Nick turned off the engine, got out, and walked around the back of the car. He opened her door and motioned for her to get out. With a feeling of dread, she exited the car and headed toward the staircase leading to her apartment. Her phone was still lighting up but she ignored it. When they got to apartment C8, Abbey slid the key in the lock and opened the door.
“Mama!” Max came running toward her, holding on to his Spider-Man action figure. He wrapped his arms around her and buried his head in her torso. Then, he pulled back and looked up. “Hi, Nick!” he said with a big grin.
“Hello,” Nick said to Max with a smile before looking up and greeting Abbey’s mom. She had clearly put on lipstick, the color clashing with the red of her shirt. Abbey knew how she felt. She wanted to spruce everything up. “Nick Sinclair,” he said with authority as he shook her mom’s hand.
“Leanne Fuller.” Her mom smiled nervously and took a step back. “Would you like to have a seat?” In a rush, she collected the storybooks, one of Max’s pillows, and a few toys from the sofa cushions.
Nick thanked her and sat down.
“Would you like something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I’m just fine.”
An awkward silence slithered between everyone after that. Max had run off to his room, and her mom was still smiling, wringing her hands, and glancing back and forth between Abbey and Nick.
“We’ve had a slight change of plans,” Abbey said, breaking the silence. “I’ve had a little car trouble so Nick is taking us to see Santa.”
“Oh!” her mom said a little too enthusiastically. “How wonderful.”
“Did you find his red sweater?”
“No,” her mom said.
“Would you help me look for it?” Abbey asked, trying to tell her more with her eyes as she asked the question.
Max came running out with his magic question ball. “Look what I have, Nick!” he said, climbing onto the sofa and leaning on Nick’s lap. Abbey worried he’d wrinkle Nick’s perfectly pressed trousers. “It answers your questions. Watch.” Max turned the ball over. “Will Santa think I’m a good boy this year?” He shook the ball and read the answer. “It is probable.” He looked at Nick. “What does probable mean?”
“It means that it’s likely. It’s possible.”
Abbey grabbed her mom by the arm and yanked her down the hallway.
“Would you like to explain to me what’s going on?” her mom whispered, her voice breathy and almost desperate for answers. “Quickly.”
“My car didn’t start at his house!” Abbey said as quietly as she could. “He just showed up and offered to take us to see Santa. I didn’t ask him. You know I never would.”
Her mom clasped her hands over her mouth to stifle an excited giggle.
“Shhh.” Abbey batted her laughter away. “Help me find Max’s sweater before Nick gets a chance to take in any more of my house! I wish I’d have known. I would’ve cleaned better.”
The two women rummaged around in Max’s room, tossing things left and right. They were quiet but the nervous energy was palpable. It wasn’t often that Abbey had a millionaire sitting on her sofa, his Mercedes parked out front, waiting for her to get herself and her son together.
“Found it!” she said, grabbing it off the top of a pile in the closet. She held it up, and her mom looked visibly relieved.
Abbey walked out into the living room. Nick was still on the sofa, but he was sitting on the edge of it, Max on his lap, and they were asking the magic question ball questions. Max was bouncing on Nick’s knee and the two of them looked so natural and relaxed, like they’d known each other all their lives. Max looked up.
“Let’s change your sweater,” she said. She worried about Max taking a liking to Nick. Their time was limited, and Max might be disappointed when he didn’t get to see him again. “And then we get to take a ride in Nick’s fancy car!” she said, trying to shake the worry.
“We do?” Max hopped up and ran over to his mother while simultaneously pulling his arms inside his T-shirt. Abbey pulled it over his head and draped it on the chair. Her mom came in behind her and scooped it up, headed for the laundry. Then, Abbey put the sweater over Max’s head, and he assisted her by finding the sleeves himself and pushing his arms through.
Her mom came back in with a comb. “Just check his face and hair,” she said, handing Abbey the comb while she bent down to adjust the cuffs on his jeans.
“Get your coat,” her mom said, clearly displacing her nervous energy on Max. “It’s cold. You’ll need to bundle up. How’s his hair?” She turned him around. “You look fantastic.”