“You are so beautiful,” my mom says, holding Paloma at arm's length as she looks her over.
“Thank you, Mrs. Morrison. Merry Christmas.” Paloma smiles. I watch her take a deep breath as she realizes she is welcome here.
“I won't have any of thatMrs. Morrisonnonsense. You can call me Marie or Mama. You’re family,” she declares before looping her arm within Paloma’s. “Are you hungry? Let’s get you fed.”
Mom looks up at me with a beaming smile on her face and leans her cheek to me. I promptly kiss it, and she pulls Paloma off into the house with her. Sel and Auntie Leshia are already here, sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace. I look toward Dad’s recliner, finding the spot empty. Dad must be in his man cave or pulling out some last minute decorations Mom asked him to grab.
I give both Selene and my aunt a hug before making my way into the kitchen. Old-school Kirk Franklin plays through the speakers withall my mom’s favorite Christmas songs. I snatch up a cookie from the counter, stuffing it into my mouth before she catches me. Luckily, she’s busy pouring Paloma a mug of hot chocolate, and I sneak another for safe measure or in case I run into my dad.
“Clinton Anton Morrison! Get your hands out of those cookies!” Mom says, and I’m already making my way up the stairs. She can't stop me if she can't catch me. I laugh to myself, just like when I was a kid.
I thump my knuckle against the door and open it, not waiting for him to respond because I know he is in here. “Dad! Merry Christmas,” I shout, happy to see him. “I braved Mama’s wrath and snuck you a cookie.”
He chuckles and grabs the pilfered cookie. As he takes a bite he reaches for me, pulling me in for a hug. Even in his old age, he’s still strong.
“You brought your girl with you?” he asks, getting right into it.
“I did. She’s downstairs with Mom.” My dad nods his head, and I wonder what’s on his mind. My dad is a man of few words, but what he does say tends to stick with you. He also doesn't ask many questions unless he's actually interested.
“You’ve never, in all your years, brought a girl over. She’s someone special, isn't she?” he asks.
I respond quickly, “Yes, sir. She is.”
“You plan on making an honest woman out of her?” His question actually surprises me, and though the answer is a clear and resounding yes, I still wasn't expecting him to ask me.
“I do. I don't want to spend another day without her by my side.”
“Then you make sure to consider that during every disagreement and every frustration. If your goal is to always be standing by her side, then you have to remember seeing eye to eye is important. And treat eachother with respect, and most of all, understand that love is strong when nurtured.” He’s quiet for a few moments and then continues, “You nurture each other even in famine. You understand?”
“I understand,” I reply. “I wasn't expecting to have this talk with my dad at forty years old.”
“We all need a good talkin’ to every now and then, son.” He smiles and stands, clapping his hand on my shoulder. “I’m proud of you, Clinton. I want to meet her.”
I follow behind his hulking frame, one which is slightly thinner than what it used to be, to introduce him to my future.
Paloma, Mom, Selene, and Auntie Leshia all sit around the breakfast table, chatting amongst each other. Seeing Paloma in my parents’ house, it feels like she’s always belonged here with us, with me. “I'll be right back. I’m going to grab a few things from the car,” I shout.
Sel’s head whips around, and she looks me over with slanted eyes. I can almost hear her in my head,Don't you dare propose to her on Christmas.
To which I shoot back at her with my own look that says,I won't. Not yet anyway.I bought the ring a couple months ago. It felt right. Paloma and I are in a good place, and I know she is it for me. I picked the ring up when Sel and I bought the earrings. She just didn't know. All she knew was I was getting Paloma a gift.
Grabbing the few bags and boxes from the trunk, I walk back inside and set them under the tree. We normally exchange gifts later in the evening, however, Paloma and I are going to spend Nochebuena with her mom. When I explained to my family what it meant, there were no questions, and they understood, which leads me here, nestling a few more gifts under the tree so we can open them during breakfast.
After too many buttery pancakes and slices of bacon, Sel lowers herselfto look at the presents on the floor and crosses her legs. “Here, Clint, this one is for my mom, and this is for Unc.” A warm smile graces my face as I continue to take each gift from her hands and pass them out to everyone.
I turn back to Sel and say, “Let me help you up.” I stretch out my hand, helping her up as she hands me another gift. I tuck the small box beneath my arm, noticing the paper I wrapped it in.
“Boy, no you didn’t.” My mom lets out a joyful shout as she unwraps the expensive juicer. “I can’t believe you got this for me.”
“Mom, you know you sent me the link, right?” I chuckle as she tries to force a scowl from her beaming face, which only makes me laugh harder. By the time I turn back to my dad, he’s grinning ear to ear as he holds out the signed jacket from his favorite PGA golfer—aside from me—and he already has on the Rolex Selene must have gifted him.
“Welcome to the family,” Selene says, heaving out a heavy, wrapped gift to Paloma. She must have had it sitting right next to her. Sel isn’t one to go in half-cocked, so I know this is going to be perfect for my girl.
“Thank you so much. You didn't have to,” Paloma says, beaming as she begins to unwrap her gift. Her gasp has my eyes flicking up to her face. “Stop it right now!”
A collector’s edition set of books has her eyes watering. She blinks away tears and gets up from the couch to pull my cousin into a hug. “I don't know how you knew, but thank you. Thank you so much.” I can already see the two of them becoming fast friends.
I grab the wrapped box next to me and turn toward Paloma to hand it to her to realize she’s doing the same. Her cheeks are full as she smiles at me. “Don’t think I forgot about you, Golf Daddy,” she whispers my nickname. “Oh, is that for me?”
