Twas the Play Before Christmas

Chapter 1“Nicholas Valenti! It’s about time. Dinner is ready.” I literally just walked in the door, hadn’t even taken off my boots, and I was already getting two-named? I rolled my eyes because my mother couldn’t see, hidden as I was in the entryway. After getting out of all my winter wear, I padded sock-footed into the kitchen and kissed her cheek. “Ma. I told you that you didn’t have to cook for us. I’m perfectly capable of feeding my children dinner.” She gave me an indulgent smile. “I know, sweetheart. But I’m here, and you work hard.” She walked to the stove, then picked up the huge pot of pasta to carry to the sink. I kept my sigh inside. We’d be eating spaghetti for a week. My mother didn’t know how to cook for just a few people. Leaving her to it, I focused on my daughter, sitting at the table with her math book open in front of her. I kissed the top of her curly head. Those curls she’d gotten from her mother—God rest her soul—and Nina gave me a huge smile. “How was school today, sweet pea?” “Good. Normal. Learned stuff. This math is hard, though. Can you help me later?” “Of course.” I grinned, because even though we’d lost Michelle five years ago, Nina sounded so much like her mother sometimes it was scary. Nina was a little mini-Michelle, and I loved that she would carry part of her mother with her always. Quinn, on the other hand, was a mini-me. Twins hadn’t even been on our radar when we started trying to have kids, but Nina and Quinn surprised us both. Thinking about my son, I realized he wasn’t at the table. “Where’s your brother?” My mother made a noise as she set the drained and sauced pasta on the table. “Moping in his room.” I ignored her and kept my attention on Nina. Her bottom lip stuck out just a little. At ten, the twins were in that halfway transitioning stage. Still children, but maturing. It was times like this, though, I could see the small child poking through. “The parts for the play got announced today,” Nina whispered. Oh, damn. I should have remembered that was today. Quinn was so dang excited about auditioning for the holiday show. He’d been talking about it for years, about how as soon as he was in fifth grade, and old enough, he was going to be in the show. I placed a hand on the top of Nina’s head and gave her scalp a little rub. “I’ll talk to him.” “Tell him to come to dinner.” My mother’s tone made it clear that she felt Quinn should be at the table, and not having whatever emotions he was having in his room. I shot a look over my shoulder at her. “Ma, I love you. And I appreciate you coming here to watch the kids after school. I’m grateful you make us dinner even though I tell you not to. But I parent my kids, right?” She blinked. “Yes, of course.” Her voice carried the tiniest bit of hurt. I sighed, and turned around to kiss her cheek. “Thanks, Ma. You heading home or staying to eat with us?” “Oh, I have to get your father’s dinner on the table, so I’m going.” She seemed a little flustered, and I knew she’d stayed later than she’d intended. My mother was old-fashioned in a lot of ways, and though she’d held her own job for forty-five years, she still felt it her responsibility to feed my father. If Dad had been a different sort of man, I would have had issue with that. But Vito Valenti doted on his wife, and loved my mother fiercely. “All right. Thanks again. We’ll see you tomorrow.” I gave her a squeeze and another peck on the cheek, then headed upstairs. Quinn’s door stood open, but I knocked anyway, and waited for him to give me permission before entering. My kids needed privacy just as much as any other human, and I wasn’t the type to barge in unannounced. Quinn was sitting in his desk chair, books open in front of him, but he was hunched over on himself, staring moodily at the wall. I gave him what I hoped was a sympathetic smile as I picked my way over the socks and pants strewn on the floor. Quinn wasn’t usually this messy, and I knew he’d pick up everything before too long. It would drive him nuts before it bothered me. “Hey, kiddo.” I sat on the edge of his neatly made bed. “How was school today?” Quinn made a hurt-sounding noise, and I wanted to hug and cuddle him. But he wouldn’t appreciate that. Nina was still good about wanting hugs, but Quinn was trying to grow out of it. He gave hugs when he wanted, and I tried to savor those. “That good, huh?” I gave a little chuckle, but sighed when he didn’t say anything. “What happened?” Quinn shrugged one shoulder, and I stayed silent. My son was just like me in so many ways, I knew I had to wait only a few minutes before he’d talk. Sure enough, after just sixty or so seconds, he made that hurt noise again. “I didn’t get the part.” “Ah, man. That sucks,” I said, meaning it. “I know how much you wanted it.” “I’m good, Dad! Better than the kid that got it! I sing like a thousand times better!” I didn’t care that he was shouting. He was allowed to express himself in any way he needed to. “I don’t doubt it,” I whispered, hopefully reminding him to rein it in. And I didn’t doubt it. Quinn’s voice was good enough to make angels weep. He had so much talent I was sure he was better than anyone in the school. “And I didn’t get the part. Instead, I’m in the stupid chorus.” He unfurled then, and started kicking the edge of his desk. Not hard, but a rapid tap-tap-tap that showed his agitation. I left him to it for a moment while I figured out what to say. One of those teachable moments. Michelle would have found the right words instantly, but I had to work at it. I loved my children, and I did a damn good job parenting them on my own, but moments like this weren’t easy. “Like I said, it sucks that you didn’t get the part you wanted. But the chorus isn’t stupid, is it?” He shot me a glare, but I just kept on talking. “The chorus is an important part of the show, right? Everybody needs to be involved to make the show a success. Right?” Quinn kept glaring, but he shrugged one shoulder again. “I guess.” It was progress at least. “And it’s experience. Think of it this way, you get to be part of the show, learn how things go, and next year you can use that when you audition.” With a huge sigh, he unfolded his arms. “That’s what Mr. James said when I asked him why I didn’t get Timmy.” “You asked?” Quinn wasn’t usually that assertive, and a sense of pride filled my chest that he’d gone out of his way to talk to the teacher. He nodded, still looking miserable. “He said I was really good, one of the best, but that older kids needed their chance. And I still had a couple years at the school, and I could use the experience next year.” “See?” I stood and crossed the room, stopping next to his chair. “It’s disappointing, I know. But we don’t always get what we want. So learn and grow from it, okay? And next year, you crush your competition and get whatever part you want.” Quinn chuckled, and in a surprise move, threw his arms around my middle. I hugged him tightly, and let him pull away when he was done. “Nana made dinner, so how about you wash up and we eat. Then we’ll get homework done and maybe watch a movie before bed.” “Okay, Dad.” He hopped up and headed for his door, but at the last second, he turned back. “Thanks.” And then he was gone, running to the bathroom. I smiled and followed at a slower pace. My heart hurt for Quinn. I wanted him to have everything he wanted, and I hated seeing him so disappointed. But he was going to be okay, and that was the most important thing.