Because I’m wondering what the word is formore than like.
At breakfast, Mom asks about my plans for the day. “You have a game early this evening. And morning skate, I presume.”
“Plus, the women’s hockey team plays after us. And I have plans to take Mia and all of you.”
“Can’t wait,” Mom says, then asks, “What are you doing in the afternoon?”
“We all know you’re too tough to nap,” Dad says as he pours another cup of coffee, the ink on his arms on full display. My birthdate and my sister’s are among his tattoos.
“I outgrew naps a long time ago, Dad.”
“Don’t remind me,” Mom groans.
“I did too,” Mia chimes in, popping a rosemary potato into her mouth. My parents can cook. “I’m pretty tough. I’m going to stay up all night on Christmas Eve and wait for Santa.”
Mom blinks, confused. Mia debunked Santa two years ago. “You…are?”
“Course I am,” Mia says, completely serious. “I talked to Luna and Parker about the science of Santa, and it just doesn’t make sense.”
“Really? Why’s that?” Mom asks.
Mia gives her a serious look. “Just think about it. Carrots and cookies aren’t good enough sources of fuel.”
This kid. Someday she’s going to prank like a pro hockey player. “Fair point,” I say.
Mom furrows her brow, parts her lips, then says, “You’re pulling my leg, Mia Bishop.”
Mia grins impishly. “Grams, I know all of you are Santa. But I still really like gifts. I wonder whatSantawill bring me this year.”
That’s a very good question. I’ve already bought her tickets to see theIce Spectaclein early January—Tyler recommended the ice show since they’re coming to San Francisco then. I’ve picked up other presents too.
But thinking back to the night we decorated the tree gives me another idea. It may be presumptuous, but after breakfast, I text Isla and ask if she wants to go Christmas shopping later today.
For Mia.
It feels entirely different than asking her on a date. More personal. More vulnerable.
And more right.
Isla swings open the door to the Love Shack before I even knock, her expression a mix of glee and triumph. She looks like the world’s sexiest elf wearing a red coat, a white scarf, a bright smile, and a bag that saysMerryon her shoulder.
“I’ve been ready for this moment since the season started. I started a list the day Mia helped me with my tree.”
This is so Isla.
“Of course you did,” I say. “You want the world tomake sense, so you try to make sense of it with your notebooks.”
“You were right,” she says with a proud little lift of her chin as she walks down the steps. She dips a hand into her canvas bag and whips out a notebook. It has illustrations of wrapped presents on it. “This is my gift notebook. This is where I keep all my gift lists.”
“Including one for Mia?”
“This surprises you?”
“Nope,” I say, though it does delight me. I don’t say that though. I’m not sure I’ve ever said the worddelightout loud. It also…touches some spot in my heart that feels tender, and a little bruised. Isla made a list. For my kid.
I feel like I’m dreaming. But then, she’s kind of a dream girl.
Where did that thought come from? I don’t have dream girls.
