Chapter 27

To the extent that I had planned to spend it in isolation, my Christmas is a bust. As a day for worship, celebration, and bringing Joy to the World, however, it’s an unmitigated triumph. With no tree to gather ‘round and no gifts to unwrap, we laze about in bed late into the morning, rising only when the yearning for coffee will no longer be ignored.

“Too bad Santa didn’t leave us any milk,” I say as I set the percolator on the stovetop. “I meant to get some yesterday.” I shrug. Polishing off the last of the sweetened condensed milk had given me an excuse to go looking for him. I’ve never been a black coffee guy, but if I was going to forget something on my shopping list yesterday, I’d way rather it was “canned milk” than Cole. The coffee and Cole are both strong, both sweet, and where one might lack a viscous, whitish element this morning, the other’s been spewing it at the slightest provocation, so I figure it all evens out.