My parents used to go to Church on Christmas Eve and then again on Christmas Day for mass - but they stopped going when the corruption in the Church came to light in the mainstream press. They wanted nothing to do with it and had no wish to endorse any practice that abused religion in such a way, and decided that if they were going to be Catholic, the were going to be Catholic in a good way; the right way; and they never went to Church again. As a result, Mike and I have always spent Christmas Eve and Christmas Day at home.
Although we are, in fact, spending today at home, things are a little different. Tony has come round to give Mike and Jaime their presents (or at least, put them under the tree for tomorrow), and he's brought his mom, a charming, sweet natured woman named Claudia, to meet us - Mike has told me that Tony's father passed away when he was eleven and he was raised by his mom and nobody else. Tony's gifts, perfectly wrapped, are the first to go under the tree. In keeping with tradition, the rest of the presents from all of us to each other will go under the tree tonight.
With the presents delivered, Tony and Mike disappeared to the basement an hour ago and it wasn't long till I heard the whine of a guitar and the rattle of drum sticks on cymbals - within moments they'd launched into Young and Hopeless. Good Charlotte. Naturally. And Tony is damn good on that guitar.
"You're not serious," Jaime says as he appears at the door of my room, carrying two mugs of coffee, and sets them down on the bedside table as he giggles. Hands free, he puts his hands on his hips and tilts his head. "We aren't leaving for another three days."
"I want to be prepared," I shrug and smile, clasping my hands together and swaying slightly.
I have my little suitcase open on the bed and an array of clothes laid out around it. Inside the suitcase I've already put my dressy shoes, an ironed button down and a pair of clean pants, folded meticulously - my smart outfit for going to see the musical. Knowing New York is going to be even colder than winter in San Diego, I'm trying to make sure I bring enough layers for tourist-ing round the city. And then, beside all my clothes I have the beginnings of my toiletries bag and my travel things - I've drawn the money I need for food and city transport from the bank, setting myself a cash budget with just a small amount to spare in case of emergencies on my card, and the flights and accommodation are, of course, already paid for. The money sits in my wallet, and then beside my wallet I have my passport, and in the spine of my passport is tucked my flight ticket. True - we aren't actually leaving until the twenty seventh, arriving in the morning of the twenty-eighth, but I'm too excited to put off packing for another minute. "Do you think I should take a scarf? Or maybe I should put it in my carry-ons...it gets cold on flights, doesn't it? Do you think both planes will have a blanket or will I need to take my own?"
"Vic," he laughs, coming over to the bed and kneeling on it so the mattress bounces slightly. "Chill!"
"I'm too excited!" I squeal, and he laughs again and takes my hands.
"You're cute."
"You're amazing. If it weren't for you none of this would be happening. I still can't believe it's happening."
For a while, he says nothing - just kneels on the mattress, blankets still a mess and unmade from last night, and keeps a hold of my hands as we watch each other, seeing who'll speak next. It's me, because I'm too excited to actually contain it. "I'm definitely going to cry."
"So am I."
"I'll be gone by Waving Through a Window."
"I'll be gone by the curtain going up," he quips, and I laugh, because that isn't actually too much of a stretch of the imagination. "I reckon if you lean forward and take a peek down the row during You Will Be Found not one person won't be crying."
"I will test that theory," I nod. "If I can see through my own tears by that point, of course."
"Have you ever felt like nobody was there?..." he starts singing, and I laugh again, letting go of one of his hands and putting my own over his mouth.
"I don't want to cry now!"
"Have you ever felt forgotten -" he continues, muffled by my hand. "In the middle of nowhere?"
"Have you ever felt like you could disappear?" I join in, relenting at last and withdrawing my hand, and his face lights up as he stops singing and listens to me instead. "Like you could fall, and no one would hear..."
"You have such a nice voice," he beams, and that stupid, simple compliment makes me smile ridiculously wide. In a fraction of a second I think about all the times Alex and I got together and jammed, and we sang all the songs we loved and grew up with. My voice was smooth and his was easy, and they gelled together very nicely. For my junior year music assessed practical, I played guitar and sang an acoustic version of When You Were Young by the Killers and got full marks - but I don't think I've actually sung properly since then. I used to love it.
