Something was amiss, Joe Clarke was sure of it. His sister, Sally, who was typically a rather easy-going character, was being suspiciously insistent about things.

It had started that afternoon after she showed up at his place to insist that they drive back to Folkestone together so Joe could spend Christmas with her, “boring” Barry and the brats, even though two weeks earlier he had turned down that invitation without any objection. Maybe the thought of her lonely, loser brother spending Christmas alone had run amuck on her conscience.

After finally getting Joe to accompany her, she drove only halfway to Folkestone before steering the car into a hotel parking lot, insisting on getting a room for the night.

“It’s too dangerous to drive on these icy roads at night,” she argued.

After they had checked into adjoining rooms, Sally spilled soda on Joe’s shirt and insisted he change into his Cannibal Corpse t-shirt—the very same t-shirt she had insisted he bring along.

“Why do you want me to wear this?”

“Because, I bought you two tickets for Christmas to go see them,” Sally explained. But something seemed off. Pushy wasn’t Sally’s nature, yet now she was even insisting on him going out to the side street kiosk to buy cigarettes.

“I thought you quit!”

“I did,” she said. “But it’s Christmas, I’m allowed to indulge.”

“Okay, but if I go get ’em, you pay for the pizza I order when I get back, deal?”

“Fine,” Sally agreed.

Joe took the money she held out and then began buttoning up his coat.

“Don’t do it up!” Sally barked.

“Why not, it’s cold out there?”

“Don’t be a wimp. You’re not going far, and buttoning up makes you look fat.”

He scowled at her.

“If you think saying that is gonna make me not want pizza you’re wrong.”

JOE WAS gone.

On his way to meet his destiny, Sally thought, knowing she was being overly dramatic. But, heck, why not? It had taken a lot of effort on her part to get to this moment.

Wasting no time, she raced over to the light switch, turned off the lights and then darted over to the window, which looked out onto the street. Pulling back the curtains slightly, she peeked out the window and, after a moment, saw Joe emerge from the hotel—his awkward, skulking gait unmistakable. As he trudged through the snow, she watched him count the money she had given him, probably trying to figure out how much change he could siphon off without her noticing.

Jeez, when will he grow up?

He was still counting the money when he arrived at the kiosk, which was being manned by a dark-haired woman swaddled in a brown anorak with a fur-lined hood, looking every bit like an Eskimo except for the nose stud, black nail polish and heavy mascara. Her name was Nikki, and Nikki, not the inclement weather, was the real reason Sally had wanted a night’s stop over at a two-star hotel.

When Joe had first turned down the invitation to spend Christmas with her, Barry and the kids, Sally was relieved. There’d be no awkward forced conversation between Barry and Joe, and no death metal instead of Christmas carols. Christmas had suddenly become a lot easier, if maybe a little duller.

But then Sally met Nikki.

It was after another “it will never happen again” rendezvous with Frank from IT. Sally needed a smoke and some fresh air. The hotel room she was staying in reeked of sex and betrayal, so she left for the kiosk, where she was served by Nikki, who was wearing a Cannibal Corpse t-shirt.

“That’s my brother’s favorite band,” Sally commented casually, but that was all it took to set Nikki off.

Twenty minutes later, Sally walked away from the kiosk with more information about Nikki than she knew what to do with. Garrulous, metal-obsessed, and attracted to slackers, Sally wanted to tie a ribbon around her; she was perfect for Joe.

“I should have planted a bug on him,” Sally said nervously, watching Joe speak to Nikki for the first time.

She watched as Nikki turned around and plucked a pack of Marlboros off the tobacco shelf.

“C’mon!” said Sally impatiently.

Nikki turned back around and handed the cigarettes to Joe, pointing at his t-shirt.

“That’s right,” muttered Sally. She smiled broadly, feeling pleased with herself. “You both have the same lame taste in music. Why don’t ya talk about it?”

Sally relaxed. The t-shirt had worked. They were talking. Success! She had brought the two metal-head singletons together and provided a conversation starter to help them get acquainted. Now it was time for Joe’s wit and charm to takeover.

You’re a better person than you think you are, Joe. You can do this!

For ten minutes she watched them talk. Nikki was leading the conversation, but a line was forming behind Joe. He needed to wrap things up.

“Tell her about the concert tickets!” Sally screeched, and then, almost as if he had heard her, she saw Joe raise two fingers. “Very good, Joe. You have two tickets for that shitty band you both like. Now, ask for her number!”

She saw Nikki pick up a scrap of paper and start to scrawl onto it. When she was done, she handed it over to Joe.

Sally cheered triumphantly.

“WHAT ARE you smiling about?” Sally asked when Joe returned to their hotel room wearing a dopey grin.

“I got a number,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah, the woman working the kiosk gave it to me.” He held up the scrap of paper Nikki had given him. “She says it’s the best pizza place in town, and it’s two for one!”