“Want to show me?” I ask in a whisper.
“Gladly.”
Once Evan demonstrated her teenage fantasy—her being the big spoon, facing the TV, fingering me from behind as we both continued to watch as if nothing new was happening—we decided that we probably had enough time for a bath before my parents returned.
Soaking in glorious lavender bubbles, we talked about nothing and everything in perfect succession. The silly, the mundane, and the hopeful. The future we could write together, and the past that we’re rewriting. The memories we share and the ones we look forward to making. It’s all so perfect. So content. So… simple.
Dare I say, this could be my new favourite Christmas tradition.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Evan
December 25th
Apparently, there is one day a year on which Clara is a morning person. Not just a rise and shine at a normal hour like the rest of us, but a 6 am-present-demander. We, the adults as Daryl labelled us, were dragged downstairs by Maggie and Clara in a fit of giggles. Bagel refused to leave his blanket mound at the foot of our bed.
Daryl made us coffee while those two got the living roomready.Meaning they placed each person’s presents in a neat pile next to where they’ll sit and located the Micheal Bublé CD.
I believe Daryl made the wise choice to not offer my girlfriend caffeine as she’s quite literally vibrating with excitement.
When I sit, she flings herself into my lap, nearly spilling the coffee I’d placed on the side table. “Happy Christmas, baby.” She kisses all over my face like a very enthusiastic, untrained puppy.
“Merry Christmas, gorgeous,” I say, voice like gravel and eyes threatening to close.
“Drink up.” She reaches over and presents me with my mug, still sitting crossways over me. “Good morning,” she whispers, voice like bubbling champagne. “I love you.” She giggles as I take a larger gulp. “You’re the best.”
“Teens.” I laugh out her nickname. “I swear, I just needed a moment to wake up. I’m almost with the living.”
“Okay good because I may have gotten you a few too many presents.” Maggie sits down in the chair next to my end of the couch as Daryl takes his usual spot in the recliner adjacent to her. “I love shopping.” She shrugs as if to say,it can’t be helped,and the simple sweet gesture wakes me up just a little more.
I look around at these three people I love and feel an overwhelming sense of security. Suddenly, I realise that all I’ve wanted since leaving this town ten years ago was to feel wanted. Wanted for who I am, as I am. Welcomed with long hugs, cups of coffee, baked goods, and presents. They’re not my blood, but this is my family. This was and will always be my home. This is where I belong.
And that’s enough to stop all regret. All wishing things had been different. All secret hopes that my parents will take it all back and apologise. I don't need it. I just need to let myself enjoy what I do have.
“We go by age order in this house!” Daryl exclaims enthusiastically, reaching for the present on the top of his pile and that’s when I notice he’s put on a Santa hat. “From your dearest.” He brushes his moustache with his spare hand, making a kissing sound towards his wife.
“I want a fun hat,” I whisper to Clara, who’s playing with the zipper of my hoodie.
“Then open that one first.” She uses her toe to push a present on my pile. “Saw my mom wrapping them. Matching hats.”
Daryl opens a moustache comb from his wife and some wax that she picked up at a local market. He’s very excited about this and takes it upon himself to use it while the rest of us open our gifts. Maggie opens a box with several sachets of Epsom salt soaks. Clara, a few months older than I, goes next. She gets a coffee table book about Kate Moss’ modelling career and I open my hat, which is green and has pointy ears coming out of it. It takes less than a few rounds of opening to realise that Clara and I are the elves to Daryl and Maggie’s Mr. and Mrs. Clause.
We do this for hours. Open, talk, open, laugh, open, and admire. Maggie got Clara and I a lot of the same things. Practical luxuries likeslightlyfancier soap than I’d consider buying for my place, locally sourced chapsticks, hand sewn headbands, chocolates, teas, and handmade mugs to put it in. I’ve run out of unique ways to say thank you, so I’ve just been holding Maggie’s hand a lot. Squeezing her palm with my silent, overwhelming appreciation.
There were some gifts left under the tree that I deem to be thespecialones. Mostly because Daryl tore into his brand new fishing rod with the excitement of a man who knewexactly what he was about to open and had been waiting a while. He hands Maggie her gift bag, of the gifts she presumably didnotbuy herself for herself, and she shimmies with excitement.
“Oh… honey.” She pulls out abeautifulwooden jewellery box. “Did you make this?” she asks, eyes welling with tears.
“Yes.” Daryl beams with pride, his moustache bouncing with glee. “Look inside.”
She unlatches the front of the box and gasps once it’s opened. “Oh my.”
“Let me see!” Clara strains her neck, leaning overtop of me, and gasps too.
“Well now I have to—” I look over as Maggie pulls out the most gorgeous set of pearls. “Damn, Daryl,” I mumble.
“He calls herpearly,” Clara whispers in my ear as her parents enjoy their moment. “They began dating in June—I guess that’s June’s birthstone.”