"I have a decent voice," I shrug, and as I let go of his hands and move away from my half finished packing on the bed he moves to leave as well, and we collect our coffees and head out of my room and to the stairs. "I'm no Beyoncé."
"Well. The only Beyoncé is Beyoncé, that's true. But that's the first time I've ever heard you sing properly, you have a lovely voice."
"So do you."
"Yours is nicer. Sing some more."
I shake my head at him, but do as he wishes. "Well, let that lonely feeling wash away,
Maybe there's a reason to believe you'll be okay;
'Cause when you don't feel strong enough to stand,
You can reach, reach out your hand."
"Vic, I haven't heard you sing in a long time," says Mom as we meet in the living room, where she's just leaving to put today's laundry in the machine. "I almost forgot how lovely your voice was."
"Told you!" Jaime says gleefully, poking me in the ribs as I giggle.
The living room feels as it once felt but hasn't for what feels like an abnormally long time. It feels warm and safe and alive as Jaime and I stand in the doorway and observe the scene, where Tony and Mike are sitting cross legged beneath the tree, playing a game on Mike's phone called Heads Up - at the moment, it's Mike who has the phone on his head, screen facing Tony as words pop up, seemingly related to Disney, and Tony frantically tries to describe them without saying the words themselves. As we stand and watch, the words Mrs Potts appears on the screen.
"Oh!" Tony exclaims, highly wired and energetic, the most I've seen him so since meeting him. "Um, Beauty and the Beast -"
"Belle?"
"No, no, uh...her son is Chip!"
"Oh, Mrs Potts!"
"Yeah! Next!"
Mike flicks the phone downwards and it pings in a way that lets you know he's got the right answer, and a new phrase takes its place; Saving Mr Banks.
"Related to Mary Poppins," Tony starts, "the thing you got mad at me about when I said I hadn't seen it."
"Saving Mr Banks," Mike nods, and flicks the screen down before Tony has even had a chance to say 'correct'. Once more, it pings before replacing the phrase with; If I Never Knew You.
"Er...Pocahontas. It's one of the songs."
"Colours of the Wind?"
"No, the one that makes everyone cry. When he's tied up and she goes in to see him and they sing."
"Shit! I don't know the name, uh...if I never held you, I would never have a clue..." he sings badly, rushed as the game starts to tick-tock, time running out, and Tony flaps his hands in his face in an attempt to get him to be quiet.
"Yes, but the title!"
"I don't know it!"
"It's like the first line of what you sang but with one word different."
"Argh - pass!" He rushes, and goes to flip the phone upwards instead, but the time runs out before he can do it and the phone buzzes instead, and he groans, taking it away from his head, and I raise an eyebrow.
"Mike! That was a Pocahontas question," I say despairingly, and he looks over at me, his only response to stick out his tongue out at me before returning his attention to Tony, and I giggle.
Tony's Mom sits on the sofa, her bag propped up against her hip, her jacket still on; she clearly hadn't been anticipating a stay, and had expected to drop off the present and leave again - but Mom did her classic; 'would you like a cup of tea?' And now she's penned in, sipping on her drink - quite happily, I might add. When Dad re-enters and sits down with his own beverage, they resume conversation.
Outside, it is overcast and gloomy; big, grey, rolling clouds clutter the sky the way art projects clutter my room, which somehow makes the inside of my house ten times cosier. The gentle lighting of the living room and the twinkling of the lights on the Christmas tree combined with the softly glittering star atop it changes the room, so it's a haven from the outside world, the charming, cosy epicentre of a dark and shadowy day. In the kitchen, Mom is steaming the Christmas puddings, so the smell of rich, warm treacle and fruit and sugar is filling the house. The smell of the puddings mixes with the gingerbread lattes Jaime and I are drinking, so everything smells as festive as it looks.
Where we would normally have just the four of us under one roof for Christmas, something about the presence of Jaime, Tony and his mom are making everything even more homely. Nick and Jordan will be popping round tomorrow to deliver their gifts for Mike, and with so many people connected into the same Christmas...my heart isn't programmed to take it.
And the thing that's emotionally battered me the most is how much my parents have adored having Jaime around - and how much Jaime adores them too. Over the past few weeks Jaime must have taught Mom half a dozen new things to bake, whenever she's been home. Although today is only her second full day of leave this holiday, of any evening or afternoon she was home in good time, Jaime had her baking new things - and Dad loves him too. They do the damn crossword together when he's reading his paper.
