It was heavy and it took a second for me to remember who and what the sender, “Nutcase,” was. But when it clicked, I smiled in excitement.

“The chestnuts!” I exclaimed.

I grabbed a knife from the table’s place setting to cut open the tape and withdraw a plastic bag filled with honest-to-goodness shiny, raw, brown chestnuts. Whole and complete.

I took out one and held it up and it really did look like a hazelnut on steroids.

“For roasting on an open fire,” I said.

Arthur examined it with interest. “And for conkers.”

There was a moment of puzzled silence. Ayisha seemed as baffled as I was.

“What’s a conkers?” I asked for the both of us.

“It’s a game with chestnuts between two people,” Aunt Esha said, clearing up nothing.

“And a bloody brilliant one at that,” Arthur said. He held out his hand for the chestnut and I placed it in his palm. “You drill a hole through, from top to bottom.” He tapped the chestnut. “Then you thread a string through, tie a knot here at the bottom and at the top, and take turns trying to hit the other person’s conker.”

“The first chestnut to break loses,” Aunt Esha said.

“It’s quite well known,” he continued. “There are even championships.”

Ayisha and I exchanged looks of incredulity.

“For breaking chestnuts?” Ayisha asked.

“On a string?” I continued.

He nodded. “It’s fun.”

Ayisha was skeptical. “Yeah, I’m gonna take your word on that.”

But Arthur shook his head. “I know it’s not selfies and social media, but it’s far more engaging than one would imagine. I’ll make a few conkers and show you both tonight.”

“I’m gonna have to pass on that kind offer,” Ayisha said. “My younger sisters are in the Christmas Parade tonight.”

Aunt Esha slapped her hand on the tabletop in excitement. “That’s right! The parade is tonight. I am so looking forward to it.”

Ayisha regarded her with suspicion. “Have you seen what our Christmas Parade looks like?”

I felt a pang of dread as Aunt Esha nodded. “Indeed I have. There are several photographs on the Christmas website. I am particularly looking forward to the floats, they seem so terribly elaborate.”

Oh, crap . . . I really needed to fix that thing.

Arthur deliberately cleared his throat and I did not look in his direction. Instead I decided to mitigate his aunt’s expectations through the time-honored tradition of lying.

“Just so you know, I heard the parade’s going to be, um, smaller this year.” I held up my index and thumb close together.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. There won’t be any synchronized dancing troupes. Dr. Raymond’s wife ran off with the local dance teacher and, uh, no one picked up the slack in his absence.” At least there was a kernel of truth in there. “So that got eighty-sixed.”