Free One Wish In Manhattan (A Christmas Story) by Mandy Baggot

candle.
    ‘So, what’s happening in your world?’
    Oliver turned his attention back to Tony. ‘Ah, you know, the usual.’
    ‘Really? Because Momma heard they called an ambulance for you yesterday.’
    Oliver threw his napkin to the table and inhaled a breath. ‘All of my staff have signed a confidentiality clause.’
    ‘And most of them eat at the family restaurant. What can I say?’ Tony lifted his shoulders nonchalantly.
    He would identify the employee who was sharing information and make sure they were reprimanded. Reports of ill health, Chinese whispers through the city, would do the company no good whatsoever.
    ‘Well? I’m waiting here,’ Tony said, his brown eyes fixed on him.
    He swallowed. ‘There’s nothing to tell.’
    ‘No?’
    ‘No.’ He didn’t sound convincing and he knew Tony wouldn’t be fooled.
    He dropped his eyes to his plate of food, considering what to say next, if anything. He heard Tony suck in a breath and a chink of glassware made him raise his head.
    ‘Well, you’re here so you didn’t die,’ Tony stated.
    ‘I admire your powers of observation.’
    Tony shook his head. ‘I don’t understand you. We’ve had this conversation so many times. You said you weren’t going to let this thing take over.’
    ‘It’s kind of hard not to.’
    ‘Pa!’ Tony waved a meaty hand in the air. ‘We all know the worst that could happen. You could keel over right here right now, your head in black bean sauce, stomach empty, unfulfilled …’ Tony lowered his voice a notch. ‘Not been laid in forty-eight hours …’
    ‘Actually it’s a little under twenty-four.’
    ‘Last night?’ Tony asked, eyes wide. ‘Man, you’re good.’ He took a swig from his beer bottle. ‘So what’s the problem? You made it out of the hospital instead of being transferred to the mortuary, it’s all good.’
    ‘My mom wants me to go home for Christmas and, if I don’t, she’s going to make me speak at the McArthur Foundation fundraiser.’
    ‘That cold slab at the mortuary is sounding tempting,’ Tony teased.
    Oliver put down his chopsticks and picked up his beer bottle. ‘You don’t understand what it’s like. You have a million cousins, nieces and nephews for Christmas, I have my mom, the shroud of death hanging over the place and Pablo quizzing me on the NHL which I never have time to watch anymore.’
    ‘What d’you want me to say?’
    ‘I don’t know. That I’m not being a Grade A jerk. That I have every right not to want to spend that day in December that way.’ He was getting agitated just talking about it. He shifted in his seat as an uncomfortable current of pain ran up his left arm.
    ‘Look at it this way. What scares the crap out of you the most? Spending a few hours stuffing yourself full of turkey with your mom? Or standing up in front of a room full of New York’s finest, talking about your dad and Ben?’
    Oliver flinched and tried to hide it by picking up his chopsticks and spearing a clump of noodles. He knew the answer to that. The public affair scared him a lot more than visiting home for the day, but both scenarios were going to open up closed wounds and remind him what he was living with.
    ‘I don’t know,’ Tony said, sitting back in his chair. ‘I could kill you now instead. We could order up a bottle of Scotch and go out with a bang.’
    Oliver couldn’t help the corners of his mouth twitching. Only Tony could turn his death sentence into a joke. His friend had been making him laugh since 1989. Tony’s parents’ Italian restaurant, Romario’s, had been the Drummond’s Friday night out since he was old enough to eat solid food. It was one of the few places he’d visited with his father and brother that he still went to. There wasn’t room for grief amongst the larger-than-life personalities of the Romario family.
    ‘Seriously, man, if I knew I wasn’t going to make old age I wouldn’t be wasting a second worrying about it. I’d be living it.’
    ‘I