I'm reluctant to get too used to things - of course, come end of the month, Sarah and Andrew will be picking up Jaime to take him home. And after that, it will be back to work, back to routine, back to school for Mike, and life will resume its usual chaos and no doubt pick up a little more. I've chosen four of my five university options for application, and when I work out my final backup I'll finish my personal statement and send it all off. The deadline is the end of January, and I'll hear back from them by May. In addition to this I've got hold of the email address of the new Principal of Clairemont, a woman by the name of Elaine Kimberly, and after Christmas I'll be emailing her to let her know Mike's situation before school starts. Mom was on it straight away, of course, and has already sent an email detailing his epilepsy; but although she knows by this point that Mike has had some grief at school, neither of my parents know the half of it. They know some kid is picking on him, but I know about the name-calling and the graffiti on the locker and how Phil Green has been changed over classes and how Mike was completely pulled from one class to avoid him, and Alex knows something else that made him stop smiling for a whole afternoon...so it's down to me to make sure Mike stays as protected as is possible under what I'm beginning to think will be an entirely different school.
But when there's so much happiness under one roof...for the time being, I won't complain one bit.
Mike watches Tony intently as they talk, as Claudia carries on a conversation with Dad. Mike looks as if he's never seen anything more beautiful in his entire life.
* * * * *
"It's eleven pm," Jaime whispers, rubbing his eyes. "Can we sleep yet?"
"Absolutely not!" I whisper back urgently, checking the time on my phone. "Anyway, it's not eleven, it's two minutes to."
"What are we waiting for exactly?"
"You shall see, my friend," I say as I place one finger against his lips as he chuckles. "You shall see."
Night has well and truly fallen. The final remnants of carol singers died away hours ago, and now there are simply no sounds; no jingle bells, no heavenly angels - simply silence. Not a mumble from the stars or a murmur from the moon outside my window; not a rumble from the storm clouds or a whisper from the wind. Not a single peep - it truly is a silent night, apart from Jaime's occasional querying as to why I'm not letting him sleep.
One minute to eleven. Almost there.
"This is so confusing," Jaime mutters again, and I giggle, getting more and more subtly hyper the closer we get to eleven o'clock, but I try and keep quiet. My parents will be flat out by this point, and only one other person in the house will be remotely awake, and that's the person on the other side of the wall.
"It will become clear."
"Can it become clear a little bit quicker?"
"Not much longer..." I say slowly, keeping my phone turned on, watching the time. 22:59, 22:59, 22:59...
23:00.
As soon as it turns eleven I swing myself out of bed and turn on the reading light beside the bed, and I hear Mike's door shut next door. A moment later my own door opens and Mike comes dashing in, closing the door behind him as quietly as he can before he runs over to the bed and sits down.
"What the hell?!" Jaime exclaims quietly, and Mike and I both giggle. I lean over the side of the bed and dip under it, removing the tub of chocolates, and when I straighten back up Mike is shuffling the set of Cards Against Humanity cards as Jaime looks exceedingly confused.
"Okay, everyone," I start, keeping my voice down. "Welcome to the Cards Against Humanity Fuentes Family Championship 2016. We have a new contender for the title this year, so the competition is tight. The prize for winning?"
"Pride," Mike finishes for me, purring slightly, and I nod.
"Quite so, young man, quite so. Mike is, of course, the defending champion. Will he finally lose his title to his Cards Against Humanity veteran counterpart?"
"In your dreams," he narrows his eyes, and I smirk.
"Or will the young and spritely up-and-comer pull a surprise to claim the title? Only time shall tell. Gentlemen, the chocolates are for sustenance, and the rules of the game are finite - one hour to play. Player with the most points at midnight wins. As usual, I shall keep score -" at this, I lean over to the bedside table and pull one drawer out, retrieving a notepad and pen. "In keeping with tradition, the youngest contender deals."
"Yessir," Mike says astutely, and finishes shuffling the cards and begins to deal them. Jaime laughs again, and I have to cover his mouth with my hand and put a finger against my own lips.
"Hush! We mustn't wake the parents."
