12

48 16 9
                                    

George came home in undeniable excitement two days before Christmas Eve, calling his wife from the doorstep before spotting my bewildered face in the living room and promptly shutting up.

"What's it?" his wife, Linda, asked, and George's eyes darted from me, to her, and back to me before he plastered a smile on his face.

"I was thinking, you know — surprising the kids. I got a little extra money, we can get something even better for them."

George's intonation was jarring — too fake to pass the acting threshold. I sat at the side, watching him ramble incessantly a little too loud — loud enough to wake his younger son from his sleep. His wife was equally puzzled, but shook it off and followed his train of thoughts: yes, we could Alice the toy truck she wanted, and also the Thomas engine collection. Yes, we could buy another for Adam.

But when dinner time arrived, George and Linda didn't sit with us: instead, I was left with their two little brats who were hell-bent upon asking me who I liked the most in the Paw Patrol cartoon. It was annoyingly comforting — I wouldn't be alone this Christmas, away from the entire world and awkwardly mingling with fresh frat boys who seemed too intent to strike up a conversation with my boyfriend. It was more calming to fight over mashed potatoes and I-won't-eat-vegetables! than hear drunken singing every other year.

I was with a family, for once.

When dinner ended, George and Linda rose from watching the television and sat beside each other, murmuring and serving themselves portions too little to fill their stomachs. I was 'assigned' as usual to read Alice her bedtime story (she told me that only I read the story very well and only I should read it to her) and when she had fallen asleep to make-believe dragons and pretty princesses, I walked out to find George and Linda whispering in hushed enthusiasm. Faces radiating joy, plates left untouched. And when my presence startled them, they silently picked up their cutlery and George sat there tapping the rim, blinking fervently.

I cleared my throat. "Sorry, just wanted to say good night."

They exchanged a look and George smiled at me, a little too wide. "We gotta start the decoration tomorrow. I'll get the tree. Late though, huh? I should have —"

"I'd help along, George. It'll be a blast."

"Hell yes, Julian," he said. "This will be the best Christmas we'll ever have."


Ma Rosie Comes Home For Christmas | ✓Where stories live. Discover now