Sam barks, and Cecilia smiles against my lips, never breaking the kiss. Pressing her body into the railing, one hand on her nape, I smile too, knowing that whatever comes next, we have already found our way home.
Ethan
I watch the numbers change on the elevator display while Alicia stands beside me, a reusable bag hanging from her hand.
At the end of dinner, after we’d opened the presents, she talked to our dad, and I saw something change in her expression. When I heard her ask Mom if she could go see him now, instead of later for lunch like they’d agreed—because Dad was alone and she didn’t want him to spend Christmas by himself—I offered to bring her.
I didn’t really think about it. I just knew it was the right thing to do.
Even knowing that some of Alexander’s family is staying in this same building, and that they’d be coming back soon, I still wanted to be the one to bring her.
The doors slide open into the living room. And I see him, standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, hands tucked into his pockets.
Something unfamiliar tightens in my chest at the sight of him.
“Dad!” Alicia says, hurrying toward him.
He turns just in time to pull her into a tight hug. His eyes close as he presses a kiss to the top of her head.
“What are you doing here, princess?” he asks, smiling.
“Mom said I could sleep over,” Alicia says, smiling back. “I told her not to call because I wanted to surprise you.” Then she turns toward me. “Ethan brought me.”
Only then does he look in my direction, to where I’m standing near the open elevator.
“Ethan,” he says, my name breaking slightly as it leaves his mouth.
I straighten and walk toward them. I hold out my hand. “Merry Christmas.”
He takes it, then pulls me into a hug.
“Sorry,” he says, his voice thick. “I had to.”
I swallow the tightness in my throat and hug him back. But I don’t let it last. Stepping back, I turn to Alicia.
“Aren’t you going to give him what you brought?”
She laughs and goes back for the bag she left behind, pulling out several containers and setting them on the coffee table.
“Nonna made sure to send a little of everything when I told her I was coming to see my dad.”
“Nonna?” he asks, confused.
“It’s Alexander’s grandmother,” I say. “It means grandmother in Italian, even her great-grandchildren use it. She asked us to call her that too.” I add, watching him.
I notice the movement in his throat as he swallows.
“You call her that too?” he asks me.
I nod. “I never had a great-grandmother,” I tell him after a moment. “She’s... a nice lady. Really funny. And surprisingly active. You wouldn’t guess she’s over eighty.”
He doesn’t add anything else. Instead, he shifts closer to Alicia and sits down on the rug beside her, close enough that their shoulders nearly touch.
“Did your mom make any of this?” he asks, his voice low.
“Mom helped with everything. Ethan and I did too. Actually, everyone helped with something. Cleaning, setting up, cooking, decorating. It was really messy, Dad. But in the best way.”
He smiles at her. But I see it before he can mask it, the ache in his eyes, the longing he keeps just under the surface.