"This is amazing," Jaime snorts, his face only half illuminated by the reading light as I take my hand away from his mouth. For a moment, it reminds me of the way his face looked when illuminated by the fairy lights in the park, and my heart seems to swell as I remember I love him, and from the beginning, I think I knew I would.
The game commences as soon as the cards are dealt without hesitation - this has happened every year since 2011, when this ridiculous card game was first launched. Upon our first play we sifted through the deck, threw out the cards we found too offensive and left the actually funny ones behind. Eleven pm till midnight on Christmas Eve is the championship - for the last six years, Mike and I have snuck into each other's rooms for the big playoff to determine the year's champion, and Mike has won every single year. We could, theoretically, actually do this on any day at any time; but there's something about staying up late, about breaking the rules, about hiding from our parents, about having to stifle our laughter so we don't wake them up no matter how much our sides are splitting that makes doing it like this every year so much more fun.
The game gets off to a good start for me; I win the first point, but then Mike wins the second and third, and Jaime, to my surprise, wins the fourth by a mile. I mark down each point in the notepad, and then we move on to the fifth point. This card says; What are my parents hiding from me?
Mike plays his card first.
"Geese," he says proudly, laying down his white card, and Jaime snorts at the randomness of it and then claps a hand over his mouth.
"Sorry. I'm too loud."
"Play your card, Jaime."
He hesitates, and then closes his eyes as he laughs quietly. "I'm starting to see why people get offended at this game. Okay. What are my parents hiding from me?" He sets down his card and smirks. "Harry Potter erotica."
Mike and I both burst into silent laughter, hands over mouths to quiet them down, and Jaime does the same. "Okay, that's a good one," Mike admits. "I've already lost this point. Vic? Your card?"
"I almost don't want to lay this down," I whisper as Jaime takes a chocolate from the Celebrations tub and unwraps it. I take a deep breath. "What are my parents hiding from me?" I take a deep breath, and then pluck a card from my deck and lay it down. "Tentacle porn."
Jaime squawks loudly and has to stuff the blanket in his face to stop himself howling, and Mike flops back onto the bed, eyes screwed shut and hands covering his face as we all laugh hysterically, desperately trying not to squeal too loudly. This is what always makes this so fun - the stifling of laughter until your lungs hurt and there are tears running down your face. Eventually, both Jaime and Mike agree that I get this point.
Before we play the sixth point, I decide my head is getting too hot under my beanie sitting so close to the reading light, and I slip it off and toss it aside. Without even thinking.
"I learned the hard way that you can't cheer up a grieving friend with..." Mike says, overturning the next black card, and we all look through our decks. I pick out mine almost straight away, so I play mine first.
"Tasteful sideboob," I explain, and Mike snorts softly, about to play out his own card. And then -
"Tasteful what now, Vic?"
And all three of us leap nigh on off the bed, my heart absolutely catapulting itself into my throat, and we all spin around to see my dad standing in the doorway, still in his pyjamas, hand on his hip, one eyebrow raised. "Jesus Christ," Mike says eventually, hand on his chest. "Fuck the epilepsy, I'm going to have heart failure."
"What," Dad says slowly, "are you three doing?"
We're silent for a moment as we look between each other, and then, perhaps due to the late night delirium or the copious amounts of chocolate we've already eaten, we all burst into laughter again, lucid and dumb, and I bury my face in Jaime's shoulder as he pulls the blanket back up to hide his own face. It takes us a stupidly long time to stop laughing because each time we start to die down we look at each other again, and when we're as high as this it isn't taking much to set us all off.
"Are you playing a card game?" Dad asks eventually, folding his arms, and we all look at him and nod, lips pursed. "And is that card game Cards Against Humanity?"
More nodding.
For a second I wonder if he's going to be a little pissed our ridiculous squealing has woken him up at twenty past eleven on Christmas Eve - but then, to our surprise, he steps into my room and clicks the door shut behind him, trotting over and kneeling beside the bed. "I want to join. Can you re-deal, Mike?"
The ridiculousness is enough to make me laugh again and Jaime gapes, scoffing, as Mike raises his eyebrows, taken aback. I know what's going through his head - is there anything more awkward than playing a game with your parent where the words 'tasteful sideboob' are casually distributed? But he relents very quickly, and I know why he does that too - this is family time and family time is rare, and if the most family time we get is at twenty five past eleven in the night on Christmas Eve...okay.
