Kipp nodded once. His jaw worked like he had more he wanted to say, and decided not to. He turned back to the room and clapped his hands once. “All right, enough of that. Somebody start the music before we all get sentimental.”
Griff grabbed the old guitar from the corner and started strumming a few familiar chords. He was quickly joined by Ryder, who’d found his guitar in the mess of paper and string. Kipp sat down at the large piano and plunked away with the others. The sound loosened whatever tension was left in the room. Kids spun in uneven circles. One of the dogs barked along, half in excitement, half in protest.
I leaned against the doorframe, watching it all. The heat from the stove and the weight of those voices settled low and warm in my ribs. I could feel something inside me unknotting that I hadn’t even known was that tight. For the first time in a longtime, I didn’t feel like the Little Match Girl peering through windows, longing to be let in; I was fully part of this place now.
Linc found me there, and he handed me a mug of cider that was still steaming. The cup warmed my fingers. He studied my face the way he always did when he was trying to measure what I was not saying. “How are you holding up?” he asked.
“Better than I expected.” I tugged at the sleeve of my sweater, hoping the bruises on my arms didn’t show. Nobody really needed a reminder of last night.
“You’ve done good today.”
“I haven’t done anything other than just show up.”
“That’s enough.”
He looked toward the others, toward Kipp and Nash frowning over wrong notes, and Ryder pretending he knew all the lyrics, and Fallon laughing so hard she had to grab the counter to keep from slipping. Then he looked back at me.
Stories turned into jokes and jokes turned into more stories until everyone was laughing too hard to remember who had started what argument or who the punchline technically belonged to. It didn’t matter. Laughter bounced off the cabinets and windows, coming back twice as loud.
At one point, I caught Kipp at the head of the table, sitting back with both hands wrapped around his coffee cup, just looking at everyone. Not talking. Just taking it in. The lines in his face had softened. Pride sat there. Relief too.
“Another good Christmas,” he said.
“Best one yet,” Nash answered automatically.
“Because we’re all standing here with the ones that make us whole,” Kipp said. “That’s all that matters.”
The words hung in the air longer than the laughter that followed. I carried them like a weight and like a promise both.
Later, when the house started to settle and the noise dropped into a low, comfortable hum, Linc helped Kipp carry the emptydishes into the kitchen. I moved through the living room, collecting torn bits of twine, balled paper, and folded tissue, stacking them into a neat pile. My hands moved easily, without needing to be told what to do.
Griffin took the trash out to the bin. Ryder and Nash bent by the hearth to poke at the fire, shifting the logs until the flames flared higher and the room filled with soft orange light again. Fallon wrapped leftovers in plastic wrap, and Nora ushered the kids to bed. It didn’t matter who’s they were, there was a place for them in this house.
Lydia and Faith had taken Auntie Helen back to Everton. Phil, Julie, Wes, Gwen, Fred and Wanda had retreated to a table in the corner and were playing a spirited round of women vs. men Canasta. Their laughter and arguments filled the living room with a murmur.
Nora reached around me with a cup of something steaming, “white chocolate, cranberry latte?” I asked as I wrapped my hands around the mug.
“It’s what brought us together. You could almost say we’re responsible for all of this,” she whispered as she pointed around the room. She took the spot next to me on the couch, and I sipped at my drink.
I thought back to that day in Fred’s cafe when I confessed I’d broken up with Linc yet again and I was done with him. All these years later, I was so not done with him, this ranch, or the people that were my family.
“I’m really glad I met you when I did.” I beamed at her, and she put her arm around my shoulders. I took another sip and smiled, “Can you believe Fred didn’t think this drink would last?” We both laughed, making the entire room turn to look at us.
I held my mug up to Fred and he shook his head, “damn latte’s,” he mumbled, which made us laugh even more.
Linc came back from the kitchen; he touched my arm with a quiet, gentle touch, using the back of his knuckles. “Ready to head home?” he asked.
I looked around at everyone. All of them still talking in low voices. Faces soft with warmth and full stomachs. The kind of easy contentment you only get when you know, deep down, that if something tried to break through your door, five other people would reach it before you did.
“Yeah,” I said, as the buzz from the latte wore off.
We said our goodbyes. There were hugs and shoulder squeezes and promises about tomorrow that everyone knew meant we would all be in each other’s pockets again before lunch, whether we planned to be or not. Fallon told me to call if I needed anything, and then corrected herself and said call even if you don’t need anything. Kipp told us both to get some sleep while there was some to get. Nash handed me an extra pair of hand warmers without comment and then pretended he needed to check on the woodpile so I wouldn't thank him out loud.
We stepped back out into the night.
The air was crisp in that way winter air gets when the temperature has dropped fast and the sky has cleared. I could feel it in my lungs, sharp and clean. I let it wake me up after the warmth of the house. Our boots crunched over the packed path leading back toward our place. The only sounds were our steps, the muted thud of music still drifting from Kipp’s windows, and somewhere in the distance the low, content murmur of cattle munching on their feed.
Halfway down the road, Linc reached for my hand. He did not make a show of it. He just laced his fingers through mine like it was the most natural thing in the world and let our arms settle between us. His palm was warm, rough along the heel, where the reins had worn a callus over the years. I let my hand rest there and let him set our pace.
