybe as a Christmas present you can teach them how to park."
He got out, and there on the doorstep was Teri, pale, her eyes shadowed, but smiling in a short black dress with the crimson cloisonne necklace he'd given her their first Christmas together.
"Peter!" she cried, and ran to greet them. "Brendan, hi, hi. Tony. Merry Christmas!"
Brendan hugged her stiffly, drew back and smiled. "Merry Christmas, Teri." He turned and helped her open the back door of the car. "Here's your present—"
He reached in for Peter. Teri waited until Brendan set the boy on the driveway, then stooped to hug him. "Peter! I missed you!" She looked up at Brendan and smiled again. "It's just what I wanted."
Peter slipped from her grasp and ran up the drive to the house. Brendan looked after him and saw Kevin and Eileen in the doorway, beside the twins in their Diane Arbus Christmas dresses. "Hi," he said, and waved.
"Merry Christmas!" shouted Tony. He reached back in the car for his plastic bag. "Hiya, goils!"
On the steps, the twins separated to let Peter pass. Another face appeared above theirs, masses of chestnut hair spilling from beneath a long green ski hat. "Hi, guys!"
"Peggy?" Tony gaped, then whirled towards Teri.
"I called Peggy to check on things after you picked Peter up Tuesday," she explained, smiling. "And she said she wasn't doing anything. So I got all the Christmas orphans." She glanced at Brendan. "That okay with you?"
Brendan shrugged. "Sure. Well, it'll be a very Maroni Christmas, I guess, huh Tony?"
But Tony was already loping towards the house.
"Brendan. Come on in," said Teri. She stared at the snow-glazed lawn, then looked up at him. "Thanks for dropping him off."
"Oh. Well, I thought I'd stay," Brendan said awkwardly. "Just for a little while. If you don't mind."
Teri continued to stare at the grass, finally nodded. "Sure. Sure, of course." She smiled. "That would be really good for Peter. For everyone, I think."
They walked inside. Eileen greeted Brendan at the door, enveloping him in yards of velvet and lace and perfume and hugging him as though it were her house. "Brendan! And you brought Tony!"
"Oh well, you know. Wouldn't be Christmas without Tony Maroni."
He smiled; his face was starting to hurt from smiling. Beside Eileen, Kevin stood in a tweed suit and tie with a blinking Rudolph on it. He was clapping Tony on the back.
"Get a damn tie, Tony, don't you own a tie?" he bellowed, then flopped his own tie in Brendan's face. "Merry Christmas, cuz! Check out the eggnog—"
"Eggbeaters," said Eileen, nodding. "Totally fat-tree and no cholesterol, Eggbeaters, Olestra, sugar substitute—"
Kevin made a retching sound. Brendan laughed. He stepped into the room, shading his eyes as he looked for Peter. He sighted him off by himself near the TV. It was on but the sound had been turned off. Peter stared at it, puzzled, then slapped the screen gently with his palm.