Christmas morning, Mom hustles around the kitchen, humming carols and cooking her usual gigantic breakfast of bacon, eggs, some fancy casserole, and biscuits—and that doesn’t include the cinnamon coffee cake she already made. My mouth waters as I sit at the counter, sipping coffee, watching her. I’d offer to help, but it’s pointless. She’d only take her spatula and aim it at me, and tell me to sit my rear end down.

“Mom, can I have a piece of that coffee cake?”

“That’s what it’s there for.”

“I need a little starter, you know.”

She chuckles. She knows how my little starters are usually huge chunks of the thing. I slice off an enormous wedge as Dad walks in. The kitchen smells so good. It’s one of the things I love best about Christmas.

“Son, when are you leaving?” Dad asks.

“Early tomorrow.”

His eyes light up. I had mentioned something about going home tonight, but then I figured what’s the point in that? Even though I’m itching to get back to LA, back to Midnight, I would get home late so why not leave in the morning?

“Great. We can watch some football together.”

“Yeah.”

Mom smiles. She’s already put the turkey in the oven so I know she’s happy she doesn’t have to rush our Christmas meal.

When we’re done with breakfast, I offer to clean up, but Mom tries to argue. I insist and she finally takes a seat. Dad builds a fire and when I’m done, I run upstairs to fetch their gifts.

“You ready?” I ask.

“Yeah. But I wanted to give you yours first,” Mom says.

“Nope. I’m first.”

I hand them each a bag. Inside are a couple of hats. They give me a strange look and I chuckle. The next bag holds a small travel portfolio where they can keep credit cards and a passport. They still aren’t connecting the dots. The next bags are large because they contain comfortable shoes for walking.

“These are nice, Harrison,” Mom says. Dad looks on curiously.

The final bag will explain it all. It’s their itinerary. They will be going on a two-month trip to the Far East, starting with Japan, then Vietnam, on to Thailand, Malaysia, Tahiti, Hawaii, and ending up at my place.

“I don’t understand,” Mom says.

Laughing, I ask, “What don’t you understand?”

“What does it mean?”

“Mom, this means you and Dad will be going on a two-month second honeymoon. You’ll be traveling to some very exclusive places, complete with your own personal tour guide, and staying at some very swanky resorts.”

The circle her mouth forms is so huge I might be able to stick a golf ball in it. I laugh.

“Harrison, you can’t afford this,” Mom says.

“Of course I can afford this, or I wouldn’t be doing it.”

“But ... but ... two months?” she asks.

“Yes, two months. You’ve never done anything like this and you deserve it. We can tweak this if you want. On that paper is the travel agent’s name. All you have to do is give her a call. She’ll take good care of you.”

“Two months?” Dad asks.

“Why not?”

“Who will water the plants?” Mom wants to know.

“Your housekeeper. Just have her come in once a week and check on things. Stop your mail and paper. All your utilities, forward to me, and I’ll handle them until you get back. It’s that simple.”

“We can’t possibly do that.”

Dad grabs Mom and says, “Yes, we can. It’s going to be amazing. I was trying to come up with an idea, but this ... this is better than Europe for two weeks any day of the year. Start packing, Laura, we’re going to Asia.”

Mom’s hands fly to her face. “Oh, my, God. I can’t believe this.” Then she jumps out of her seat and throws her arms around me. “Thank you, thank you.”

“It’s not even close to what you and Dad deserve.”

She steps back and asks, “But how can you afford this?”

It’s time for them to know the truth. Inhaling, I say, “Mom, Dad, you know that company I work for?”

“Yeah.” They both chime in.

“I own it. It’s my company.”

Mom and Dad both fish mouth.

“The Solution is yours? I don’t understand. Why didn’t you tell us, son?” Dad asks, his frown and voice letting me know of his hurt and disappointment.

“It sort of just happened and when the business took off, I didn’t want you worrying about how hard I was working.”

“So that’s why you never come home,” Mom says.

“Yeah, that’s why. Work is sometimes a bit overwhelming.”

“Well, at least now we know it’s that and not because you don’t like us anymore.”

Dad grabs Mom’s hand and says, “Honey, don’t you think Harrison should open his gifts now?”

“I almost forgot. Can you get them, please?”

Dad hands me a pile of boxes, which I’m sure are clothes. I unwrap a pair of jeans, some pants, a shirt, sweaters, and some socks. None of them are my style so I’ll be donating them to the homeless shelter, but my parents don’t have to know that.

“Thanks, Mom, Dad.”

“I’m almost sure they’re your size, but I’m not sure if they’re the brands you prefer.”

Most of my clothes are tailor-made, and she’d have a heart attack if she saw the price of my jeans. I’m not saying that what they bought me is cheap; they’re just not my style. But I love them all the same for the thought behind it.

“You guys are the greatest, you know?”

“So are you.”

Dad and I settle in for some football and dozing, a perfectly great way to spend Christmas Day. Except for one thing. I wish Midnight were here spending it with me. Holidays have taken on a hollow feeling lately.

The next morning, I leave for the airport, and it’s a relief to finally tell my parents the company owns its own plane. They never knew. I have no idea how I pulled that one off, but I did.

The next few days crawl by. Midnight is back at work and I’m holding my breath on what that asshole Holt is going to do. I can’t believe I have to leave town again for a couple of days, but if I don’t go, the guys will kill me.

Wednesday evening gets here and I’m getting ready to fly to New York. This better be worth it. If things go wrong while I’m gone, I don’t know what I’ll do. Being almost three thousand miles away isn’t exactly comforting.

“Have a great time,” Leland says. “I have you booked at The Plaza. You’ll need the few hours’ sleep.”

“Yeah. That and I can’t exactly barge into Prescott’s place. That would ruin the surprise. You know what to do if anything happens. And don’t forget to keep an eye out on Midnight.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got it handled.”

“Peace out, man.”

Grabbing my bag, I’m out the door. But my gut isn’t right with leaving. Something nags at me during the flight, but I’m sure it’s just that I don’t want to leave again. I should’ve listened to my intuition, stopped the plane, and driven straight to Midnight’s.