Sleeping on his friend’s sofa was never comfortable.  In his mind, sofas should be easy to sleep on. Otherwise, what was the point?  But really, it wasn’t their gruff, wool seat cushions or their stupid little throw pillows that was keeping him up.

It had been over a year.  And while he was doing better, he still wasn’t over it.  Most nights he’d be asleep by now.  But most nights he would be in his own bed.  And laying there, two nights before Christmas… loneliness crept in like dear old Saint Nick down a chimney.  

He found himself scrolling through her twitter account. He knew he shouldn’t.  He thought about wishing her a Merry Christmas, but fought the urge. Most of her twitter was fluff and nonsense, but then he ran across some posts about her dating and he knew he’d made a mistake.

TWEET: Why can’t I meet the right guy?!

Why wasn’t he the right guy?  She never had an answer to that question. 

He was so wrapped up in his self-loathing that he didn’t notice the little footsteps coming down the stairs and behind him.  A tiny, raven-haired girl was staring him down.

“PUH-TRAN?  What are you doing?”

She plopped down next to him.  “You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“You were making too much noise and I couldn’t sleep.” She put her hand in the air and shrugged, as if to say she had no choice in the matter.

“I wasn’t making any noise.”

This bit of fact did not deter her.  “That’s what I meant.  It was too quiet and I couldn’t sleep.”  Before he could protest her new line of defense, she pointed to his phone.  Are you playing a game, puh-tran?”

At the age of seven, she was still mis-pronouncing his title, Parran. It was the French word for Godfather and used commonly in their hometown.  The family has discussed correcting her, since she was getting older and in a few years mispronouncing words would go from cute to getting calls from the school Guidance Counselor’s office. In the end, they decided against it, because it was still cute and made them laugh, and frankly, they weren’t particularly good people.

“No, Love. I wasn’t playing a game. I was just…” He tried to find something appropriate to tell a seven year old.  Before he could make something up, she zeroed in on the problem.  “Are you sad?”  

His goddaughter’s cuteness was a weapon.  It hid a lot, including her perceptiveness.  “Yes, Love.”   She leaned in, hugged his right arm and looked up at him.  “Is it because you miss Nanny?”  She was still five when her godmother had left him, but she still remembered her from the pictures and all the times she’d stayed at their home when he parents needed babysitters. At the time, he thought perhaps that was them practicing for when they would have a child of their own.  But she wasn’t interested.

“Yes, Love.  I was thinking about Nanny.”  Her arms squeezed him tighter.  “Don’t be sad, Puh-tran.  Maybe she misses you too. Maybe she’ll come home.”    He choked back a sob.  “No sweetheart.  I don’t think she wants to come home.” She bit her bottom lip as she pondered what to say next.  “Well… if you want, I could ask Santa to bring her home for Christmas?”

This time he struggled to choke back a laugh.  “Well… thank you sweetie, but I already talked to Santa.  He said he couldn’t do it.”

She was silent for a minute.  

Finally she got up on her knees and faced him. “You know what makes me feel better when I’m sad?”

SIGH.  He knew why she came downstairs.   “Let me guess… hot chocolate?”  Her smile lit up and she nodded in an almost cartoonish manner.  “You know it’s too late for hot chocolate. Your mom would never let you have it at this hour.”

His attempt at logic was so futile as to be laughable.  One of her superpowers was to sense weakness.  This little girl didn’t come downstairs near midnight on a gamble.  She knew all she had to do was stare long enough with those big brown eyes and he would do anything. 

He tried to resist, so she pushed harder.  Her little hand went up on his shoulder and she spoke like a used car salesman trying to make a deal.  “Puh-tran. I think we both need hot chocolate.”

A minute later the water was boiling.  Two coffee mugs were placed on the table and filled with a bit of heavy cream and chocolate powder that would surely be causing him heartburn an hour from now.

The water finished boiling and he poured it into the mugs.  He took the two of them and placed one on the kitchen table in front of her and another where he was sitting.  She looked down at the steaming cup of chocolate and then looked up at him like “is this it?”

“What?”

“You forgot something.”  

“It’s hot chocolate. Drink it.”

She shook her head, no.  “You have to make your special hot chocolate.” 

Of course. Back when she would stay over with them, he would put a dollop of ice cream in the hot chocolate, to cool it off slightly and add flavor.  It was her favorite.   Actually, it was a favorite of both of them.  He hadn’t made it since she left.

“Sweetheart, it’s too late for ice cream. Your mom would lose her mind if she saw this.”

A minute later he was scooping Reece’s chocolate-peanut butter ice cream into the hot chocolate.  She took a sip and then gave him a big, chocolate-covered smile.

“AHHHH!” she gesticulated broadly, “That’s the good stuff!”

He laughed.  He could never figure out what made her come up with things like that.

The smile didn’t go unnoticed.

“Are you still sad, Puh-tran?” 

He shook his head. “No, Love. I’m not sad anymore.”

She gave him a knowing glance.  “I knew it. You just needed hot chocolate.”

He laughed.  “Yep. You were right.  I have everything I need, right here.  Now drink your chocolate.  It’s time for bed.”

And yet, despite this, he didn’t rush her.  He sat there for a while longer and enjoyed the moment.