Chapter 37
LUCAS
Mawmaw’s house is packed this afternoon.
Every seat at the dining table is taken, and folding chairs are squeezed in wherever they’ll fit.
Colby is under the table with a sweet roll, making engine noises as he plays.
Conversations overlap each other from every direction as Holiday’s dad and mine argue about whether we’ll actually get a dusting of snow this year or not.
Her mom asks Claire about married life, and Sammy and Jake place bets on tomorrow’s football games.
Hudson stopped by quickly to give their love and make plates but left to get back to Emma and the babies.
The smells and sounds of Christmas fill the house.
Mawmaw made ham, glazed with brown sugar and pineapple, her famous mac and cheese that she only makes for special occasions, green bean casserole, and sweet rolls so fresh that steam rises when they’re broken open.
Three different pies are cooling on the counter, and of course, we brought The One because my family begged for it.
Holiday sits beside me, so close that our legs touch and our arms brush together. Every few minutes, I reach under the table and squeeze her thigh just to remind her that she’s here, and she’s mine.
“Where’s Colby?” Holiday asks, looking around the table.
Mawmaw points under the table. “I don’t know where he is.”
He giggles from below. I make a fart noise with my mouth, and he rushes out, pretending like it stunk.
“Yeah, yeah. Time to eat, kid,” I say as he climbs into the chair next to Mawmaw. When Hudson tried to take him home earlier, Colby cried and clung to Mawmaw’s dress until Jake offered to keep him. My brothers are so good with kids. They make it look easy.
Mawmaw scans over the table from her spot at the end, and she looks satisfied as she gazes at everyone. “I love Christmas Eve.”
My dad says grace, and then we pass around plates, family style. Rolls are passed, turkey and cranberries are slid onto plates, and I run out of room.
“So, I heard you and Holiday are living together?” Mawmaw asks.
I nearly choke on the bite of macaroni I was swallowing. “I do not want to be the center of conversation tonight. Thank you.”
“That’s not an answer,” Mawmaw pushes.
Everyone stops eating, and their forks pause mid-bite. All eyes turn to us and wait for an answer.
“It’s true,” Holiday says as her cheeks turn pink.
“Well, it’s about time,” Mawmaw says.
I kiss Holiday’s temple and smile. “That’s what I said.”
“So, when are you two getting married?” Mawmaw asks suddenly, looking right at us with that knowing smile of hers.
Holiday’s eyes go wide at the question.
“Mawmaw,” I say, trying to keep my voice casual. “Holiday isn’t even fully moved in yet. It’s been three days, so you might want to slow down a bit.”
“When you know, you know.” Mawmaw winks at me.
“We’ve got plenty of time,” I say.
Holiday laughs. “Maybe we should just elope right now?”
“Honey, now don’t be ridiculous,” Mawmaw says. “Not the night Santa is coming to town.”
She gets the hint that we don’t want to discuss this and drops the conversation. Or so we think.
“But just know that I’m not getting any younger, and I want to see my grandbabies settled down.”
The conversation shifts to other topics, but my heart is still racing.
Dinner stretches on for hours with too much food and too much laughter filling the house. After dessert, Mawmaw moves us all to the living room where she prepares to read ’Twas the Night Before Christmas.
Mawmaw makes us all a glass of her famous, but dangerous, eggnog as we gather.
She pulls out a worn book with a red cover that’s been passed down through the generations.
She settles into her rocking chair and opens it up.
When we were kids, Mawmaw always insisted on reading this classic story with the dramatic pauses and inflections.
Holiday’s hand finds mine and she squeezes.
Colby stirs on the couch, and I realize he’s asleep.
When Mawmaw finishes, she closes the book and looks around.
“Now, time to get home and snuggle into bed before Santa arrives. Merry Christmas, my babies.”
“Merry Christmas, Mawmaw,” we all say in unison.
People start gathering their coats and heading toward the door around seven. The sun has set, and the Christmas lights on her house are twinkling.
Jake carries a still-sleeping Colby to the car while Claire follows with leftover pie. My parents hug us both and head out into the cold.
