Throughout our cooking assignments, John is a constant presence at my side. His hand finds mine, and his thumb traces circles on my palm. He pulls me close during a quick family photo in front of the kitchen island, and his arm is around my waist. Each touch sends sparks through my body, and I’mfinding it harder to remember that this is all supposed to be pretend.
A part of me wants it to be real. That seems to be my refrain for today.
I wish I’d known that my boss becoming my boyfriend was what I wanted for Christmas so I could have sent Santa a letter. Now, it’s too late. I nearly laugh.
“What’s so funny?” John asks.
“I’m thinking about how unexpected this Christmas has turned out to be.”
“Never thought you’d spend Christmas with your boss?”
I can’t help but laugh now. “Never crossed my mind.”
He kisses my forehead. “Never say never.”
“Words to live by.” That earns me another kiss.
As a Pinterest-worthy charcuterie board is set out in the living room, Ross announces it’s time for the annual holiday charades tournament.
“Okay, team names,” Ross shouts over the din. “Remember, puns are mandatory!”
I lean into John. “Is your family always so…enthusiastic?”
He squeezes my hand. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”
The teams quickly form, each with a more absurd name than the last. I giggle over Yule Be Sorry and Mistle-Toes, but my personal favorite is The Jingle Belles, which consists of John’s grandfather and his two great-uncles, Ross and Rusty, who manage to eat while playing.
As the Sleigh What? team stands for their turn, I marvel at the sheer volume of laughter filling the room. Lizzy is attempting to act out Frosty the Snowman while hopping on one foot and pretending to juggle.
“A penguin on a pogo stick,” someone shouts.
“Elsa with a caffeine addiction,” guesses another.
I turn to John, my eyes wide. “Is this what normal families do on Christmas?”
He pulls me closer. “Normal is overrated. Welcome to our family circus.”
When it’s our turn, John and I stand. We’re the Tinsel Titans. I draw a piece of paper from the hat—a Santa hat, so I guess they’ve stuck with the theme today—with what I’m supposed to act out. The Grinch is written on the paper.
My stomach plummets. I might be able to feign a cheery voice, but this has me stumped.
How on earth am I supposed to act this out?
John gives me an encouraging nod, and then, right when I’m about to give up, inspiration strikes. I puff out my cheeks, scrunch up my face, and dramatically shrink imaginary objects around me.
“Deflating balloon animals!” Aunt Theo guesses.
“My hopes and dreams after 2020!” shouts one of the many cousins.
I shake my head, frantically pointing at the Christmas tree.
“Oh-oh, the Grinch,” John says as the timer runs out.
The room erupts in cheers and playful boos. As we return to our seats, flushed with victory, I can’t stop smiling. I’ve never experienced anything like this before—the loud, unrestrained joy and the way everyone seems genuinely happy to be together.
John’s eyes twinkle. “Having fun?”
I nod, feeling a lump in my throat. “I can’t believe how everyone gets along. No one is snipping or making snide comments. It’s like a Hallmark movie, but with more yelling and questionable charades skills.”
