“Nonsense! There’s plenty of space, and you missed Christmas Eve!” my mom retorts. “I had so much cranberry sauce left!”
“We’ll happily finish it at lunch with the rest of the leftovers, like always,” Beckett says. “Come on, Mom, they drove for hours. Give them a minute to relax. What would you like, Nicolas? Eggnog? Mulled wine? Hot cocoa?”
Nicolas asks for eggnog, and because my oldest brother knows me well, he pours one for each of us.
“Where is Dad?” I ask, sipping my drink. “Gone on his walk?”
“Like every year,” Simon nods. “He slept in late and went out with Rosie about… what, half an hour ago?”
“A bit longer than that, yes,” Parveen nods, glancing at our old clock. “They should be back any minute now.”
As if we’ve summoned them, the front door opens behind us, and my dad steps in. As soon as our eyes meet, he goes from a frown to a big, broad smile.
“Ophie Toothie!” he exclaims. “There you are, baby girl!”
Of course, I grin and run into my daddy’s arms. It’s so good to see him! As much as I love my mom, I’ve always been a daddy’s girl. I’m also the one out of the five of us who is the most like him, both in looks and personality, down to our little toothgap. Our grandparents always joked that I look like my dad with a wig!
“Hi, Daddy,” I grin, hugging him tight. “Did you have a good walk?”
“Well, about that…”
I glance at my sister behind him, who’s grimacing. …And then, I notice Aunt Ruth behind him, and my smile slips.
Aunt Ruth is pretty much our Ebenezer Scrooge, before he saw the three Christmas ghosts and turned himself around… She’s stingy, snarky, snooty, and, as Rosie often likes to bring up, minty too, because she’s always, always sucking on some mint candy. I think she believes it’s nice, but it just gives her that trademark scent that we’ve all grown to dislike… and I still can’t have a peppermint latte without thinking of Aunt Ruth.
“Well?” she scoffs at all of us, gathered in the house entrance like silly geese. “No one is going to wish me a merry Christmas?”
Six
Chapter 6
Ilove Christmas.
Christmas is such a magical atmosphere. When we should be dreading long nights and cold days, we’re all warmed by the joyful atmosphere, the cozy fireplace, drinks that burn our throats a bit, and knit fabrics hugging us warm. It’s the endless heaps of food to be shared, all toasted, buttery, sweet, and soul-filling. It’s the little twinkling lights in every room, the dancing fire of candlelights or large chimney flames, and the holiday decor shining from every end of the room.
It’s the time when we forget our daily routine to enjoy a special moment, all dedicated to our loved ones, like we rarely get to. It’s when we catch up with everyone, yet only have enough time to share the good parts. It’s when we have an excuse to play with the children like we’re their age again, or discuss with our elders and earn a little bit of their wisdom. It’s a time when we can miss those who are no longer with us, with bittersweet memories, and nostalgia is better shared.
Christmas is just like that. It’s that twinkle of warmth in the dark, the warmth that spreads through your body on snowy days, the moment your inner child gets a glimpse of the magic again.
It’s such a precious time, and yet, sometimes, it is just as beautiful as it is fragile.
I love seeing my nieces and nephews play with their new toys, argue over who gets to play with what first, and show the adults what Santa got them!
The girls have roped me into admiring their dolls, and I’m sporting a new friendship bracelet, freshly made from a machine. Meanwhile, Nicolas and Beckett are helping the boys build something in a corner, and I have to bite back a smile when I see my boyfriend rubbing his temple and frowning at the instructions sheet, looking all serious for his mission! We sprawled out in my parents’ living room, which is so cramped with all the toys, children, and adults!
“Thank goodness you’re here,” Parveen sighs next to me when the girls have gone to wash their hands. “Your mom was really worried about you not making it for Christmas lunch.”
“I wouldn’t miss it,” I smile. “How was last night?”
“It was good,” Parveen smiles. “I wish she’d let me help a bit, though… Your mom does everything; she never lets Courtney or me help! I know she means well, but I’ve been married to Simon for years, we do every single Christmas with you guys, and I’m still treated like a guest… and I really want to help. But poor Jordan was the one running around all night, and between you and me, your brother is really kind, but he doesnotbelong in the kitchen!”
I chuckle. I loved Parveen the minute Simon introduced us; not only is she incredibly kind and patient, but she’s a kitchen aficionado like me. We mostly keep in touch by sending eachother recipes we see on social media, and she’s been following my blog loyally ever since I launched it. We’ve had so many late-night calls about recipes or gossiping about our favorite baking show that we’ve become really close.
“Mom didn’t let you in the kitchen at all?” I frown. “What about your gingerbread cookies?”
“I brought them!” Parveen whisper-exclaims. “Because I knew she wouldn’t let me make them here, but she insisted I shouldn’t have, and she still made her own!”
“Oh, I think Mom just doesn’t like sharing her hosting duties,” I admit. “Even I only get to assist her, she always insists it’s her job… but I’d love to try your cookies! Where are they?”
