By the time we arrived in Boston on a Friday evening in January, it was already dark. Our playlists had all been played, and there was one last visitor’s spot left for parking on our street – a happy sign that we were right where we were meant to be. We grabbed our bags and hoofed it to the condo, where I adjusted the thermostat to something cozy, and we settled in to the warmth and the light of the space.
This was our make-up weekend for having missed out on this holiday gathering, and as I switched on some Christmas lights and lit a few cinnamon-scented candles, I vowed to make this our official last holiday act of the year. The twins set about to opening their gift bags, which had a moviwe for later, and some silly treats for then. I sat down and took a deep breath, then looked for some dinner options.
As with most decisions these days, dinner was a negotiation between the twins – with strict parameters and compromises, lines of demarcation and concessions, and the sort of trade-offs one would usually expect from countries who had been at war for centuries. I just wanted some warm food, and as soon as possible. They finally settled on the South End Buttery, to which we hustled in hurried and hungry form. The cozy little corner restaurant welcomed us in from the cold, and we soon enjoyed a dinner and went over the plans for the following day.
On the way home, and in search of a sweet treat, we took a detour to the Newbury Hotel, site of a glorious hot fudge brownie sundae the last few times I’d been in town, so I brought them there for our sugary night cap. The sundae was on the menu, so we each ordered one. It would be a weekend of splurging and indulgence, and it had only begun…
