“Chocolate scones, freshly-squeezed orange juice with a splash of sparkling white wine, and mascarpone cookies. And these are just for the wives and girlfriend.” I bring my dad over to the kitchen table where I have everything ready to be brought out to the backyard for the party. I glance up at him and he smiles, and he just looks so proud - which of course makes me feel great.

“Lizzie,” he says, “this looks fantastic. I couldn’t be happier with what you’ve prepared. And I know everyone’s going to just love it.”

“Oh, but you haven’t let me finish yet,” I say, making my way over to the refrigerator. “I also have cold beers, chips and salsa, a cold-cut platter, and cannoli for the men. In case chocolate scones aren’t exactly their preference.”

“Sweetie, everything looks good, and I know everyone’s going to like anything they try.”

He puts his arm around me and gives me a quick peck on the forehead as I wipe my hands off on my apron. It’s just about time for the party to start, and I was up late last night and up early this morning to get everything finished.

It’s not charity. I am not doing this for him out of the goodness of my heart, and he isn’t throwing me this gig out of the goodness of his. It’s a mutual business agreement between me and his firehouse, and I just happen to be the best vendor for the job.

Okay, maybe it’s because the first caterer fell through when her entire staff caught a bad bold this Thursday and it became impossible for her to fulfill the order to feed twenty-four hunky, hungry firemen and their significant others.

I’ve heard they’re easy to please and will eat anything.

Still, I put everything into this brunch. My blood, sweat and tears. Kidding, there’s no blood, sweat or tears in the food. Just a lot of hard work and care.

“Oh!” I say, slipping away from dad, “and my business cards just came back from the printer.”

“Just in time too,” he says, peering down his reading glasse to look at the card as I hand one to him.

“Yep, I couldn’t have planned it better myself,” I say, looking over his shoulder at the card as he sits down at the kitchen table. “I’m sorry everyone at Murphy’s got sick. But when life hands you lemons, you make lemonade.”

“Lizzie’s special homemade lemonade,” Dad says, smiling up at me. “Thanks again for doing all this. This was an enormous help. I called all over and no one could do the order on such short notice.”

“It’s my absolute pleasure,” I say as he hands me the card back.

“Keep it,” I say, giving it back to him, “hand it to the first firefighter who asks where he can buy a jar of the salsa. And then the second one who asks, send him over to me.”

“Saleswoman, entrepreneur, chef. I did a bang-up job raising an amazing lady, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did do a pretty good job,” I say, peering out the window, “but don’t I get any of the credit?”

“Of course you do honey,” he says with a laugh. “You’d have grown up right no matter who raised you.”

“Of course,” I say, ribbing him. “Now, I have a few things to finish up in here before the guests arrive. Let me grab you a beer, and you go outside because it looks like you have a few people starting to show up. I’ll tell Mom you’re outside when she comes down.”

I put a cold beer in my dad’s hands as he starts out of the kitchen toward the back door of the house where I’ve lived for the last twenty-five years.

And it is a little difficult and a little bittersweet to be making this meal, because I’m getting ready to move out and start my own life.

Okay, maybe it is a little late to be moving out of your parents’ house, but I have my reasons.

So I kind of think of today as a farewell brunch for me, just on a personal level. It’s the last big meal I’ll be cooking in this kitchen while living here.

It’s a good kitchen, too, and I’ll be sad to see it go, but I have bigger fish to fry. It’s not like I’m never going to come back, or anything.

The guests are starting to arrive. I have to pop open a few bottles of sparkling white wine and top off the orange juice for the mimosas, and I have to set things up on trays, and I have to put on my little caterer outfit.

I actually don’t have to do that last part, but I want to. I think it’s cute. And even though most of the guys in my dad’s firehouse already know me, I want them to know that I’m here at the party to work.

And anyway...I think it’s cute. It’s a little black skirt and a white collared shirt and black suspenders.

Not that I’m trying to get the attention of anyone at the party, though. These are my dad’s coworkers, and I know all of them already. Most of them are married, and the one who aren’t? I’m just not interested. They’re all cute, sure, but they’re too old for me.

Okay, I am lying to myself.

There is one guy who I have noticed. He’s new to my dad’s crew. I don’t even know his name.

I only know him from his picture in the firefighters’ calendar.

I only know him as Mr. December.