Very Merry Wingmen

by Daisy Prescott

  A few moments later, music starts playing and a police officer clears everyone out of the street and onto the sidewalks.

  The first group is a den of zombie Scouts. I give major props for lurching in formation. Following them is the mayor and a group of local politicians, dressed as Ghostbusters. At least they’re tossing out candy. I catch a mini Snickers and peel open the wrapper.

  Next up is the high school marching band, also zombified. I hope something’s not in the water.

  A random group of dogs in costumes trails behind them. Mayhem almost breaks out when a pirate dog and kid dressed as a teddy bear get a little too close. Evidently, tutus for dogs are a huge business. Whoever came up with that idea is making bank.

  A group of witches pretending to sweep the street follow behind the dogs. They’re not giving out candy (sadly), but are handing out voter registration information.

  After the witches, comes Carter with his goats.

  In tutus and superhero pajamas.

  “Hey, look, that one’s dressed like you,” Roslyn jabs Dan’s shoulder with her thumb.

  “Batman goat doesn’t count,” he grumbles.

  Langley’s a small town and thankfully, this parade is short and sweet. The last contingent rounds the corner up by Village Pizzeria. A vintage black truck leads the way. Sitting on its wooden flat-bed, a band plays music from various horror and Halloween movies.

  The truck proceeds a group of puppeteers who hold long sticks supporting the various ghost and ghoul puppets floating above their heads. Among the ghouls, few bats and black cats fly and creep near the crowd.

  It’s eleven in the morning on a Saturday, but there’s something creepy about the way these creatures slink down the street and interact with the crowd.

  Older kids squeal and younger ones scream or hide behind their parents. Alene watches everything with huge, round eyes. She’s braver than I am.

  “Anyone else freaked out by this?” I ask no one in particular.

  “Definitely creepier than the annual Sip ’n Stroll,” Diane agrees with me.

  “Depends on if you get cornered under a kissing ball by the gossip brigade in their ugly holiday sweaters.” John shudders, followed by me.

  “True. Nothing scarier than that,” I confirm. “Still. This might give me nightmares.”

  The truck pulls in front of us and I spy Jonah behind the wheel. “Why doesn’t that surprise me?”

  “What?” Hailey asks.

  “Jonah’s driving the truck. Figures he’d be into this.” He’s cool, but in a weird way.

  “Maybe he volunteered. Seems like something he’d help out with if needed,” Dan says.

  “I think it’s because he’ll find any excuse to be in Langley lately.” Erik adds his two cents. “He’s taken over the place on the corner and I rarely see him at Whidbey Joe’s.”

  “Any particular reason?” Hailey asks, sounding like she already thinks she knows the answer.

  “If you mean a certain yarn shop owner, then maybe.” He gives her a wink behind his oversized Waldo glasses. He looks ridiculous in his red and white knit beanie with the red pompom.

  “Hmm,” Diane, Roslyn, and Hailey all hum together.

  They may not be dressed as witches, but in this moment they might as well be standing around a cauldron, plotting.

  “Jonah’s doomed,” John whispers, taking a step away from our wives. “They’re up to something.”

  Dan laughs, and strokes his beard. “He could do worse.”

  “Poor guy.” I grimace. “Someone should warn him.”

  A sharp and definitely female elbow hits me in the ribs.

  “Ouch! What was that for?” I turn to see who jabbed me.

  Hailey dips her chin and gives me her newly perfected “mom look.”

  “Yes, my dear, love of my life, wife?” I ask, unleashing the Donnely dimples at her.

  “Is it really so bad? This domesticated life?” Hailey asks.

  I blink away my confusion. “Who said it was bad? I wouldn’t trade my life for anyone else’s. I have everything I ever wanted. You. Shaw. Baby two. Future babies three and four.” I slide my arms around her and pull her close against me.

  “I see what you did there. We’ll see after two.” Still smiling, she presses her lips against mine.

  “Think of all of the family costume ideas you could do.” I kiss her again.

  “Hmm,” she hums against my mouth. “You make a good point.”

