Chapter 16
SIXTEEN
JACK
Something bangs against my door, half-rousing me from sleep. The doorknob jiggles and I hear another bang, and then Janet hisses, “Hugh!”
“Uncle Jack!” Hugh calls, trying to open the door again. “It’s Christmas!”
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and let myself stay in my cocoon of blankets for a few more seconds, then throw them off me and race to open my door.
“It’s Christmas?” I ask Hugh, going to my knees. “Are you sure?”
He tackles me with a hug and almost knocks me flat. “Yes!”
“Then we have presents to open!” I say. He races around Janet and into the living room. “In a minute!” I call after him.
Janet runs after Hugh, calling for him to wait.
I make a quick stop in the bathroom and rush to grab something from my room, then join the others in the living room.
Eli is sitting up on the couch, folding the blankets he used last night.
I can hear Mom making coffee in the kitchen.
Hugh is sitting on his car mat, visibly shaking as he resists the urge to dive into the presents under the tree.
I take the blankets from Eli, who dips his head in thanks and heads toward the bathroom, yawning.
It’s five in the morning. Hot chocolate sounds like a great way to start the day.
And leftover cookies. I bring the container of cookies out while the water is boiling, then go back and add the mix and bring the hot chocolate to the living room.
Eli is back by then, looking perfectly awake, in blue plaid pajama bottoms and a solid black T-shirt.
I glance at my own pajamas (soft gray pants and a long-sleeved green shirt) and put on the elf hat I’d tossed behind the couch before Eli saw me. He smiles.
“Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas!” Mom says, coming in from the kitchen. She hands one of the travel mugs in her hand to Janet and sits in her usual spot, cradling the other mug between her palms. “Did everyone sleep okay?”
“Let’s open presents!” Hugh says, running over to her and leaning on her knee.
“Stockings first, dude,” Janet tells him. “Elf, why don’t you hand them out?”
I stuff a cookie in my mouth on the way past the container and hand everyone the stocking with their name on it.
Last year, Hugh’s was the odd one out, since Mom, Janet, and I have stockings from the same set: cream-colored with a snowman, reindeer, and Santa on them (I’m the snowman).
Hugh’s is newer, almost the same cream color but with a different style on it, and bells.
I give the last stocking to Eli, but he doesn’t move to take it.
“What is this?” he asks.
“Your stocking,” I say. It’s dark blue and decorated with snowflakes; completely different than ours, but they complement each other. He doesn’t take it, so I set it across his lap and sit down next to him, picking up mine.
“I didn’t expect to open anything,” he says, voice quiet with surprise.
“Did you think Mom would let you watch us open gifts and have nothing for you?” Janet asks.
Eli swallows hard and picks up the stocking. “Thank you.”
“Dig in,” Mom says. “Hugh’s already halfway through his.”
She’s right, but I still wait for Eli to pull the first thing from his before I start mine.
Our stockings always have a few staples: a new toothbrush, a few scratch-offs (Mom cashes in any that win, but whoever gets the most gets the first slice of the cake Mom makes on New Year’s), an orange, and a giant box or bar of our favorite candy/chocolate.
Mom puts one surprise in there each year, and this year it’s a scarf in Fredricks High colors of navy blue and white.
I wrap it around my neck immediately. Janet has a hat in the same colors, with a pom-pom on top. Eli has a scarf to match mine.
Janet and I fill Mom’s stocking each year. Well, Janet does. I contribute cash. We follow the same pattern she does with us, and she laughs at the surprise gift this year: fuzzy socks with a cooking design on them.
Eli grabs a cookie and leans back, watching Mom pull the fuzzy socks on with a soft smile.
He’s perfectly relaxed, those broad shoulders loose, and my heart picks up its tempo to see him this way.
To see him have the Christmas morning I’m positive he’s never had before, and surrender himself to the experience wholly.
Just like we have a system for stocking stuffers, Mom has a system for gifts: one thing we need, one thing we want, and one thing to read. Eli doesn’t have three things to open. I don’t either. I said to take my ‘one thing I want’ and use it toward Eli’s gift, since it was more expensive.
Eli does have one thing under the tree, though. An envelope. His brow furrows as he opens it and reads the slip of paper inside. “I owe you one dinner of your choice, before New Year’s.” He brings his bewildered gaze to Mom. “Mrs. Benson, you don’t owe me anything.”
“It’s Christmas,” Mom says, and her tone welcomes no challenge.
Eli’s smile returns, bigger than before.
“Does this include dessert?” I ask.
Eli nudges me.
“Of course,” Mom says.
“Ooh, ask for the lava cakes!” I tell Eli.
He scoffs at me. “My gift, my choice. But your recommendation is noted.”
I choke on a laugh, and his shoulders hitch in a silent chuckle.
Hugh has the most things to open, but Mom wrapped each new car and truck in its own layer of tissue paper, to give him more things to tear. He’s happy to rip each one to shreds, so a pile of red, white, and green tissue paper bits surround him like wreckage after a tornado.
“That was a nice Christmas morning,” Mom says once everything is open.
We take as much time as we can to do it, with a toddler who wants to rip everything open in seconds.
Hugh is surprisingly patient, but he does have a new collection of vehicles to play with when he has to let someone else open a gift.
All gifts seemingly revealed, Mom sets her empty coffee mug down and leans down to pet Widget, who’s munching on a doggy treat at her feet.
“We’re not done yet,” Janet says, standing. “One more gift.”
Mom looks at me as Janet walks from the room.
I don’t hide the smile that says I know what this is, and an excited gleam enters Mom’s eyes.
Janet reappears with her laptop and opens it, pulling up the blog she made.
She hands it to me and tells me not to touch anything, then sits and faces Mom. Eli and I both lean closer.
“So you know I took a marketing class last semester . . .” Janet says.
She tells Mom everything, and when she gets to the blog already being live, I rotate the laptop to show Mom and hand it to her. Janet moves beside Mom, leading her through the navigation of the blog and reading a glowing comment from someone who read the first recipe.
Mom presses her lips together tightly while Janet talks, and when I look up from the screen to see her final reaction, tears are spilling onto her cheeks.
“The two of you did this?” she says in an emotional whisper.
“Janet did this,” I tell her. “I just knew about it. She did all of it.”
“You deserve more than you get, Mom,” Janet says, her own voice rougher than usual. “After all the crap I’ve put you through especially—”
“Hey, none of that,” Mom says.
Janet breathes out low. “I want you to get the recognition you deserve. And if you don’t want to do the blog yourself, I can run it for you, or if you hate it, I can take it down, but—”
Mom hands me the laptop and pulls Janet close, wrapping her in her arms. “I love it. Don’t you dare take it down.”
She holds Janet for a long moment.
“A lot of bloggers pair each recipe with a story about their work or family,” Janet says, “and with this family, you shouldn’t have a shortage of stories.”
Mom comes over to hug me, and then Eli. “No shortage at all,” she says, voice still off from tears.
Mom spends at least an hour having Janet give her a full tutorial on the blog and drafting the first post of her own, while Eli and I sit in the living room and play with Hugh, and everyone just relaxes until the family arrives midmorning.
Mom pulls Aunt May and Uncle Henry to Janet’s laptop to show them the blog immediately, and tears up when Uncle Henry tells Janet he’s proud of her, then turns and tells Mom she raised some good ones.
Mom excuses herself, grabbing a tissue on the way to her room.
I look at Eli and share a smile with him. “Happy tears,” I reassure him.
He looks after Mom and then looks at Uncle Henry, who seems awfully proud of himself for making his sister cry. “I know.”