Page 4 of Not Another Christmas Movie

The person was focused on an enormous wooden chair. The backs of their socked feet were hanging out of a pair of leopard slippers, and under a knit hat, Annie could see earbuds in each ear and a head lightly nodding to what Annie assumed was music or a lively podcast.

“What’s happening here?” Annie asked loudly to the person’s back.

Nick Laurel startled, screamed, and jumped straight up and around to face Annie, the string of lights traveling with him. Nick’s eyes were wide in surprise, and under each Annie could make out two pink, glossy patches. Despite the questionable fashion choices, she was mostly struck by how he didn’t look like the little kid who used to annoy her with endless streams of questions at the bus stop, but how he looked way more like, well, a grown man. They had lived next door to each other their whole lives, Nick two grades below Annie, but besides waiting for the bus together and participating in various neighborhood activities throughout the passing New England seasons, they had mostly kept to their own social circles.

“I thought you were going to murder me!” Nick yelled in greeting, sounding like a sick bird and still clearly taken aback by Annie’s sudden arrival. “Hold on, let me pause my music!” he yelled, fumbling in his plaid pajama pants for his phone. Once he had a moment to return his earbuds to their holder, he took a calming breath. “Annie, hi, sorry, you scared me.”

“I can see that,” Annie answered. “I’m surprised those under-eye masks didn’t fly off,” Annie said, unable to tame her teasing tone. Nick swatted at his face, remembering his choice of self-care skin routine, and quickly peeled them away.

“My mom’s,” Nick muttered. “They’re snowflake winterberry scented … which doesn’t make sense because winterberries are poisonous to humans,” he explained, seemingly unsure why he was continuing to bring attention to the fact that he had been caught wearing his mother’s pink under-eye patches.

“Sounds dangerous,” Annie smirked. “I guess you’ve gone full bad boy these days, huh, Nick? And in leopard slippers?” Annie mock-gasped.

“Also my mom’s,” Nick groaned, obviously regretting all of his life choices.

“Oh, your mom. Forever a fashionista,” Annie admired.

“I couldn’t find my shoes, and she’s got at least fifty pairs of leopard or leopard-adjacent slippers in the house,” Nick said, and Annie nodded, knowing that wasn’t an exaggeration. Even Annie knew how much the woman notoriously loved her leopard print, and her feet were never bare.

“What were you listening to so vigorously?” Annie asked.

“Lilith Fair Does Christmas,” Nick said.

“I’ve never heard of that,” Annie said, crinkling her forehead in thought. If she wasn’t completely sick of holiday music, she’d definitely want to jam to that album. She and Marsha had spent many early childhood sleepovers in the musical company of most of the female singer-songwriters who had been a part of Lilith Fair during those fateful summers of her youth. Marsha’s mom had taken them to see a show at the Meadows when they were kids. Annie still had the concert T-shirt she had bought with her hard-earned money (obtained after teaching herself how to set up an eBay account one summer and auctioning off household items, much to her parents’ dismay but also reluctant awe). Subsequently, that summer likely played a part in her future career trajectory.

“It’s a playlist I made on Spotify,” Nick clarified. “I have Lilith Fair–inspired playlists for all the major holidays.”

“That tracks,” Annie smiled, remembering an impressionable child Nick asking Annie what kind of music she liked and studiously making a point to seek it out. It was endearing to know he had actually formed his own attachments to the lyrics and melodies that had been played as a part of her internal soundtrack. “So what’s up, Nick? How long’s it been?” She tried to remember when they had last crossed paths. It felt like a lifetime.

“Hoops and Hops the night before Thanksgiving. Six years ago,” Nick explained, not quite meeting Annie’s gaze. “But your high school graduation party was probably the last time we hung out together …” Nick trailed off.

“Hoops and Hops?” Annie asked, her face scrunching in surprise. “Why didn’t you say hi?”

“You were with a bunch of other people. I didn’t want to bother you,” Nick admitted.

“I don’t remember the last time I was there,” Annie admitted. A visit to the local dive bar clearly hadn’t cemented any lasting memory; she was impressed Nick had recalled that so quickly. “Whatcha doing out here in the middle of the night?” Annie asked, nibbling her cookie.

“I’m trying to set up a Santa display in the front yard,” Nick said, and Annie took a few steps closer to examine what she had assumed was a wooden chair.

“Ew, why does that thing look like it’s been stained with blood?” Annie asked.

“Fake blood,” Nick said, like it was obvious. Annie stared back, eyebrows raised. “This is one of the barber chairs from a touring production of Sweeney Todd. They were going to disassemble it now that their run is over, but it was offered to me first.”

“So you willingly drove that thing from Brooklyn to turn it into a Santa chair here?” Annie asked him, shaking her head in disbelief and wondering if her cookie was kicking in or if this was still normal Nick.

“I had to try,” Nick shrugged. “My team constructed it, and I didn’t have the heart to see it go. Plus, my parents didn’t do any decorating this year. I have my work cut out for me if I’m going to get things ready in time for Christmas.”

“What’s the point?” Annie asked.

“What do you mean? It’s Christmas,” Nick countered, seemingly confused by her confusion.

“I mean, our families won’t be home, why bother putting this stuff up? It’s not like it’s Halloween, which are the only kind of decorations worth the effort.”

“It’s the most magical time of the year. Annie, it’s Christmas!” Nick gaped, staring with genuine, wholehearted conviction. Annie huffed and rolled her eyes. “Not in the winter holiday spirit this year?” Nick asked softly.

“Oh, I could be into some holiday spirits …” Annie said quickly, refusing to acknowledge any type of emotional baggage at this time of night while outside with the neighbors’ kid and his weird, bloody Santa chair.

“It’s okay, even Scrooge embraced the season eventually,” Nick smiled, turning back to the chair.