  I keep our kiss PG because we’re surrounded by kids and judging parents, but I can’t wait to get her home and out of her costume.

  A Carter & Ashley bonus scene

  Carter

  “What’s the turkey drug called again? The one that makes people horny.” I open the fridge and try to find something to eat. Our enormous twenty-five pound turkey takes up most of the space in the center. What’s not occupied by a giant dead bird is stuffed with vegetables and mysterious containers of pre-made side dishes I’ve been banned from opening under threat of amputation of whatever digit touched the precious.

  Ashley peers around the door at me. “People believe tryptophan makes them sleepy, not horny, but it’s really all the carbs and sugars that cause the energy crash after a meal.”

  I love how smart she is.

  “Is that why we have so much kale in here? Or did you buy extra for the goats?”

  “I did not buy organic kale for you to feed to the goats. Again. They get enough greens on the job.” She slowly closes the door, blocking my view. “I stocked the beer fridge in the garage with sandwich supplies. You should be able to scrounge for food out there.”

  “Who would I be without you?” I lean close enough to kiss her.

  “Some random guy, living in the woods with his brother and a bunch of goats, pining for his true love.” She cups my cheek and kisses me back.

  “So about the horny chemical in turkey?” I whisper an inch from her mouth.

  “That’s not a thing.” Her hand finds its way down to my chest and begins unbuttoning my flannel.

  “Are you sure? Just the thought of it has you stripping off my clothes in the kitchen in the middle of the afternoon. I’d say it’s a real thing.”

  “Rosie finally went down for her nap and we’re alone in the house. Tomorrow your family and my brother will be here pretty much all day. By the time your imaginary horny turkey drug kicks in, we’ll be too exhausted to do anything but fall asleep at opposite ends of the couch.” While she gives this little speech, her hands are trailing down my abs to the waist of my jeans.

  “I like the way your mind works. Have I ever told you how turned on I am by your intelligence?” I still her hand when she slips it under my T-shirt.

  “Many times. Why are you stopping?” Her voice is breathy and impatient.

  “I was just thinking. Wasn’t it around Thanksgiving last year that I knocked you up?” I grin down at her.

  “I’m not sure of the exact day but it was closer to Halloween.”

  My smile turns to a frown. “Damn it.”

  Her eyes search mine. “What’s going on in your head?”

  “I was trying to change your mind about tryptophan.”

  “Is it that important for you to be right? My hand is practically down your pants already. I’d call that winning.”

  She makes an excellent point.

  Lunch forgotten, I scoop her up by the hips, encouraging her to wrap her legs around me and carrying her to the bedroom.

  Rosalia “Rosie” Kelso is a near perfect baby, but she is not a good napper. Named after Ashley’s mentor, Roslyn, baby Rosie wasn’t planned. We’d only been married a few months when we found out Ashley didn’t have food poisoning after the annual holiday Sip ’n Stroll. Should’ve realized then that Rosie would be as fierce and independent as her mom. They have the same copper hair, too.

  Watch out world. John and Tom’s boys are nine months older than Rosie. She’s already forbidden from dating either one of them after I cau
ght Shaw Donnely flirting with her at one of those baby social hours. He even has his dad’s dimples.

  I’m thinking of training some of the goats to be bodyguards. They don’t have the ferocious bark and sharp teeth of a dog, but even the little ones can pack some pain with their head butts. Guard goats could be the next big trend.

  Our make out session turns into a quickie, followed by nap time when Ashley falls asleep immediately after. My caveman brain wants to be smug about tiring her out, but I’m fighting the yawns too. No one in this house is getting enough sleep these days.

  I quietly leave her to nap and head for Rosie’s room. Decorated like a woodland wonderland, her little crib is surrounded by more stuffed goats than I knew existed. Turns out when people know you raise goats, they also assume you collect everything shaped like a goat or with a goat plastered on the front. Rosie’s too little to play with the herd, including the babies, but give her a few months and I can see her chasing after them in matching pajamas.

