Joyeux Noël

The Surprise

Julien pulled his phone away from his ear as Noémie shrieked. He had called her for her opinion, and that was his answer: a shrill, resounding confirmation. "Oh, yes!" she added after another moment. "She'll love it, Julien, it'll mean so much to her. I'll get the invitations ready. Don't worry, Alain won't be on the list; I don't want to make it too terribly awkward, hm?"

"Yes, but--"

"I'll take her out dress shopping, and she'll never suspect a thing."

"That's why I called you," he said with a smile. For all her excitability, and their unconventional introduction, Noémie could at least be depended upon.

The party Julien planned on throwing at their flat would be the best of the year. He had to make up for the looming specter of her family dinner. It hunched on the horizon, dark and bitter, and neither he nor Daphne were excited for it. This would be his first attendance, but not his first witness of her parents' disdain for one another.

It would also make up for his lack of living family members-- his parents, his grandmother, all long dead. He had reunited with his niece and nephew, but he had disappeared before meeting them. When he arrived in the future, they were already at the end of their lives. Still, he had received an invitation to the same family home he had been born in, and he and Daphne would attend those festivities on the holiday proper. This plan, though, this could be theirs, free of the flattery that would plague his family's celebrations.

With Noémie assigned to distraction duty, Théo could be assigned to decorations with Hélène, and Warren volunteered his new friend to assist with cooking. Julien insisted on making the stew himself, however.

As promised, Noémie met Daphne for coffee to start their day early, and then preparations began with a flurry-- Lucas, as Warren introduced him, began to chop the vegetables, and Julien directed Hélène and Théo in their decorations. The entire apartment smelled of pine before the scents of cooking food began to linger as well. Other guests arrived and wine flowed.

It was a request from Daphne that he begin preheating the oven that alerted Julien to her imminent return. He received a message from Noémie as well, but several minutes later. Julien met them at the door, taking Daphne's coat to hang and watching her surprise. "Julien, were you cooking while I was gone?" She glanced around him. "And decorating, too?"

"Perhaps." He couldn't help his mischievous smile, and she frowned in curiosity. He leaned in to bise Noémie and hang her coat as well before his hand settled at Daphne's back. He led her further inside, and as they turned to the kitchen, their friends, packed together, lifted their glasses.

"Joyeux Noël!"

Daphne's hand clapped over her mouth and then curled over her chest, her smile breaking as wide and bright as Julien had ever seen it. Her other hand reached for his arm, and he was all too happy to step close, arm settling around her as he kissed the top of her head. "It's wonderful, bien-aimé." She turned back to decorations, the boughs woven with christmas lights, bells, and ribbons, the tall candles placed carefully around the apartment, and the sprig of non-traditional mistletoe that hung over the window he used to sit at while smoking.

"I thought we might make it our new tradition, hm? To make up for those lost."

"Yes," she said, smile still impossibly wide. "I love it." She reached up to cup his face and bring his brow down to press against hers. "I should change, non?" He kissed her temple and Noémie pulled her away into their bedroom. With the surprise sprung, their friends filtered out from the kitchen, settling on the couch or around the windows, clustering for conversations.

When Daphne reemerged, it was Julien's turn to smile as wide as possible. If Noémie ever exited their room, he didn't notice. Daphne's dress was green, his favorite and hers, and the color she had worn when they had officially met for the first time. He offered his hand and couldn't keep from pulling her close and kissing her warm and full. "You look beautiful, mon cœur." His fingers brushed the edge of her back, exposed by the cut of the dress, and he remembered the first time he'd seen her in such a modern style.

"You're cute when you blush," she said, echoing that same day. "Thank you for this."

"I wanted us to have something good of our own."

"It's perfect."

Their guests lingered well past midnight, even after the meal, which was slow and interspersed with laughter and conversation. But eventually Julien and Daphne were alone again, and Julien turned off the overhead lights, leaving only the electric candles.

When they finished their wine and set their glasses aside, Daphne stepped out of her shoes and changed the music to something else familiar--a slow jazz song. He caught her waist, and her palm settled over his other. Her free hand curled at his shoulder and she smiled up at him. "This should be a tradition too, non?"

"Of course." He couldn't help but smile too, and he pressed his brow to hers even as they turned, careful not to bump into the furniture. "Every year, before dinner with your parents, before Lain. We'll have our own party, and afterward we can dance, just like this." She hummed her agreement, and they continued to turn.