The sponge fell from my hand. “You . . . what?”

“I wanted us to have a real Christmas this year, so I called your mom and dad and invited them to stay with us. I thought I’d surprise you. They’ll be here the day before we were supposed to leave. I know how disappointed you were when you couldn’t go home for Thanksgiving, so I thought they could come here,” he said. “I had no idea you’d get so upset, believe me, or I would have talked to you about it first.”

My thoughts whirled; emotions crashed and banged around inside. Touched? Overwhelmed? Surprised? My eyes filled with tears as I crossed to him through the gingerbread carnage.

“You really want to spend Christmas with my family?” I asked, taking his face in my hands.

“I do,” he murmured, his eyes full of something I couldn’t pinpoint. “Weird?”

“No, babe. So sweet,” I whispered, holding him tightly.

His arms slipped around my waist and he kissed the top of my head. “Are you still mad?”

“I was, but I’m not now,” I replied, leaning in closer to his ear. “But next time, just talk to me, okay?”

“Promise,” he whispered into my ear, then kissed me fierce. “I’m going to get us the biggest Christmas tree you’ve ever seen.” He grinned, his face full of excitement. Crisis over. He took off his jacket and surveyed the cookie damage. “Now, what can I do to help?”

“You can start by helping me clean up this mess. Then we need to get these packed up if we’re going to make it to the party before Sophia and Neil Round Three begins,” I said, handing him a broom.

He started to clean up, whistling along to “Frosty the Snowman.” I turned back to the soapy sink, wiping my tears away. One of them belonged to Rio.

• • •

The stage for Sophia vs. Neil Round Three (known in conventional circles as Mimi and Ryan’s Christmas Party) was set the second Neil showed up with a hot nerd. A hot nerd, you ask? Let me back up a bit . . .

Sophia had met a new guy at a symphony benefit. Bernard Fitzsimmons, associate professor of applied physics at Berkeley and vice president of the Bay Area Musical Appreciation Society, had the pleasure of meeting Sophia at a Music in Schools program fund-raiser she was performing at. Being incredibly talented as well as gorgeous, she was often called upon to perform at charitable functions, especially ones that were musically inclined.

They shared a cab and a kiss after the event, and Sophia invited him to the party. He was wicked smart and wicked cute, both attributes complementing each other nicely.

Neil got wind of this development, orchestrated carefully and quite purposefully by Mimi to be clear—“Oh, she’s going for the hot nerds now, huh?”—and he went on the hunt for his own Hot Nerd. He ended up meeting Polly Pinkerton, the head of a research lab at UCSF Medical Center, specializing in the effects of pesticides and insecticides on child development. She was appearing on the morning show on the local NBC affiliate, and Neil spent the entire time in the green room flirting with her over a pot of hazelnut French roast. Hopped up on caffeine, he saw her as the perfect Hot Nerd to bring to the party. But he also genuinely enjoyed her company, and had seen her a couple of times before the party.

They both brought nerds to an ex fight, and neither was ready for the outcome.

Bernard? Cute, yes. Smart, yes. Boring, yes. I’d been stuck in the kitchen with him and Sophia for almost thirty minutes discussing beige walls and their place in home interiors, because Bernard loved HGTV, don’t you know. Sophia had been giving me the “sorry” eye all night, but I understood.

He was what Carrie Bradshaw had called a “great on paper” guy. Unfortunately he was as dull as paper too. I was in the middle of discussing sand vs. stone and trying to stop myself from biting off my own arm so I had something to beat him with, when I heard Neil’s voice from the entryway.

Sophia froze. I froze. Bernard waxed poetic on the beauty of a periodic table painted in the softest hues of putty and bone.

“Putty and Bone,” I told Sophia, “what a great name for a—”

“Oh, shush with your great name for a band—here comes Neil,” Sophia hissed, wrapping her arm around Bernard, who was coaxed from his beige oration by very soft br**sts pressed into his side. His eyes widened and he shifted his feet nervously. I almost felt a little sorry for him; the poor guy had no idea what he was caught up in.

“Putty and Bone is a great name for a band,” I mumbled to myself, taking my leave and a shrimp puff from the potluck table.