So we play the point (which Mike wins with 'Sucking the President's dick') and then he recollects the white cards and reshuffles before dealing again. Dad agrees he won't play for the Championship title since he's already six points behind, and within five minutes we're back on track. I'd like to say that with my own father kneeling on the floor and leaning on the bed playing this game with us, I'd be censoring my answers more - but Dad proves to have the filthiest mind of all of us, so I give up on censorship, determined not to let him beat me.
Time ticks on and yet another point rolls in at quarter to midnight, and Jaime turns over the card; Before I run for President, I must destroy all evidence of my involvement with...
"Got mine," Jaime says straight away, and Mike and I follow. Dad plays his card first, laying it down.
"Poor life choices," he says, setting the card down, and I blow my cheeks out as I raise my eyebrows.
"I feel that too much," I snigger, and we high-five.
Mike goes next. "My collection of high-tech sex toys," he tries, and only gets about halfway through the sentence before he starts laughing, blushing profusely, and we all have to take a moment to compose ourselves before I sniff hard and swallow my giggles.
"Jesus," I whisper, and then I lay down my own card. "A cat video so cute that your eyes roll back and your spine slides out of your anus."
Jaime splutters again, having just eaten a chocolate and choking slightly in his laughter, which makes me start laughing again too. And then finally, he swallows the chocolate, composes himself, and lays down his own card. "Before I run for president I must destroy all evidence of my involvement with...destroying the evidence."
A moment of silence.
And then Mike scoffs and throws down his entire hand of cards, lifting his hands in the air in surrender, and I clap quietly before tallying up a mark next to his name on the notepad. "The point is yours Himes," I say immediately.
"Much appreciated."
"That was a very impressive point, kid," Dad approves. "Very meta."
"Did you just use the word meta in a sentence?" I laugh, raising my eyes to the ceiling and taking another chocolate, and Dad blinks.
"I did. Yes."
"Iconic," Mike nods, and then goes to straighten out his hand again. As I reach forward to turn over the next card, I wait for Jaime to say something; it seems to be the point in conversation where he might utter a few words, and I'm sure I hear him take an intake of breath to start speaking - but no sound comes, and I turn my head to see. He just smiles wistfully, vacantly at nothing in particular, and in the dim shine of the reading light a thousand thoughts seem to flutter past his eyes.
"You okay?" I ask quietly, and he just smiles that bit wider and continues staring at nothing.
"This is the best Christmas I've ever had," he says softly, and a subtle, subdued silence falls. Eventually, he turns to face me, smile still in place. "Ever."
And I'm not sure what to say. What are you supposed to say to this kind of thing? But thankfully, it's Mike who pipes up. "Thank you for being friends with Tony," he says. "If it weren't for you I never would have met him. He's the best thing that happened to me this year. I think he'll be the best thing that happens to me next year too."
"I'll second that thanks," I say softly, very aware that it's late and we're a little high from the hilarity and I'm overly soft and emotional, but just as sincere. He blinks at me once, those eyelashes fluttering elegantly, and I smile gently. "I think we owe you a great deal of gratitude."
Unable to think of adequate words, I just tip my head forwards and kiss him quietly, making sure in that simple gesture somehow that he knows I mean it. I don't know what happened in his last nineteen Christmases on this earth - but I'm all too happy for this to be his best one, because it's been pretty damn amazing for me too.
"Hey, it's not Christmas yet!" Mike pipes up, soppiness gone. "We still have ten minutes."
"Right!" I exclaim, re-arranging my hand of cards. "Are we finishing this or not, eh?"
"Finishing what?"
And for the second time in an hour we all leap halfway out of our skins, Mike actually yelping slightly this time, as Mom steps into my room, arms folded, eyebrows raised. "Holy shit," I mutter, regaining my composure, putting my head in my hands. "My parents are trying to jumpscare us to death."
"Husband," she starts, eyes landing on my father, who glances worriedly at Mike, as if silently pleading for help. "What's going on?"
"I caught them playing this card game," he tries, turning slightly to face her as she walks into the room, shuffling in her slippers, wrapping her fluffy dressing gown tighter around her. "And I was admonishing them."
