“That does involve a lot of strategy and quick thinking.” I turned and went chest to chest with Logan. We had added cinnamon bubble bath and were quite slippery together.
“I love you, Bellini.”
“I love you, too, Logan. You are my favorite Santa.”
“And you are my favorite Mrs. Claus.”
I rubbed more cinnamon bubble bath on his chest. He got all slinky and smelled delicious.
Christmas Eve at my mother’s house was packed with our relatives. It was another potluck. Logan wanted to make ribs, so he did. They were a hit, along with my mother’s turkey. We ate, sang Christmas carols, and then had our annual O’Donnell Family Slippers Giveaway. Everyone had received the name of a family member at Thanksgiving and bought a funny pair of slippers for that person. We unwrapped them one at a time and wore the slippers all night.
I drew Helena’s name and bought her giraffe slippers. The giraffe heads went up to her knees. Her favorite animal is the giraffe. I received pink, frilly, flowery slippers from Uncle Tex. “Because you’re a sweet little thing, honey.”
We squeezed Logan in because we hadn’t been together at Thanksgiving. He bought slippers for my cousin Melissa’s baby, Jose, who arrived earlier than expected. Jose “bought” Logan black bear slippers.
Christmas was back to being…festive. Warm. Friendly. Hopeful.
Before we went to Logan’s, I grabbed a box from under my bed.
Christmas morning was white, blue, and clear, snow on the ground and up in the mountains.
“Too early to get up,” I groaned to Logan, my arms around him in bed.
“Way too early.” He dropped a kiss on my forehead. “It would be best if we go back to sleep.”
“Exactly.”
And that’s what we did. Until I had to kiss him again…
When we finally woke up a second time, we took a shower together and used shampoo to build fancy, twirly, bubbly hairdos on each other, because we do stuff like that. We stepped out of the shower to stare in the mirror to see our creations which soon had us bent over laughing.
Next, we made breakfast. We listened to rock music while cooking and danced with our spatulas and wooden spoons. He made the buttermilk pancakes; I made the eggs. Later, in front of the Christmas tree, I handed him the old cardboard box. He knew what was in it.
“Give me a second, baby.” He went to his bedroom and came right back out with his own cardboard box.
We had both saved all the cards and ornaments we’d given each other over the years.
After we looked through all of them, starting in kindergarten, laughing, indulging our sweet memories, we made new Christmas cards for each other. Logan had colored pencils. I drew me sitting on top of Logan’s shoulders. I put a red heart on his chest and mine, my red hair flowing in the wind, the mountains behind us. He drew himself holding me in his black suit, the red feather in his hat, my arms linked around his neck, wearing my red boots and gold dress.
We laughed at our drawings.
I gave him an ornament. It was two reindeer kissing each other.
He gave me an ornament. It was Mr. and Mrs. Claus holding hands.
We gave each other a few other Christmas presents, including exchanging books for our book club, but the cards and the ornaments were the best.
Perfect gifts. Perfect Christmas morning. Perfect Logan.
Later, we went to my mom’s house for dinner. She had a ton of leftovers from the night before. She’d been at the house of one of The Sisters for two hours earlier in the day. I had declined that invitation in favor of a day of quiet delight with Logan.
We played Scrabble. She beat both of us. Logan and I spent the night in my pink bedroom upstairs.
“I love you, Bellini.”
Our heads shared the same pillow. “I love you, too, Logan.” I was grateful to be with him, so deeply at peace. I reached for his hand under a pile of blankets, and we entwined our fingers, the stars a blanket of white lights.
“I don’t want to lose you again,” he said. “I don’t think I could take it. My heart might give out and jump right out of my chest.”
