I call Donovan to come pick it up with Ansel’s truck. We pile in and start singing Christmas songs at the top of our lungs, completely tone-deaf and shameless.
I’m pretty sure he’s already tired of our shit—especially when he slams his hand on the console and smashes the off button.
“Hey! Don’t youdarehurt my Betsy!” Ansel snaps, reaching protectively toward the dashboard.
“Betsy?” Donovan looks over at her, one brow raised.
“Yes, Donovan.Betsyis the name of my truck. Much better than naming your bikeGrimm.”
They immediately launch into a full-blown argument over vehicle names, shouting about personality, loyalty, and engine growls, all the way until we park the truck at the curb outside the apartment.
Donovan struggles to carry the tree up the three flights of stairs because, Merry Christmas, the elevator is broken untilafterthe holidays.
As the loving and hilarious fiancée that I am, I documented the entire thing. I tagged him in the video where he drops it, captioningit: “Watching a grown man fight a tree.”
Once we reach the landing, Ansel stops in her tracks.
Colin is standing against the wall, waiting for her.
“You’ve been avoiding my calls,” he says, devastation written across his face.
I squeeze her arm and whisper, “I’ll meet you inside. Scream something obscene if you need me.”
Fifteen minutes later, Donovan has the tree standing perfectly in the tree stand, and Ansel walks back in, sadness still etched across her face.
“I was honest with him about Theo,” she says quietly. “Maybe I shouldn’t have been. Not like I’ll ever see him again. It was just a weekend fling.”
I pull her into a hug, feeling the way she melts into me.
“Ansel, you weren’t happy with him. Not like you were with Theo. We’ll figure it out. I promise.”
She walks over to the stereo and puts on Christmas music. The three of us spent the rest of the night dancing, laughing, and decorating the tree.
My perfect little family.
I couldn’t be happier.
Now, I want to tell Donovan that I want him to move in.
Donovan
Christmas morning rolls around, and I wake to the soft sound of music and chatter. I get up, and there is a clothing box on the bed with a red bow on it.
I read the tag written in Stella’s perfect cursive: 'Open me.'
I lift the lid, and inside, there's a pair of buffalo plaid pajamas in my size. What the fuck is this? I quickly dress in them, not wanting to make Stella mad, especially on our first Christmas back together.
My bare feet barely make a sound as I walk through the carpeted hallway. I stop when I see the table full of different pastries and fruits, a carafe full of coffee, and orange juice sitting next to a few empty cups.
I see Stella and Ansel sitting on the couch, both of them hugging their buffalo plaid-covered knees as they face each other. They are talking animatedly, but I can’t hear a word they are saying.
Stella spies me over the top of Ansel’s head, and she yells, Merry Christmas! She jumps up and runs towards me, throwingherself at me. She wraps her legs around me and kisses me like she hasn’t seen me in days.
Ansel looks into her mug of coffee, sadness in her eyes. I walk over to the couch with Stella, and I sit back against the arm. I pull my fiancé into my lap. Looking at Ansel, I say, “Do you believe in Christmas miracles?”
She looks up from her coffee. “Excuse me? Christmas miracles, like Tiny Tim walking again?” I just laugh. “Yeah, Ansel, something like that.”
Almost as if on cue, the doorbell rings. Stella goes to get up, but I yank her back onto me, kissing her neck and quietly saying, “Let Ansel get it.” She leans back into my chest as Ansel gives me a look that says, I’m going to slice you into bite-sized pieces.
