“Boys!” My mom shuts down the debate. “We are here to watch the silliest Hallmark Christmas movie we can find. There will be no sports talk in this holiday space.”
Like every room in the house this time of year, the den is a cozy winter wonderland, from the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree to the array of porcelain reindeer prancing across the mantle where a fire burns merrily away.
“The decorations look great this year, Mom.”
I drift over to the built-in bookshelves and swap a couple of the book club fiction titles so they’re alphabetical on the shelf.
“Thanks, sweetie. There’s eggnog in the fridge and hot chocolate on the stove.”
“Mom makes the best hot chocolate,” I tell Gabe. “Want some?”
“I guess,” he says, sounding annoyed at the idea of a hot seasonal drink poured just for him. As I head into the kitchen, he snaps his fingers and gives a sharp whistle. I pause in the doorway, both impressed and appalled that he just summoned me like a dog.
“Babe,” he says, “make sure it’s nottoohot. You know the roof of my mouth is sensitive.”
When both of my parents turn to me with identical “is he for real?” expressions, Gabe looks over their heads and mouths a laughing apology. As far as bad boyfriend demands go, it’s the goofiest one yet, and I hustle out of the room so nobody catches me giggling over it.
When I return, I hand Gabe one of the snowman mugs from my Mom’s limitless supply. “Don’t worry, I blew on it for you.”
He grunts his thanks, but as he goes to sip, his eyes meet mine, and they’re dancing with suppressed mirth. “You can blow on something else later,” he whispers just loudly enough for my parents to hear.
My cheeks flame even though I know it’s all an act. My dad doesn’t, though, and gruffly clears his throat. “Enough chatter. What are we watching?”
Mom grabs the remote and starts scrolling through the films she’s been saving to the DVR all month long. “Let’s see… we’ve got one about a Christmas cookie bake-off, one where they’re snowed in at a bed and breakfast. Oh, this one’s got the girl pretending that the man’s her boyfriend for the big company Christmas party!”
“Not that one,” I blurt. Gabe's body quakes with silent laughter, and I elbow him. “How about the B&B blizzard?”
“Good choice,” Dad says, and Mom and I exchange smiles. No matter what we choose, he’ll be asleep in his chair within twenty minutes.
Just before she presses play, Gabe takes another sip of hot chocolate and gags. “Eww, babe, can you add some alcohol to this? I don’t care what, just something to take the edge off the taste.”
For a beat, the only sound in the living room is a log popping in the fireplace. Mom takes her hot chocolate recipe seriously, and this is a direct challenge to her skills.
“Um, sure,” I say. “Be right back.”
Nobody talks the whole time I’m gone, and I hastily select the bottle of Bailey’s in my parents’ liquor cabinet. I have no idea what Gabe’s drink of choice is, so I pick what I’d want in my own hot chocolate and hustle back.
“Finally ready?” Mom’s voice sounds a little strained as I settle onto the couch next to Gabe, acutely aware of his body pressing against mine.
“Ready!” I chirp, as if my boyfriend making childish demands that he expects me to satisfy is a totally normal thing.
She hits play, and just as we suspected, my dad’s snoring shortly after the opening credits, leaving Mom and me to playfully roast the dialogue the beret-clad heroine’s spouting while Gabe plays on his phone and ignores us. He eventually pulls up a YouTube video showing proper weight-lifting technique, and my mom sends me an incredulous glance when the sound of manly grunts and clinking metal plates starts to compete with the dialogue onscreen.
“Hey.” I nudge Gabe. “Mind putting that away?”
He sighs theatrically, but he pockets his phone. “Fiiiine. I was just watching a video Jonesy sent.” He crosses his arm and glares at the TV. “Who’s that guy?”
“That’s the hero,” says my eternally patient mom.
“Why’s he so upset?”
“There’s. A. Blizzard.”
I bite my lip. Even the queen of calm is getting irritated. Excellent.
“These movies have blizzards all the time. It’s like all Hallmark people live in a snow globe,” Gabe says.
My mom nods. “And they never check the weather reports.”
