The Twelve Days of Dash & Lily(49)

I opened my eye.

“I hope I did that right,” Lily said.

“If it were me, I probably would’ve wrapped up the wrong eye.”

“There was some…glitter. Kind of embedded in the side of your face. I didn’t know whether to take it out or leave it. I figure the doctor will do that next time?”

“Just adds to my street cred,” I assured her. “Already balladeers are crafting legends about the boy known as Glitter Pirate and his way with the blades.”

“I’m so—”

“Don’t say it! It was no more your fault than it was Andrew Carnegie’s fault for funding so many libraries, which led a century later to so many librarians on ice skates who were unprepared for glitter explosions. Anyway, I had a great time until the, you know, hospitalization. The Rawkettes knocked my socks off—which was no small feat, considering how laced up I was.”

At this moment, Leeza called out, “Everything okay in there?”

Considering my father’s comments about Lily’s bad influence, I wanted to yell out something about champagne and a sponge bath—but I wasn’t sure there’d be a way to explain the joke to Lily without hurting her feelings. So instead I yelled out, “All’s well!” and then murmured to Lily, “We must get out of this apartment as quickly as humanly possible. In fact, forget human constraints—let’s make like cheetahs. Or gazelles.”

“Are you sure?” Lily asked, looking me in the eye.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“I don’t know. They made you pancakes.”

“She made me pancakes. Mostly because she feels bad that he’s such a jerk.”

In certain circumstances, this would have been the point to say Oh, he’s not that bad. But my father didn’t merit those circumstances.

“The city awaits us!” I told Lily.

“Well, then,” she said, putting all the supplies back in my backpack, “we shouldn’t keep it waiting.”

We thanked Leeza about a dozen times each for the pancakes, and she asked us about a dozen times if we were sure we didn’t want more.

“Leaving already?” my father said the minute he was done with his paper.

“Only two shopping days left!” I chirped, which sounded inane even to me.

“Well, what’s the answer about Christmas? Will you be joining us or not?”

Only Leeza and Lily’s presence prevented me from saying “Not,” and then walking away.

“I’m afraid I already have other plans,” I said instead.

“What plans?” my father said skeptically.

I didn’t want to tell him about Mrs. Basil E.’s party. Because she’d invited me in a way that I knew my father would never invite Lily. It didn’t seem fair to put them on the same plane.

“I have plans with Lily,” I answered, and let that be that.

“Wonderful!” Leeza said.

My father gave me a look to say, Lily’s not family.

I tried to give him a look back that said, She’s better family to me than you are.

I kissed Leeza on the cheek. She seemed surprised—this was not our goodbye ritual.

“I’ll drop by after Christmas,” I told her. “I promise.”

“We’ll be here!” she replied.

My father didn’t get up from his seat.

“Bye, Dad,” I said.

“Bye!” Lily echoed.

I was so relieved when we were out of there.

—

“So,” Lily said when we got to the street, “what should we do? I have dog walking at three. But before that, I’m all yours.”

“Well,” I said, checking my watch, “it’s a little too early for a Salty Pimp.”

“Agreed. Maybe later. Do you need more caffeination?”

I shook my head. “I think it’ll play with my head.”

“So…”

“So…”

This is the funny thing about New York—there are so many things to do at all times of the day, but there are still moments when you have no idea which of them to do, and feel extra silly because you know there has to be something out there for you to do; your mind just hasn’t found it yet.

“I didn’t make any plans,” Lily said apologetically. “After last night, I thought maybe I shouldn’t.”

“And I haven’t made any plans. But we shouldn’t let that tip us into planless despair.”

“We could go help Langston and Benny pack.”

“That may require too many visual cues.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Maybe we should just have an early Salty Pimp.”

“I’m not even sure they’re open at ten.”

The whole city. We had the whole city! And yet…

“Do you hear that?” Lily asked. At first I didn’t know what she meant. Then I focused not on my thoughts but on what was happening outside my thoughts—and I heard it.

“Is that bagpipes?” I asked.

“I think it’s bagpipes,” Lily said.

Then, as if to confirm our theory, a bagpiper rounded the corner. Then another. And another. Eleven times over. A platoon of bagpipers, playing Joni Mitchell’s “River.” Behind them was a trail of sidewalkers—not marching in formation but instead summoned to follow along, to see where this was going.