  Still asleep, she shifts and purses her tiny mouth. I sit on the ground near the crib and lean my forehead agains the corner. This has become a favorite spot of mine. I could stay here for hours, just watching her sleep.

  I must doze off because I wake up, sprawled on the floor and Ashley standing at the changing table with a gurgling Rosie.

  “Hi,” I mumble, rolling to my side and sitting up.

  “You can always sleep in the bed, you know. We have all of the fancy baby gadgets so you don’t have to keep watch on the floor.” She twists her neck to make eye contact.

  “I know. I just like being in here. She’s so peaceful and beautiful. I struggle to believe she’s real sometimes.” Most of the time I can’t believe I’m a dad.

  “I’m going to bring her over to my mom’s for a bit while we make the pies for dinner tomorrow. Think you’ll manage without us?” Ashley holds up a smiling Rosie.

  My heart squeezes at the sight of them. My two loves.

  “I’ll manage.” Standing, I reassure her I can survive without them for a few hours. “I need to talk with Jonah about one of his projects and Cari is bugging me about doing a photo shoot for next year’s calendar.”

  “Next year’s calendar? Please tell me Erik isn’t planning to do another naked calendar. How many years of staring at your asses can we endure?” She switches her attention to Rosie. “Your daddy and his friends like to run around outside naked. Yes, they do.”

  “That’s not exactly the truth. It’s for charity.” I remind her of the social benefit besides brightening the lives of lonely women all over the island, and let’s be honest, the world. The first calendar went viral and sold out in record time. “Plus, we’re thinking about less nudity this year. Maybe do a hot dads theme. Apparently, some women like to look at men holding babies.”

  Narrowing her eyes, she hands me Rosie. “Let me see this in action.”

  I hold my daughter and give my wife a cheesy grin, all teeth and bravado.

  “Hmm. I can see the appeal. Maybe it would be better if you took your shirt off, too.” She gives me a wink. “You know. So you can raise more money for charity.”

  We’re halfway through our first plates of the Thanksgiving feast at our dining table when Ashley brings up her idea for the calendar.

  Cari, Erik’s girlfriend, and talented photographer, perks up at the idea. “That’s brilliant! Dad bods are having a moment right now. We can totally jump on the trend.”

  “Hey, who are you saying has a dad bod?” I suck in my stomach and straighten my back to show off my pecs.

  Ashley and Cari eye my heaping plate of food.

  “Keep that up and you’ll be in perfect shape.” Ashley pats my upper arm and I instinctively flex my biceps for her.

  “What if we don’t have a kid?” Erik asks. “Not all of us are fathers or have the coveted paunch.”

  Smug bastard still competes in triathlons. He also probably sleeps at least seven hours a night.

  “Can we borrow some kids? There are plenty to go around with the baby boom happening on the island. Between John and Tom, we have a complete season covered. There have to be some moms around here dreaming of their kid’s big break that will launch them into being momagers like Kris Whatshername.” Jonah brings up a good point.

  I’m surprised. I thought he’d be too cool to do another calendar. Unless he’s using it as an excuse to find a woman.

  “You can’t walk into a library and borrow a baby,” Ashley chides him. Once a little sister, always a baby sister. “Most women will not hand over their children to a random guy who wants to do a photo shoot with them. Especially one covered in tattoos and piercings.”

  She’s not my mom, but damn if she doesn’t have the mom voice perfected.

  “Someone could pose with the kids, I mean baby goats. Get it?” I snort-laugh at my own pun.

  Multiple sets of eyes focus on me, but no one else is laughing.

  “That was terrible,” Jonah says, slapping me on the shoulder. “You give me hope.”

  “I do?” I ask.

  “If you can find a woman to marry you and be willing to have your baby, then there’s hope for the rest of us poor bastards.”

  I nod. “Are you thinking of settling down?”

  For as long as I’ve known him, Jonah’s always been a lone wolf. To hear him talk about marriage and kids is unexpected, but I guess most of us catch the bug sooner or later.

