36. Cam
thirty-six
Cam
C hristmas Eve at my parents’ house is always a big family affair. It’s the day the whole extended family visits for an afternoon of backyard grilling and pool time, and this year—at Amie’s insistence—is no different. My mom tried to keep the day quiet this year and only invite one or two people, but Amie demanded a normal Whitehouse Christmas, so after breakfast, we packed Maisy and Roger into my car and headed across town.
The party is already in full swing when we arrive mid-morning, with two of my aunts and their husbands, my uncle and his husband, and several of my cousins and their families all fighting for the best sun loungers by the pool. The volume drops when I enter the backyard with Maisy on my hip. Mom is the first to rush over, greeting her granddaughter with noisy kisses before pulling Amie into a long hug.
“Hi Mom, good to see ya,” I say with a laugh as she finally releases Amie. She swats my shoulder before pulling me into a hug, too. Dad is next, stealing Maisy away to show her the jungle gym he and I have been building on the other side of the yard.
Amie is hovering in the threshold between the house and the porch, biting her lower lip nervously. I reach for her and squeeze her fingers.
“You okay? ”
“Yeah,” she breathes. “Just… a lot of people. I didn’t think I’d be so nervous.”
“They’re gonna love you, baby,” I tell her. “C’mon, let me introduce you.”
With her hand in mine, I’m invincible as I lead her into the fire, sitting on the edge of an Adirondack chair and pulling her down onto my lap. Just as I expected, my cousins love her. Their kids love having Maisy around, boldly joining their games and keeping everyone on their toes. My aunts and uncles welcome both of my girls to the family with open arms and plenty of embarrassing stories, and I wrap my arms around Amie’s waist, nuzzling into her shoulder. She smells like apples and pears; a fruit salad has never smelled so intoxicating. She rests her hands over mine where they meet low on her belly and tilts her head to rest on mine.
I don’t know what I did in a past life to be worthy of this woman and her love, but it must have been something spectacular. For four years, I’ve dreamt of holding her in my arms again, because that one night wasn’t nearly enough. For four years, I’ve loved her silently, anonymously. But today, and forever, I get to love her out loud.
This is what was missing at Thanksgiving.
This is what’s been missing all my life.
Having a kid at Christmas puts the entire holiday into a whole new perspective. I see everything through Maisy’s eyes now: her awe when she sees the tree dominating my parents’ high-ceilinged entryway, the unbridled glee when she spots the stack of presents on Christmas morning.
Everyone has gifts under the tree but the vast majority are for Maisy, and she demands to be let down from her perch on my hip when we walk into the living room. Mom follows me, two hot cups of coffee in her hands, and she places them on the coffee table in front of me as I take a seat.
“You want some breakfast, honey?”
“Sure,” I say. “Just some toast would be great, thank you. A slice with a little honey for my Maisy Girl, too, if that’s okay?”
“Of course,” Mom says, ruffling my hair. “Will Amie want anything?”
“Not sure,” I say, fighting the urge to fix my hair. “She’ll be in in a minute, though. Hey, Maisy, come here, baby.”
Maisy runs back to me and leaps into my lap as Amie walks in, smiling tiredly at my mom. She has another bag of gifts in her hands and she deposits them beneath the tree before sitting beside us.
“Breakfast, honey?” Mom asks.
“Oh, no thank you, Carla. Let me grab something for Maisy though, if that’s okay?”
“You sit, honey, Cam already ordered breakfast for Mae. I’ve got it under control. Alan will be in in just a minute and we can do presents.”
“Presents!” Maisy squeaks from my lap. Roger is clutched in one hand and she has a model 747 in the other, waving it through the air like it’s flying.
“Daddy, do the radio,” she demands. How can I refuse?
“Uhhh, Maisy Air 321, ready for takeoff,” I say, distorting my voice a little. Maisy’s delighted giggle is infectious, and Amie chuckles beside me. We’re still playing with the plane when Mom and Dad come back in, and then we shift to the floor around the tree and pass around the presents.
Amie and Maisy have gone overboard with the ‘best daddy’ gifts. I have a coffee cup, a t-shirt, socks, a photo frame with a framed photo of Maisy and me, and a pen, all proclaiming me as the best daddy in the world. My heart swells to see the words printed on every gift. Amie gifts me a hand-stitched, monogrammed leather portfolio set with cases for my laptop, tablet and phone, and I give her a gold rope bracelet with birthstone charms for all three of us. Katy clued me into a coffee table book on Amie’s wish list, so I bought it and helped Maisy sign her name on the card.
I lean over Maisy’s head and kiss Amie softly. We stay close, my head resting against hers as we watch Maisy open a plethora of new planes and dinosaurs, pyjamas covered in cartoon animals, books and more.
“You’re a lucky girl, Maisy,” my dad says, and she grins up at him, scrunching her nose and showing off her teeth.
“Will you play planes with me, Grandpa?”
I feel, rather than hear Amie’s sharp intake of breath, and when I glance over at her, her hazel eyes are glossy. She offers a tight, watery smile, before smoothing a hand over Maisy’s curls.
“What do you say for all the presents, Maisy Mouse?”
“Thank you for the presents,” Maisy says. “Now can we play?”
The tension is broken and we all laugh. I settle back against the sofa with my legs outstretched and pull Amie into my arms. She sits between my legs, her back against my chest, arms wrapped around mine. I lean down and press a gentle kiss to her temple.
“Merry Christmas, beautiful,” I whisper.
“Merry Christmas, Cam.”