Invisible String

44

Kylie and Jason’s house was glowing—twinkling lights lined the roof, warm lanterns flanked the front door, and the scent of cinnamon and roasted ham met us before we even stepped inside. It was Christmas Eve, and everything looked like a Hallmark movie. Even Mira seemed to notice, peeking wide-eyed from the sling across my chest as Travis helped Lily out of her coat.

“Hi, hi! We’re here!” I called into the chaos as we stepped in.

Wyatt came skidding into the hallway in fuzzy socks, nearly knocking over the tree in the foyer. “Mira!” she shouted joyfully and immediately tried to hug her, though Mira was still half asleep.

Jason’s mom was in the kitchen with a red apron on, stirring something that looked dangerously like eggnog, and Travis’s dad was already sitting on the couch with a paper crown from a cracker on his head and a beer in hand.

“Look who made it,” Jason said with a smirk as he walked in from the backyard holding firewood. “The sickos survived.”

I gave him a sarcastic thumbs up. “We’re at like 75% functionality. But we’re here.”

Kylie came down the stairs, very much nine months pregnant, wearing a velvet green maternity dress and glittery slippers. “Okay, I made cookies, cider’s warming, the girls decorated their gingerbread houses, and no one has cried in thirty minutes so we’re basically winning.”

She waddled toward me and gave me a careful side-hug. “How’s Mira feeling?”

“She’s better today. Her fever finally broke last night.” I kissed the top of Mira’s head. “But she’s still clingy. I basically didn’t shower. Merry Christmas.”

Travis was already talking football with his dad and Jason, laughing loud and relaxed. Lily had run off with Elliott and Finnley, already dragging out dolls and singing to the soundtrack playing softly in the background.

It was cozy, it was chaotic, it was family.

As we settled in—coats thrown over chairs, babies being passed around, Travis slipping Mira from me to give my arms a break—I took a second just to breathe it all in.

Kylie came and stood next to me, holding a sparkly mocktail. “So,” she said, bumping my hip. “You survived Christmas illness, released a risqué Christmas teaser, parented through sleep deprivation, and still look hot. I’d say you earned this holiday.”

I grinned. “You know what? I think I did.”

Then I paused, eyes drifting over to Travis who was now holding Mira in one arm and handing Lily a juice box with the other.

“Actually, we did.”

The living room smelled like pine and gingerbread, and the fireplace crackled beneath a row of mismatched stockings. All the kids were gathered around the low coffee table, deep in concentration as they painted and glittered their handmade ornaments. Mira was in Travis’s lap, occasionally dipping a paintbrush into the wrong color and smearing it on a pinecone. Lily, tongue between her teeth, was threading beads onto a pipe cleaner with a determination that looked like mine.

“Wyatt,” Kylie warned gently from her seat nearby, “glitter goes on the ornament, not in your sister’s hair.”

Bennett squealed as Wyatt cackled, but they both kept working, their faces red from laughter and heat. The holiday playlist hummed in the background, and someone—probably Travis—had started it over from the beginning for the third time because he liked the version of "Little Saint Nick" that had the loudest tambourine.

Meanwhile, the adults—minus Kylie, who nursed a cup of hot cider and her very round belly—had gathered in the kitchen, clutching red mugs filled with spiked eggnog.