This is the first Christmas in years where we haven’t been joined by the Anderson family, and while it’s quieter, my heart feels fuller.I've been tasked with organizing and decorating this year. I chose white, red, and gold (obviously) as the color scheme. I like the simplicity of it.
The snow hasn’t let up at all since it started at the beginning of December, and forecasts predict it’s going to be a long, ice-cold winter.
I haven’t owned proper winter clothes in over a decade because winters in California barely made me shiver, so I’d completed a giant online order two weeks ago to fill my wardrobe, and everything arrived today, just in time.
I set the table with Christmas themed paper plates, paper cups, and bamboo cutlery, because mom refuses to do dishes on the holidays and quite frankly, so do I. Even some decorations are paper, so everything can go straight into the trash once the year is over.
I still haven’t spoken to Harley, but I knew he needed more time and I realize that it’s okay. While I know in my heart that Harley Wingrove is the person I’ll end up with, this month apart has been good for me. Hard, but good.
He needs to figure it all out on his own and will come back to me when he’s ready. Though, my Christmas wish this year is to see him. Even if only for a moment, but I know my chances are slim.I hope once the year is out, he and I can start again, but tonight I’m focusing on spending Christmas with my family.
Doing traditions we’ve done since we were kids, waking up knowing that 'Santa' came to visit. My sisters and I buy gifts for our parents every year, and label them 'from Santa’ so they feel included, too.
Once we’re all finally seated at the table, Dad stands to make a toast. He’s sporting his own, red, ugly Christmas sweater, with a giant red reindeer nose, and a pair of 'Dad jeans’, as my sisters and I call them, along with a sparkly pink Santa hat.
"To our girls. We’re immensely proud of you all.” We all raise our glasses in preparation to cheers.
"To family,” my mom finishes as we all echo her words.
"To family.”
Digging in, I go straight for the maple glazed ham, mashed potatoes, green beans, and turkey. Each portion of food hitting the spot exactly, and I struggle to breathe while undoing the top button on my jeans.
This is how Christmas should be.
"I’m so full.” I slouch back in my chair, wiping my mouth with my napkin.
"I’ll clean up,” Olive says, pushing her chair out, collecting our paper plates and utensils before putting them in the trash.
"Go freshen up, girls. I’ve laid out your pajamas on your beds. It’s time for hot coco andElfbefore we play charades,” mom teases.
She started doing this for us every year when we were kids and just kept doing it. It became our little tradition.A knock on the door sounds as the three of us head up the stairs, but none of us are eager to check who it is. We’re too busy arguing about who gets to be the judge in charades and who gets mom or Dad on their team.
None of us want Dad; he gets too grumpy and is a terrible drawer.
"Guess I’ll get the door,” he huffs, knowing full well none of us were even going to bother.
Closing my bedroom door behind me, I lean against it, shutting my eyes, allowing myself tofeel.
To feel happy.
To feel sad.
To feel confused.
But mostly, to feel grateful for the love that’s radiating within the walls of this home.
The place I’d probably always call home, no matter where I live.
When I finally open my eyes, I expect to see colorful Christmas pajamas as promised, but I don’t. I see something else entirely.
A ball gown.
"What the hell?”I whisper to myself, staring at the deep emerald dress, laid out neatly on my bed. A dress that’s eerily similar to the one I wore to prom, only slightly different.
Slowly approaching my bed, I see a folded piece of paper sitting on top of a white orchid corsage in a box.
Put this dress on & meet me downstairs.
