That hurt his feelings, ripping on his leg.
I explained that my kids would never wake up that early, but I offered to have him and his kids over for a later breakfast, around eight, so we could see each other Christmas morning.He agreed it was a solid plan, if I was sure my children wouldn’t be upset at delaying their present opening.I assured him that while Trina would be excited, she wouldn’t be upset.She was old enough to understand that delaying presents meant extending the magic.
In practice, things were even more complicated than my plan.Trish decided to keep Jeremy at her place for Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.I thought about arguing, but things felt complicated enough on my end, so I left her alone with her decision.I wish she was here, but when Jack texted me at seven-thirty, I was glad I had one less thing to manage.
My parents just showed up.I’m not sure what to do.I didn’t invite them, and Quinn’s here, too.
I think about telling him not to bother coming.He could spend time with them, and I’ll spend time with my kids.We aren’t, after all, joined at the ankle and knee.But I know how he’ll feel.I can imagine the look on his face.
So I do something far dumber.
Bring them for breakfast.
I cringe as I hit send.
Because I do not want them here.In fact, his mother may be the very last person I want to see on Christmas morning, ruining the happiest day of the year with my family.Surely she’ll be on her best behavior, or better yet, maybe she’ll cancel, knowing he had plans—plans we made in advance, unlike her—to be withme.
No such luck.
At four minutes after eight, Jack, his sister Quinn, his adorable children, and his mother and father pull up outside, sharing one car to get here.How eco-friendly of them.
“MerryChristmas.”Quinn’s smile is warm.“It was so nice of you to invite us with no notice.I’m sorry we’re so rude.”
“It’s hardly rude to spend Christmas morning with one’s own son,” Mrs.Shanahan says.
“I was delighted you could all come,” I say.“The more the merrier.”
“Ah, good joke,” Mr.Shanahan says.“Merry Christmas.More the merrier.”He winks.
I really like Jack’s dad.He’s almost painfully corny, but he’s always happy, and he really wants to like everyone and everything.I wonder whether his wife is the way she is to try and balance out the universe.
“Wook!”Rory says.“I got a pony.”She waves her plastic pony through the air.“Dad says I get widing wessons from Nessa!”She hugs me around the waist.“Fank you so much!”She’s beaming up at me, her tiny body glued to mine.“It’s aww I wanted.”
I laugh.“I’m glad you’re excited to ride with Aunt Samantha.You can ride at the same time as Blaine, Aunt Natalie’s daughter.”
“But they’re not really you children’s aunts, are they?”Mrs.Shanahan’s eyebrow arches sharply.
“Mum, let it be,” Quinn says.“It’s a lovely gift.”
“I’m just trying not to confuse the children,” she says.“We call things what they are in our family, and apparently not everyone does that.”
I wait for Jack to defend me, to tell her that theyaremy siblings, of the heart if not of the body, but he stays quiet.He doesn’t even change the subject.He just helps Ryan grab a plate.
“Let’s all have a prayer before we start to eat breakfast.It is the birthday of our Lord and Savior, after all.”I smile.
“A prayer?”Mrs.Shanahan’s eyebrows shoot up.“I do hope you’re sayingBless us, O Lord?”
Quinn groans.“Mum, you know she’s not Catholic.Let her pray in her own home.”
Trace is glaring.“I’ll say it.”He says a lovely prayer, thanking the Lord for all our many blessings, for this Christmas morning, for our gifts, for our home, for our family and friends, and for the birth of the Savior.He blesses the food, and he closes with Amen.
Then, as though he hasn’t prayed at all, Mrs.Shanahan points at Jack’s children.They bow their heads.“Bless us, O Lord, and these Thy gifts, which we are about to receive from Thy bounty, through Christ our Lord, Amen.”
I wait for Jack to say or do something that lets his mother know that they don’t need to repeat prayers.We may not pray the same, but surely God won’t require us to say two prayers over every meal?
But he’s quiet.
I decide that double prayers can’t really hurt.
