When Kodi rests his hand on her shoulder, she melts. “Mam, it’s okay. We got it.” She nods with a line of tears resting on her lashes but not falling.
When we’ve pulled off our coats, my extra layers, and our wet shoes, we all stand awkwardly in the foyer of their beautiful, Christmas home.
How about you start with something like ‘Hi mom and dad. Also, this is my mate.’
Kodi snorts a laugh and runs his hand through his hair before releasing a sigh and then the words finally come. “Merry Christmas, Mam. Father,” he says as he looks each in the eyes before turning to me. The feelings coursing through the room are mostly sweet, but with a hint of bitter sorrow
“And this is Anya Greene. My mate.” He holds me proudly, beaming at me, before turning back to his parents. His mom quietly sobs into her husband’s arms before Kodi does the cutest thing.
With me still pulled tight to his side, he opens his other arm, inviting his mom into our embrace. She hurries across to us and accepts.
When I move to pull away and give them this moment, she grabs ahold of me also and pulls us all tighter together.
I don’t know how long we stay like that when Kodi’s father’s hands land on each of their shoulders, giving them a look that says there is much to discuss.
His parents gently lead us to the sitting room that immediately immerses you in a winter wonderland village. Every shelf and surface of the room is covered in sparkling white felt, fluff, porcelain Christmas buildings, and miniature figures. I take in all I can before I’m led to a comfortable and well-loved couch, sitting beside Kodi so that our sides are touching and I’m funneling love and reassurances through our bond. He answers with his hand wrapping around my thigh and holding on for dear life.
His parents’ eyes take in every movement between us. His mother’s face no longer taking on a look of surprise, but of awe. His father is not so easy to read, making me a bit nervous about what he thinks.
Kodi’s mom scampers from the room and returns so quickly that I have no idea how she already has a tray of steaming hot chocolate, but she does. Each snowman mug is made of a different color theme and personality. I accept the little, pink snowman mug with the rosy cheeks and sweet smile. Kodi takes the red snowman with the wide smile and says a soft, “Thank you, Mam.”
She beams at the simple words, and right here in this sweet moment, I justknoweverything will be okay.
After she moves to Kodi’s father, who takes the largest mug with a snowman dressed as Santa on it, she takes the snowman dressed as Mrs. Clause and we all begin to take sips of our cocoa.
“This is the best cocoa I’ve ever had.” I can’t help but praise as the flavors wash over my taste buds. It’s the perfect combination of creamy, chocolatey, and just the right temperature, all covered with those tiny, dehydrated marshmallows.
Kodi’s mother’s eyes crinkle the same way his do when he smiles, warming my heart when she does it, as if offering me a heart-melting thank you.
His father, on the other hand, remains unreadable as he takes a hearty drag from his mug of cocoa, wiping the froth from his lip, and setting it back down on the table. When he leans back against his large red chair—similar to those that Santa would sit in at the mall while small children tell him what they want for Christmas—he crosses his legs like men do, resting an ankle on their knee, then resting his hands on his bent knee.
“To what do we owe the pleasure of your existence, Kodiak?” His father asks and I’d think he was being a jerk if it wasn’t for the barely perceptible tremble in his voice and the glimpse of hope in his eyes.
Kodi must sense what I do because his body relaxes against mine, not going unnoticed by his very observant mother who smiles sweetly, the worry also leaving her features.
Taking a deep breath, Kodi launches into his long and drawn-out explanation of their lost years. His parents nod along invested in his every word. “And then recently,” he finishes, “I suffered an injury during a game that a human wouldn’t recover from. My football career is over. But if I’m honest, it was fading fast anyway. I missed you guys. I missed this place. I was . . . homesick. And then I found Anya,” he says as his tortured, loving eyes turn on me. I keep sending him all my love and strength while he gets through this, “and I wanted her here. I wanted her to meet you two. I wanted to bring my mate home.”
When he finally finishes, and takes a deep breath to release an even bigger sigh, his mom is sniffling and his father has to clear his throat before he can begin speaking.
“We know,” his dad says, while his mom moves across the room and collects a behemoth bright red binder, handing it to Kodi.
When he opens it, silent tears escape me. Inside, the binder is filled to the brim with every single accomplishment, news article, and college newsletter printed. Photographs from the draft, and even some paparazzi shots of him through the years that he has been gone are also included.
“After everything I put you two through, you still kept up with me?” Kodi asks them in breathless disbelief.
His father tsks him, causing his mom to swat at him. I bite back my giggle at their antics that are so like Kodi’s and mine. His father opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it. “No matter what happened, you’re still my baby.” She cries as she explains.
“I thought you guys hated me,” Kodi admits under his breath.
Both of his parents lurch forward, visibly shocked by his words. “Hate you?” they both ask at once. “We could never hate you!” his mother adds, near hysterics.
Kodi mulls the words around in his mind trying to decide how to broach his next question, though I know what he’s going to ask before he finally get it out. “Why didn’t you ever contact me?”
His parents’ reactions are once again in sync when they each take on a look of guilt; his father’s chin drops, eliminating eye contact, while his mother fidgets and bites her lip. “We didn’t want to upset you further and ruin any chances of you coming back some day. We were waiting for you to open the channels of communication.”
31
Kodi