"You're holding a hand of cards."
"Am I? Goodness gracious, so I am. They must have tricked me. They must have manipulated me into playing. Without me even noticing."
"I see."
"The little rats. Sneaks, the lot of them."
"I wonder who they get it from," Mom says dryly, glowering at him, and he blinks at her a few times before smiling. Deciding an attempt at telling him off is fruitless, she turns her attention to me. "Cards Against Humanity, is that?"
"Maybe..." I say slowly, and she keeps her face stony for a moment before it springs up into an unexpected smile and she perches on the edge of the bed, tucking some hair behind her ear.
"Well why on Earth didn't you ask me to join you?! I'd have whipped all of your asses. Come on, re-deal."
"But there's only six minutes of the game left!" Mike exclaims, indignant. "And I'm winning!"
"Oh, Michael, dear, let your old mother in on the fun, huh?"
"Alright," he sighs. "But you can't beat me."
"Why ever not? Okay, you don't have to re-deal, just give me the leftover cards and I'll do my best."
I look over at Jaime as Mike reluctantly hands over the remaining, un-dealt cards, and we shake our heads at each other in disbelief; but this is the most laid back I've seen Mom in weeks, so I'm not mad about it at all.
"Five minutes left of the game," I say. "Final point to play. Ready?"
I turn over the last card; I got 99 problems, but _____ ain't one...
"Competitors, choose your cards wisely," Mike says softly, and we take a moment to select cards and then come to play. Dad sets his down first.
"I got 99 problems, but a lifetime of sadness ain't one."
"Aw," I smile. "What a positive note to end the game on."
"I thought so, son."
"Mike? You go."
He sets down his card. "Being a motherfucking sorcerer."
Jaime snorts loudly, eyes squeezed shut as he laughs, and I whistle. "That's tough to beat. That's pretty funny. Jaime?"
"Some douche with an acoustic guitar," he says as he sets down his card, and I quirk an eyebrow.
"Is that directed at me?"
And of course, he starts laughing again because he's already hysterical, and then I start laughing too, and the late night effect causes me to flop sideways, overly affectionate, and lean my head on his shoulder, shuffling over to him as he links our arms. "Of course not, darling. And your card?"
Only one white card left in my hand, my chosen answer ready. "Getting wed, having a few kids, taking some pictures, retiring to the South of France and dying."
"Oh," Mike laughs, grimacing. "I think that might beat mine."
"We have one more player, Mikey," I remind him, and look over at Mom. "Go ahead, mother."
"I got 99 problems, but..." she starts, smirking, and then sets down her card. "A defective condom ain't one."
And I actually shriek with laughter at that, and Jaime and I both find ourselves collapsed on the bed as our ribs ache and Mike laughs so virulently he slides off the foot of the bed and lies down on the floor, curled up in a ball. Dad offers her a simple high five as she smiles, smug, and from the floor, Mike manages to say; "Mom, please, no!"
"This is why we didn't ask you to play," I say as I sit up again, wiping genuine tears from my eyes, and she offers up an evil laugh in response. If any of us had played the same card, I don't think it would have been as funny - but it's the fact that Mom played that card, that she, who is always sensible and collected, just very smugly made a joke about a defective condom. Something about that is just so funny.
"I'll give myself that point," she says coolly, and then Jaime, of all people, bows his head and starts applauding, and each of us join him.
"Game over, guys," I sigh, letting my last ounce of delirious giggling slip out in the breath. "It is my pleasure to announce that the Cards Against Humanity champion, 2016, retaining his unmarked title, is Michael Christopher Fuentes."
"I reign supreme," he says from the floor, not moving from where he slipped off the bed but raising his arms in the air in triumph, making metal horns with his hands, and I nod.
"Yes, trouble, you are undefeated. But I will also announce the first runner up of this year's championship...is Jaime Preciado. You secretly filthy minded fuck."
It's Dad who applauds this time, and Jaime, blushing a little from being the centre of attention, seems to actually rise to the spotlight and smiles as he brushes imaginary dust off his shoulders. "Oh, the things you don't know about me."
"I feel like I know more about you after that game," I snort.
Mike's head reappears from the bottom of the bed, and one arm comes up to press the home button of his phone. He spots the time and suddenly straightens up, smiling. "Guys, it's past midnight. Merry Christmas."