Holiday and I stay behind to help Mawmaw clean up the kitchen. She tells stories about past Christmases while we wash the dishes. It ranges from tales of me and my brothers fighting over toys, to Hudson eating all the cookies, to Jake knocking over the tree when he was five.
“You two better get home,” Mawmaw finally says, shooing us toward the door. She hugs us both. “Merry Christmas, my babies. See you tomorrow.”
The drive home is quiet, but we’re both smiling.
I love having her with me at family events.
Tomorrow we’re visiting her folks. My hand rests on Holiday’s thigh.
When we pull into our driveway, I look at the house I built.
It’s lit up with the lights my brothers strung when I was spiraling.
So much has changed since November first. So much I never could’ve predicted.
Inside the house, the tree glows in the corner. I start a fire in the fireplace while Holiday makes hot chocolate in the kitchen. We settle on the couch together with her head resting on my shoulder.
“I can’t believe I’m spending Christmas with you,” she says. “When I initially showed up at the bakery, and you were so angry to see me, I just…I didn’t think we’d ever have a chance again.”
“I tried to fight it.” I kiss the top of her head while my heart races. “I lost.”
“Ready to exchange our sentimental gifts?” I ask. We’d agreed to share one special gift, something that money can’t really buy, on Christmas Eve, then open the other gifts in the morning, in our matching pajamas. I immediately agreed, because all season, I’ve been working on something for her.
“Sure.” She smiles at me. “You’ll never guess what I got you. But you’re gonna love it.”
I walk to the tree and pull out the box I wrapped last week. Holiday grabs something flat from behind the couch, where she must’ve hidden it earlier.
We sit facing each other by the fire.
“You should open yours first,” I say, wanting to see her reaction.
Holiday carefully tears the paper to reveal a hand-carved wooden recipe box I made for her. She gasps out loud. Her fingers trace the carvings on the lid that illustrate rolling pins, whisks, and measuring spoons.
“Lucas,” she breathes out. “You made this?”
“Yeah. Anytime I thought about you over the season, I carved.” I watch her open the box. “I wanted you to have a special place to keep all the recipes we’re going to create.”
She pulls out the top card where I wrote our winning recipe in my messy handwriting. “You wrote it down.”
“I figured we should start the collection with the thing that helped bring you back to me.”
Holiday’s crying now as she looks at me. “This is the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever given me in my entire life.”
“Aw. I’m happy you like it,” I tell her.
She slides her lips across mine and then pulls back. “I love it so much. Now, please, open yours.”
I open the lid of the box, and inside is a diary. “What is this?”
A laugh releases from her. “Open it.”
Inside, it’s full of pages in her handwriting. Some are recipes, and then I come across different entries from when we were teenagers.
Dear Diary,
Today I saw Lucas. He was wearing that black hoodie that made him look so cute.
We were lying on the trampoline together, and when he looked at me, I almost kissed him.
I didn’t, which is a good thing because Sammy came back outside right after that.
I blushed, and I couldn’t help it. I don’t know what to do.
We’re friends and will always be friends, but I like him.
Like like him. And I can’t tell anyone. Ugh.
This sucks! Not to mention I have this HUGE pimple on my chin.
H
I chuckle. “This is the best gift you could’ve ever given me.”
“I was cleaning out my closet at my parents’ house and came across a box with every note you ever wrote me, and years of journals full of me confessing how I felt about you.”
“Years?”
“Literally,” she says.
We sit there for a moment, both of us emotional over gifts that mean more than anything expensive ever could.
“Thank you so much for this,” she whispers against my mouth.
“Thank you, Peaches.”
Holiday stands to turn off the overhead light so we can sit in the dark by the fire, and my heart starts pounding harder in my chest.
When her back is to me, I drop down to the floor on one knee and pull out the small velvet box that’s been burning a hole in my pocket all night. My hands are shaking as I open it.
The firelight catches on the diamond.
When she turns around and sees me on one knee for her, all I can do is smile.
This is it.
This is the moment I’ve been waiting for my entire life.