The party was in full swing; beautiful couples swaying to rockabilly Christmas songs on the stereo, hot toddies and spiked cider being poured generously by Ryan, while Mimi set out tray after tray of goodies.

As I shrimp puffed, I scanned the crowd for Simon. He was talking to one of Ryan’s friends from work. I caught his eye and pointed toward the hallway, where Neil was making his way to the kitchen. The girl he had in tow was darling; sharp eyes and a curious look on her face as she took in the crowd. They were on a collision course for Sophia and Beige Bernard. I stuffed another puff in my mouth and spy-walked back toward the kitchen, meeting up with Simon, who had also alerted Mimi and Ryan, around the corner.

“You know, this is getting ridiculous,” I said as we four took up a watch-and-wait stance, flanking either entrance to the kitchen.

“We’re just watching out for our friends,” Simon said, flattening himself against the wall. When did this become Mission Impossible?

Right about when Sophia and Neil laid eyes on each other for the first time since Game Night, and remembered that while Beige Bernard and Pretty Polly were fine and dandy, they weren’t ever going to blow their hair back. They were never going to be the “one.” But that didn’t stop them from trying.

“Sophia.”

“Neil.”

So dramatic, these two.

“Bernard?”

“Polly?”

Wait, what?

The four of us peeked around the corner like totem poles, watching as Pretty and Beige collided in the center of the room in a tangle of arms and laughter.

“Wow, Polly! I haven’t seen you since the symposium on genetic rehabilitation at the Hilton in Anaheim,” Bernard said, looking thrilled to see her.

“Has it been that long? I looked for you at the Quantum Summit in San Diego; I thought for sure you’d be there,” Polly replied, looking up shyly through her eyelashes.

“I was in Switzerland—the Hadron,” he said, puffing out his chest a bit. I didn’t get it, but she sure looked impressed.

“Large Hadron Collider, it’s at CERN in Switzerland,” Ryan whispered across the entryway. Mimi looked impressed too. With Ryan.

“Uh, Bernard, why don’t you introduce me to your friend,” Sophia interjected, tugging at his arm. He didn’t notice. She pushed her boobs out. He noticed.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Polly. These are, I mean, this is Sophia,” he said, flushing. “Sophia, this is Polly. She heads up a lab over at UCSF—”

“I play cello with the San Francisco Symphony,” Sophia spat out, looking surprised at her own word vomit.

I bit down on my fist to keep from laughing.

“Very nice to meet you, Sophia, This is Neil. We just met; he—”

“Hi. NBC. Channel 11,” Neil said, pumping Bernard’s hand up and down furiously. “Sports?” he finished, when Bernard looked at him in puzzlement. “I’m the sportscaster? You know, Neil makes the call every day at six and eleven?” he finished in his best broadcasting voice.

“Oh, sure, hi. Nice to meet you . . . Neil?”

Simon choked back his own laughter.

Polly and Bernard continued to talk in the center of the room while Neil and Sophia backed into their own corners, confused. I went back to the shrimp puffs with Simon, content that this night would work itself out.

• • •

An hour later I was huddled in the bathroom with Sophia and Mimi, debating the benefits of an on-purpose nip slip. Bernard and Polly had continued to reminisce about conferences they’d attended, who had published what article in which journal, and now they were talking about some charming guy named quark who was a bottom? Ryan had attempted to explain the latter, but when he launched into fundamental forces and particle decay, I couldn’t listen anymore. Mainly because Mimi was panting so loudly; she loved it when Ryan gave good science.

So now here we were, debating the slip of said nip, and whether it would be enough to get Sophia’s night back on track. A little tipsy from too many toddies and still thrown by the fact that I wasn’t going to Rio, I was losing interest quickly.

“Oh, for God’s sake, just go flash some cleave at Professor Boring over there, will you?” I snapped, pushing back out to the party. Pretty Polly and Beige Bernard were on the couch, noses practically touching, and I was pretty sure more body parts were on their way.

Their chemistry was the kind that was cultivated in a petri dish and simmered over a Bunsen burner until hot and horny. Someone’s hadron was colliding tonight, that was for sure.

I spied Neil heading over to where Sophia had just appeared from the bathroom, and I rolled my eyes.

