“I can imagine,” I beam. “I always love seeing what malls do for Christmas! Oh, and those decorating shows they have on TV, where they take already amazing houses and turn them into winter wonderlands…”
“Is that what your dream Christmas is like?” he asked. “Curated Christmas decor, board games, and good food?”
“It’s a bit more than that,” I grin. “It’s more about the atmosphere, and the fun! I want a Christmas like in those Hallmark movies, where it’s not quite perfect, but it’s beautifully imperfect.”
Nicolas frowns, glancing at me.
“How so?” he asks.
I try to think about it for a second. Well, I do have in mind dozens of Hallmark movie moments I adore, but when I try to think aboutmyidea of a perfectly imperfect Christmas… Well, a memory comes to mind that makes me smile.
“One year, when I was five, the Santa who was supposed to ‘visit’ our school called in sick at the last minute, so they asked my dad instead,” I tell him. “They put him in the costume, but because there were three of his kids attending the school, Dad was so worried we would recognize him and break the magic that he put sunglasses on! It was the most ridiculous Santa ever, but he made up this story about how he didn’t have much light in the North Pole and wasn’t used to it here, and all of us kids bought it.”
“Did you guys recognize him?” Nicolas asks, a smile floating on his lips.
“My older brother totally did,” I chuckle. “I don’t remember it well, but he apparently spent a long time annoying my dad and trying to get him to remove his glasses or the white beard. But I didn’t suspect a thing! I was super excited to meet Santa and didn’t catch on at all… but Rosie cried a lot. She was young and super scared of ‘sunglasses Santa’, so eventually, my dad removed his glasses to calm her down when all the other kids left.”
“That’s adorable,” Nicolas smiles.
“Right?” I chuckle. “It’s one of our favorite family memories. It was so ridiculous, funny, and cute at the same time… We have this picture of me beaming at him with Rosie crying right behind! To this day, we all love to reminisce about that story whenever a Santa with sunglasses comes up!”
We keep exchanging our Christmas memories while he drives, and while I’m all too aware that I’m doing a lot of thetalking, Nicolas is as good a listener as usual and chimes in with questions and some gems of his own anecdotes.
But five hours is a long time, even after we make another pit stop to refuel on drinks and grab breakfast. The road is mostly clear, as we expected, so we’re making good time, but I can’t help noticing the hours as they pass. We woke up really early, but I just know there’s no way my nieces and nephews won’t already be up by the time we get there… Nicolas keeps driving, and we keep talking about everything Christmas: our favorite food (gingerbread for me, foie gras for Nicolas), the best themed drinks (gingerbread latte for me, mulled cider for Nicolas), the best present we’ve ever gotten (the knit blanket my grandma made me, a custom leather-bound agenda from his brother), our favorite Christmas movies (The Last HolidayandHome Alone), and the best last-minute cheap gifts (we agreed on boxes of chocolates).
Whenever there’s a lull in the conversation, I’m still humming or singing whatever is playing or looking around at the cars that drive by. I wonder where those people are headed. Are they going to see relatives, see step-families, or head to work? Maybe a last-minute gift purchase, or an impromptu change of plans? Or perhaps they are going to surprise someone for Christmas morning, like in those Christmas movies, when they have those dramatic last-minute reunions. The idea makes me smile.
“What aboutescargots?” Nicolas asks as we argue about the best Christmas starters.
“Snails? You like it?” I ask, surprised.
“I’m sure you’d love it,” he nods. “It’s unusual, but fairly popular as a holiday dinner starter.Mamanserved us some at several dinners when she cooked. You can buy them ready withthe garlic butter sauce; all she had to do was put them in the oven.”
“I’ll have to try it someday.”
Though I have to confess I’m not super enthusiastic about the idea, Nicolas has never steered me wrong when it comes to food… He knows my tastes so well, he’s gotten really good at predicting what I will like or not!
“Mince pie?” Nicolas asks.
“What is that?” I blink. “Some meat pie?”
“No, it’s actually a small pie filled with sweet fruit filling and spices,” he explains. “It’s a Christmas staple in the U.K. Antoine and I had some when we were in London. You’d love them.”
“We should see if we can find some here!” I exclaim, now curious.
I pick up my phone to look it up, but just as soon, my heart drops. Rosie just texted me minutes ago with a video of my nieces and nephews digging through their presents. I smile through the whole five minutes of footage, but my chest still aches a little. I watch as my nieces and nephews scream, create little tornadoes of Christmas wrappings, run left and right to show off what they got, and flood the living room with boxes and toys.
“…They’re awake?” Nicolas asks.
“Yeah,” I admit a bit sadly.
“We’ll be there in less than an hour,” he tells me, glancing at the GPS.
“It’s fine, don’t worry,” I reassure him. “I knew it was a long shot that we would get there before they woke up anyway. And we’ll be there soon enough to play with them, and they’re waiting for us for lunch.”
I’m not sure which one of us I’m trying to convince more, but Nicolas gives me a determined nod.
“They’re all waiting for you, sweetheart,” he says.
