He popped the lid off another container. “Got greens, too. Mac. Man, please. We gon’ grub.”
I leaned on the counter, watching him pile both our plates with food. “At least warm it up right. My mac better not be cold in the middle.”
He gave me a look. “I know what I’m doin’. Move over there.”
I chuckled. “Just checkin’.”
He grinned and kissed his teeth. While the food heated in the microwave, he leaned across the island with both hands on the edge, staring at me. His eyes were low but playful.
“What?” I asked, smiling behind my mug.
“Nothin’. Just… this. Us. This lil moment,” he said, voice low and real. “You sittin’ over there lookin’ all beautiful andmine. Christmas vibes in the air. This shit feels good.” I felt my chest warm up. He was right. It did feel good.
The timer beeped, and he went to pull my plate out, sliding in front of me with a fork and a look. “Don’t play like you ain’t ‘bout to kill this,” he said.
I smirked. “Whatever.”
“Real nigga chef status.”
While we ate, Christmas music played faintly from the Bluetooth speaker in the living room. “You think about next Christmas?” I asked suddenly, peeking at him over my glass of water.
He nodded slowly. “Yeah. You, me, and the baby. Lil’ matchin’ pajama set. Processional pictures.”
I smiled, already picturing it. I shrugged. “I think… next year I’ll be ready for a little chaos with our families blending.”
“Whatever you want, we’ll make it happen, gorgeous,” he said.
The way he looked at me when he said it made me believe in us. This feeling was everything. Me, barefoot and full, our baby growing inside me, and Woods across from me like he always said he’d be. Loving me loud and showing up without being asked.
This wasn’t just Christmas morning. This was peace. This feeling was home. And for the first time… I knew I was exactly where I was supposed to be.
One Year Later
B i gM a m a ’ sh o u s esmelled like fried chicken and burnt hair grease. I posted up in the hallway for a second, just taking it all in. Loud ass voices, somebody laughing too hard in the kitchen, Taj’s twins running around. Drinks. Music. Whole fam deep as fuck in the living room surrounding the Christmas tree.
“Yo, where them damn stockings go?” Uncle Murder’s deep voice bellowed from the kitchen. “Ain’t no way I came all the way over here, and y’all got me sittin’ under this cheap ass dollar store décor talkin’ ‘bout some Merry Christmas.”
“Ain’t nobody ask you to come, Murder!” Aunt Sherry yelled back. “Take that cigarette outside!
“Sherry, don’t start with me today,” he grumbled. “I came here for the baby and the food. Not all that.”
“And we ain’t give you a gift either,” Ty added from the recliner with a shorty on his lap.
“You too old for stockings anyway.” Taj chimed in.
Everybody hollered.
Autumn laughed from beside me, adjusting the strap on the black diaper bag she had swung across her shoulder. She was glowing. Not just regular fine, but that mama glow. Her skin was smooth, eyes bright, still a little tired but beautiful in a way only I ever got to see up close.
Her edges were laid, sweater dress hugging her waist and stretching across that fatter-than-fat ass like it was painted on. She had a little extra weight on her now, her face slightly rounder, thighs thicker, and I loved every inch of it. She kept talking about how she hadn’t “snapped back” yet, but to me… she never needed to.
Our baby girl was in her arms, knocked out in a fuzzy red onesie with “My First Christmas” written across the chest. One of them big ass headband bows around her head full of curls. December Love was her name. Five months old and already the boss of my life.
“She sleep?” I asked, brushing Autumn’s hair back as we stood in the doorway.
“Mmmhmm,” she whispered. “Drank a bottle and passed out on me like her daddy.”
“Don’t start,” I smirked.