“How ya doin’, babe?” Simon asked, taking my arm.

“Great! How ’bout you?”

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I drained my toddy and looked around for another.

“Because half your boob is out of your shirt,” he replied, turning me into the wall and away from some rather delighted guests.

“Shit,” I exclaimed, tucking myself back in. “I was demonstrating how to—oh, never mind.”

“Maybe we should think about heading home,” he suggested.

I was about to tell him what I thought about this when we heard a crash from the kitchen. We all got there at the same time to find Neil wearing a bowl of potato salad and Sophia holding a plate of shrimp puffs over his head. With a nip purposefully slipped. Neil’s eyes were locked on the nip, rage burning through the potato salad.

“Cover yourself!” he growled.

“Cover this!” she shouted.

“My shrimp puffs!” Mimi moaned.

“How far is your car?” Polly asked as she and Bernard sailed out the front door.

I shook my head, gathered up my cookies and my Wallbanger, and headed for Sausalito.

Simon and I had been together over a year now, and of course there were nights that we didn’t have sex when he was home. Headache? Sometimes I got them. That time of the month? Definitely not happening. But this was the first time I said no because I was irritated.

And he was now irritated that I was irritated.

It’s fair to say I blamed it on Rio.

chapter fourteen

The following montage has been reproduced from the television special Caroline’s Christmas Spectacular. If you are able to listen to “It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas,” preferably the Johnny Mathis version, please do so now.

We open on a driveway. A beat-up black Range Rover is parked there, covered almost entirely with an enormous blue spruce Christmas tree. A devastatingly gorgeous man with jet-black hair and a grin that sparkles with mischief is untying the tree, catching it just before it falls onto the concrete. He laughs, tossing a look over his shoulder at a pretty—no, a stunning—blonde who watches from the sidewalk. Her full, perky br**sts push out against a sweater decorated with reindeer. The luckiest reindeer ever to grace wool. Ahem. As she watches the handsome man wrestle with the tree, she calls out to him, and he laughs again. He also notices the reindeer . . . How could he not?

Cut to the same couple, now joined with another happy young pair. A man with wavy blond hair, horn-rimmed glasses, and a scholarly look about him sits next to a tiny Asian woman with impeccably groomed shiny black hair and an impossibly short skirt. The four are tucked into a red leather booth in Chinatown, and as they crack into a round of fortune cookies, the brunette woman slides a festively wrapped present across the table to her friend, the stunning blonde. The four friends smile at each other as they read their fortunes. The man with blond hair looks up and spies a bundle of mistletoe, prompting him to steal a kiss from the tiny brunette.

Cut to a buxom redhead, dressed in a long black dress. She is on a stage surrounded by an entire symphony as she plays a solo on a cello. While the music swells, bringing merry tunes to all the concertgoers, she inclines her head in appreciation of the applause. As her music is absorbed by the rest of the musicians once again, she seems to have a far-off look in her eyes . . . hinting at sadness, perhaps? What could a girl this lovely have to be sad about at Christmas?

Cut to a television studio, where an athletic man with curly dark hair and a winning smile tells his audience about the latest sports news. In between the football highlights and the blooper reel, one can imagine all the viewers tuning in. Is one of them the buxom redhead? Does he hope so?

Cut to the pretty blonde sitting in front of a giant window wall. Through the window we can see the deep gray-blue of a large body of water, and in the distance we can see the outline of a great city. The skyline suggests San Francisco. In the reflection of the window we can see an enormous Christmas tree, decorated with twinkly lights and sparkly baubles. The gorgeous man enters, a majestic cat at his heels. As he sits down next to the pretty blonde, we see that she was reading a magazine. She hurriedly closes it, but before she can, we see over her shoulder that it was open to an article about Brazil.

Cut to a bedroom where we can see . . . Fade to black. Family program.

Cut back to our original couple, now seated at a table piled high with Christmas delights. Dishes of buttery mashed potatoes, bowls of green beans and sweet potatoes, crowned by a perfectly roasted turkey. As the pretty blonde brings an apple pie to the sideboard, the gorgeous man gives her a secret smile that makes her blush. Does he know something we don’t know?