Midwest. I turned down kind invitations to spend the holiday with Cilla’s and Gaz’s respective families because I kept hoping for a last-minute break in the weather, but it became clear that even if I somehow got to Iowa for Christmas, I was fifty-fifty at best to return in time for Klosters. Nick called from the annual Lyons gathering up at Sandringham to tell me everyone would understand, but Lacey and Mom were adamant that I shouldn’t risk it, Mom even threatening to disown me if I tried. So I spent the holiday alone in my flat with a radiator that worked only half the time but clanged monotonously all of the time, and a toilet that wouldn’t stop flushing unless I hit the tank with the broad side of a dictionary.
But I embraced the unplanned quietude, which I had jokingly christened my Solitary Refinement. I bought a pint-size fake tree and decorated it with tinsel and ornaments from a local drugstore. I hung the holiday cards I’d gotten above my imitation fireplace, and I stocked up on port wine and fancier beer. And every day I spruced up my blue Oxford sweatshirt with Nick’s present to me. Eleanor decreed long ago that the Royal Family must give only gag gifts at Christmas—which makes perfect sense; Sephora gift cards don’t quite cut it for a woman who has her own Gutenberg Bible—but I think Nick missed the satisfaction of giving actual thoughtful presents to his loved ones, because he blew past our amiably low price cap and bought me a delicate diamond solitaire pendant on a long gold chain (so I could wear it under my clothes, next to my heart, without anyone being the wiser). I gave him a sweater and a cheat guide for cryptic crosswords. In my defense, he is almost as hard to shop for as his grandmother, and he needed both.
On Christmas Day, I luxuriated in changing out of my sleeping pajamas and into a new flannel set specifically for loafing around, and spent the day watching movies. Just as I got antsy for human contact—right at the part of The Sound of Music when the Von Trapp kids are parading around Salzburg dressed in nothing but some old drapes—I heard a sloppy knock at my door.
“Who is it?” I shouted. My peephole was permanently fogged.
“Gaz. I bring delicacies.”
I fumbled at the chain and tugged open the door. Gaz charged through, a burst of frosty air around him as he made a beeline for my compact kitchen, carrying several grocery bags from Harrods. He dumped his quarry on whatever counter space he could find and surveyed my place.
“Cilla said your flat was small, but I didn’t realize she meant you could see into the lav from the kitchen,” he said. “I could probably use it from here.”
“Go ahead, you just metaphorically peed all over the place anyway,” I said. “What are you doing here? I mean, I’m glad to see you, but I’m not exactly company-ready.”
“My family is all done in by about two o’clock. Big fat Christmas dinner and then straight into a food coma.” He patted his stomach. “But I’m a growing boy and I need my third meal, see, and Cilla said you wouldn’t go with her to Yorkshire to have her eighteen nieces and nephews blow their noses all over you, so voila, your savior is here.”
Gaz started pulling things willy-nilly from the bags. “I brought all kinds of goodies. Come have a butcher’s. We’ve got cheese and onion pasties, a pork pie; have you ever had one? Bloody brilliant. Oh, and a spot of cheese and caviar, and some chocolates.”
It was the sweetest gesture, and one he’d clearly planned well in advance. I gave him a sniffly, tight hug.
“Now, now,” he said, reddening, but clearly delighted. “I know I’m a sexy beast, but I can’t have my mate’s girl throwing herself at me.”
We carried the food into my living room and spent a lively night yelling at the remainder of The Sound of Music, cheering so vibrantly at the nun with the carburetor that my downstairs neighbor banged on the ceiling to shut us up.
“God, what a film,” Gaz said when it ended, folding his hands onto his stomach. “That naughty baroness was the first woman I ever saw who drew on eyebrows. I didn’t know if I was afraid of her or in love with her.” He screwed up his face. “Probably both. Might explain a few things.”