20. A Very Special Christmas #2
The lively chaos filled me with a contrasting calm.
I tapped Henry on the shoulder when Brian passed me a small plate with a ruby-red glob bouncing on it. “What is this?” I whispered.
“Cranberry sauce,” Henry said.
“It looks like Topher’s food,” I said.
“It does also come from a can,” said Henry. “Try some. It’s sweet.”
“You’ve never had cranberry sauce?” asked Henry’s mom, having overheard.
“No, I haven’t,” I said, masking my displeasure over the way it jiggled as I sliced it.
The whole slimy cylinder nearly slid away from me.
Peter watched with rapt attention, probably hoping for a mess to blame on someone else.
He’d already been scolded twice for allowing breadcrumbs to collect all over his shirt.
“Oh, I’m sorry your first taste is going to be the canned kind,” said Henry’s dad. “My mom—God rest her soul—used to make the homemade kind from fresh cranberries. Couldn’t be beat.”
“Grandma’s was delicious,” Henry said while buttering a fluffy roll.
“We should make it from her recipe for Aidan next year,” Henry’s mom said. It came out so casually, the idea that I’d be here next year. My heart swelled.
I went to slice my turkey and take a bite, but Henry placed a hand over my utensils. “Not yet. The host usually makes a speech. We all toast. Don’t worry, it won’t be long.”
Alexa clanked a butter knife against her glass. “Merry Christmas. Thank you all for joining Sid and me at our home, and thank you, Aunt Margaret, for entrusting me to host the holiday this year.”
“Take it! It’s yours now,” Henry’s mom said with a wide smile before raising her glass in Alexa’s direction. Everyone chuckled, except the kids who were barely paying attention.
“It means so much to me that you’ve all welcomed Sid into our family, supported our small business, and allowed us to host the Aster family Christmas.
I love when we can all get together like this, even if it’s slightly cramped in here.
” The dining room was long yet narrow. If I scraped my chair back far enough, I’d hit a wall.
“Maybe next year we’ll be in an even bigger place with even more Asters.
” Her gaze crossed paths with mine and for a moment, I assumed she was talking about me taking Henry’s last name.
“For now, let’s raise our glasses to what we have and those around us.
Our blessings are many, and our cups are full. ”
“I’d like my belly to be full,” Grandpa Aster chimed in, miming the eventual unknotting of his belt.
“Merry Christmas, all. Dig in,” Sid finished for Alexa. We all drank.
Rich, savory flavors spilled over my tongue and down my throat.
Henry was a good cook and had even taken me out to fine dining at La Volpe Affamata, but the care put into the meal here made it more delicious than even the priciest item on the menu there.
I tried my best to pace myself like Henry taught me at Patsy’s.
“What sort of traditions did your family used to have for Christmas?” Henry’s mom asked an hour later when Henry dipped into the kitchen to clear plates and help put away leftovers.
“If you celebrated Christmas,” his dad added.
“Yes, if you celebrated Christmas,” she said.
My throat became blocked. Half the conversation today seemed to be about shared memories.
Stories all started with, “Remember when…” or “Did anyone ever tell you about…” Everyone broke out into fits of laughter or shed small tears, and I sat there, empty-headed, filling my mouth with delicious food as my stomach soured.
It begged the question: If I had no past, did I deserve a future?
Maybe even more importantly: Did I deserve a future with Henry ?
That morning, still in our pajamas, before pancakes, he’d told me he had a gift for me.
Excitement built in my belly until he handed me an envelope.
There was no way there was a partridge or a pear tree in an offering that size.
If I was his true love, surely he’d have given me more than a piece of paper and some money.
Good thing I’d snuck into his bedroom while he was in the shower to secure a surprise of my own for him that would set everything right.
“I don’t have any living family,” I said in a small voice.
His parents wore matching pairs of pity eyes, which were undeserved. Real human emotion sparked from a lie. Well, not a lie. But not a truth, either. My skin pricked hot. No longer hungry, I pushed my dish away.
“Lucky for you, the Aster family has plenty of traditions for you to partake in,” said Henry’s mom, scooting over a seat and placing a hand on my arm.
I found a lot of comfort in her gentle, maternal touch. I only wished she could know the real me.
“You’re one of us now,” said Henry’s dad, “and we’re about to do white elephant!”
“How are Alexa and Sid going to fit an elephant in here?” I asked, scanning the small room for an obvious entry point.
Henry’s parents looked quizzically at each other before back at me. “White elephant is a game,” Henry’s mom said kindly.
“Oh, like bingo,” I said.
Henry’s dad nodded. “And it has nothing at all to do with the large land mammals with leathery skin, pointy tusks, and swinging trunks.” He let out a mighty trumpet, arm slung down from his nose.
I couldn’t help but laugh at his impression.
In that moment, I had what I believed to be an original thought: Laughter is the best medicine.
Because the more I laughed, the less the burden of it all squashed me.
According to the magic card, I still had six days left.
Almost a week. 144 hours. 8,640 minutes.
518,400 seconds. If Henry wasn’t in love with me and the Asters weren’t truly my family yet, they could be— they would be —by the end of the night.
I’d make sure of it. I had a sparkling insurance policy still tucked away in my pocket.