And suddenly the silliness of the past hour dissipates, and we all collectively notice the rolling in of a new day on the horizon. Merry Christmases are exchanged all around - Mike shuffles over to Dad on his knees and wraps his arms around him, and I turn to my mom and wrap my arms around her as we tell each other 'Happy Christmas' - 'Yes, happy Christmas dear,' and I hold on a bit longer. The dressing gown she's wearing is so soft and warm, and she is soft and warm as well. Underneath her pyjamas I can feel her heart, which is also soft and warm, thudding rhythmically against her chest, almost like it's touching mine. She squeezes tightly, as if knowing, understanding, and she puts one hand on the back of my head and strokes my hair lovingly.
And then I hug Jaime as Mike takes his turn to hug Mom, and I pull him even closer and whisper my Merry Christmas in his ear, and he does the same. I almost tack on I love you on the end, in my late-night loss of control, but manage to regain some composure before I do so.
And then when I go to hug Dad, it's Mom who hugs Jaime, and I almost get entirely distracted by that. She kisses his cheek and ruffles his hair, wraps her arms around him and he does the same, his smile widening, and they tell each other Merry Christmas too...and then Mike hugs him, and then when I'm finished with Dad even Dad gets up and crosses to his side of the bed to hug him. It's all I can do not to cry.
All five of us together, we sit in my room for a while - Dad and Mike kneeling on the floor, me and Jaime draped over each other, Mom perched on the edge of the bed. We tell silly stories, Mom thoroughly embarrasses me with tales of my toddler-hood...she tells us, for the first time, that somewhere in the attic there are video tapes from when Mike and I were very young - by the sounds of it, so young in fact that neither of us were, as of yet, chronically ill. Somewhere, she tells us, is a video of two year old me waddling away from Mike's cot on Christmas day, tearing into my present, and my face falls the moment I spot Dad filming me. "Oh no," I reportedly say. "The cramera." At first, the thought makes me want to throw myself off a cliff; and then Jaime says it's adorable and wraps an arm around me and rocks me slightly, and then I don't want to throw myself off a cliff anymore.
By the time we all venture to bed, it's half past one in the morning, and my parents usher Mike out of the room upon realising this, fretting he won't get enough sleep - but for the first time in a long time, I know, with certainty, he'll sleep like a baby.
Mom and Dad then disappear, leaving Jaime and I to suddenly realise how tired we are and retire to bed ourselves. I turn out the reading light and pull the covers up over us both, and then I shuffle very very close and slip one of my legs between his and link the fingers of our hands and settle against his body. I know that my heart won't stay this full for very long - but it's nice, at least, while it lasts.
In my dream, I am very small, walking in a forest much bigger than me. It's frightening - but when I look up to my side, my mother is holding my hand, and it isn't as frightening anymore.
* * * * *
Christmas Day goes down beautifully.
We gather downstairs at ten am, settle ourselves in the living room. The tree has been adorned with gifts beneath it - as usual, not a huge amount, money restricting, but more than what Mike and I ever ask for. I sit nestled on the sofa against Jaime, limbs tangled together - his present to me is a Hufflepuff scarf, which he wraps around my neck for me there and then, a matching Hufflepuff hat and a mug from the Disney store in the shape of Baymax's head - short, wide and round, with the black eyes and mouth that are so iconic. I tell him thank you, and kiss him in gratitude.
In return, I buy him two new rucksacks I found on some hidden site on the internet that made unique pastel items - both are soft material and the type that are sort of floppy and have straps that are thin and adjustable. One is pastel galaxy themed, and the other is cream and covered with images of bird silhouettes. He's thrilled that it'll match his scarf, and then struggles to decide which one he wants to take on our trip.
The day is as mundane and wonderful as always - Nick and Jordan stop by to exchange presents with Mike, and my present from Alex, shipped all the way from Baltimore, arrives by special delivery. It's a set of watercolour brush pens - the type I've been trying to get my hands on for ages.
For once, the day runs smoothly and without a hitch. I lap up every moment - Jaime beside me, my parents home, my brother happy.
And my excitement doesn't end today. Oh, no, my excitement is only just beginning to grow - after all, today is the twenty fifth.
In two days' time I'm going to be on a plane to New York.
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