  Cari takes notes on her phone and the conversation switches to the upcoming Sip ’n Stroll. I plan to bring several of the goats. Sandy and Charlene have been crocheting ugly holiday sweaters for them. They even light up—the sweaters, not the goats.

  Pausing for a break between dinner and desserts, we flop down on the couches. Rosie is happily being passed between our moms. If they had their way, she’d always be held by one of them. This might be one of the reasons she’s reluctant to nap. She’ll miss the party.

  With a yawn, I tilt my head back so that it rests on the sofa cushion. I could definitely take a nap before round two.

  Tryptophan or whatever it’s called might not be the horny chemical I’d hoped it would be, but I’m still convinced it makes me sleepy.

  “Someone wake me up when the pies are ready,” I mumble with my eyes closed. “I have a dad bod to perfect.”

  Olaf’s Christmas Miracle

  Olaf

  The Ladies Who Love Decorating Society members have swarmed the streets once again. Like a plague of cheerful locus, they return every year to this location, but instead of stripping off every bit of foliage, they leave behind a crap ton of greenery. They’re worse than the seagulls down on the pier. If seagulls shat kissing balls and boughs of evergreen all over the damn town.

  Participation is mandatory. A few years ago someone wrote me up for not allowing the windows on my private property to be painted by a bunch of high school students. If I’m lucky, that unofficial citation’s been added to my permanent record—along with my detentions in high school, my liquor license, my marriage license, my divorce record, a library book I stole in fourth grade, and the two parking tickets from Seattle I refused to pay out of protest. I hope there’s a file at the police station or in town hall. How disappointing if my history of delinquencies is lost forever.

  The decorating ladies are not to be messed with. The one time I threatened to close the bar for the evening is brought up every year as soon as November comes around. In some circles, I’m still referred to as Scrooge.

  Fine by me.

  Finally learned the best way to counteract the women of the LWLDS is to put up my own trimmings before the swarm reaches my corner. I can keep the merriment to a minimum, avoiding all of the bows and, most importantly, the devil’s sparkle, aka glitter. Evil stuff gets everywhere, including my beard.

  One year, I was finding sparkles in my whiskers well into January. Looked like I’d been kissing a drag queen. For the record, that only happened one time in the eighties, at a club in Seattle. Long story.
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  John parks his old Ford pickup in the spot right in front of the Dog House. Through the passenger window, I spot Tom and two empty carseats in the back row. Times have changed. The truck-bed is loaded with greenery and what looks like a tree.

  Setting down the stack of ones I’ve been counting, I replace the cash drawer in the register and then head outside to find out what sort of nonsense I can expect.

  “Gentlemen,” I greet them as soon as they exit the cab. “That looks like a tree back there.”

  “That’s because it is.” Tom grins at me. “In fact, we brought two.”

  “Where you planning on putting two trees? I got enough to worry about breaking fire code with the sippers sipping their one beer all night, I don’t need to crowd the space with flammable trees. One of those idiots will knock into it and spill their beer on the lights. Next thing we know it’ll spark an electrical fire and the whole place will go up like the dried-out pile of wood it is.” I cross my arms and spread my legs to show them I’m not budging. If the building weren’t a historic landmark with its iconic red-painted siding and white trim, I wouldn’t care what happens to it after the first of the year. Won’t be my problem any more. But it’s not getting destroyed on my watch.

  “You done complaining, O?” John lowers the tailgate. “We’re going to set them up outside by the benches.”

  Narrowing my eyes, I stare at the trees and the spot flanking the door. “Guess that’s better than inside.”

  “Great.” Tom hoists one of the trees by its trunk and flips it over his shoulder. “We don’t have a lot of time before John needs to pick up Alene from pre-pre-school.”

  “Next thing you know she’ll be in college,” I mumble. “They grow up so quickly. Blink and they’ll be gone.”

  “Not so fast. She’s not even three.” John sets down the other tree and drops two stands to the ground with a loud clank. “I don’t want to think about her moving away.”

  “Everyone leaves the island. Except you bunch.” I pick up the end of a garland. “Where’s this going?”