Chapter 23
DECEMBER 21ST, 2023
I ’d attended a few of the Silks’ Annual Christmas parties back when we were dating. It was a big deal that I got invited back then since it was a big tradition for Jordan’s cousins and aunts and uncles, and his dad’s cousins and aunts and uncles, and some of their cousins and aunts and uncles. Honestly, for most of the parties, I was just trying to remember people’s names and how they were related to Jordan.
Every December 21, all the extended relatives come to a big Christmas reunion party. It was a big deal if someone brought a date. It was an even bigger deal to attend the day before our wedding. Especially our last-minute wedding that we’d invited people to only six days ago.
This big party always took place at Uncle Andy’s house. He was a cotton farmer with a big farmhouse with more than enough room to fit everyone. He had a patio perfectly styled for entertaining, a tennis court that people danced on and where kids played Red Rover, and a pool that the teenagers were always daring each other to dive into. Jordan dove in once when he was twelve and wound up with a cold that Christmas.
We walked inside, and before we’d taken two steps into the entryway, his Aunt Belinda squealed, “There’s the bride-to-be!” immediately scooping me into a hug.
“White Christmas” crooned through the speaker system, there were ten-foot trees plopped around the house with shiny red and green bulbs, garland looped over the windows, and people were lined up at tables full of potluck dishes. Kids raced around underfoot.
“You hungry, Rogers?” Jordan asked over the hum of Christmas music and chatter.
“Always.” I pointed toward the line for food.
In line, we were asked about the wedding. Then over heaping plates of brisket and baked mac and cheese, we retold the story of how we got back together a few times to a few different people. We were really perfecting how to tell it, and throughout the day, people who couldn’t make the wedding were slipping us congratulatory cards.
Near the end of the party, everyone congregated around the shiny black piano in the family room with tall windows and even taller ceilings, to sing Christmas carols. My back was against Jordan’s torso with his arms crossed over my chest. We were belting out “The First Noel,” and I had to repress a chuckle because this was like something out of a Christmas movie, this tradition of theirs.
But then, I realized it was my tradition now, too. This was my Christmas party now. I’d be invited every year. Today, I was getting a glimpse into the loud, delicious, slightly rambunctious, cheesy future. My kids—our kids—would one day spill hot chocolate on Uncle Andy’s couch and wrap Aunt Melinda up in a big hug as she breathed in their sweet toddler smell and help me carry in trays of Christmas cookies I’d made for the potluck.
I nestled in deeper against him, and he let out a grumbly hum I could feel through his chest.
“You ready to go?” he whispered.
“Let’s stay for one more song.”