Chapter 5 #2
I try to think about it for a second. Well, I do have in mind dozens of Hallmark movie moments I adore, but when I try to think about my idea of a perfectly imperfect Christmas… Well, a memory comes to mind that makes me smile.
“One year, when I was five, the Santa who was supposed to ‘visit’ our school called in sick at the last minute, so they asked my dad instead,” I tell him.
“They put him in the costume, but because there were three of his kids attending the school, Dad was so worried we would recognize him and break the magic that he put sunglasses on! It was the most ridiculous Santa ever, but he made up this story about how he didn’t have much light in the North Pole and wasn’t used to it here, and all of us kids bought it. ”
“Did you guys recognize him?” Nicolas asks, a smile floating on his lips.
“My older brother totally did,” I chuckle.
“I don’t remember it well, but he apparently spent a long time annoying my dad and trying to get him to remove his glasses or the white beard.
But I didn’t suspect a thing! I was super excited to meet Santa and didn’t catch on at all…
but Rosie cried a lot. She was young and super scared of ‘sunglasses Santa’, so eventually, my dad removed his glasses to calm her down when all the other kids left. ”
“That’s adorable,” Nicolas smiles.
“Right?” I chuckle. “It’s one of our favorite family memories. It was so ridiculous, funny, and cute at the same time… We have this picture of me beaming at him with Rosie crying right behind! To this day, we all love to reminisce about that story whenever a Santa with sunglasses comes up!”
We keep exchanging our Christmas memories while he drives, and while I’m all too aware that I’m doing a lot of the talking, Nicolas is as good a listener as usual and chimes in with questions and some gems of his own anecdotes.
But five hours is a long time, even after we make another pit stop to refuel on drinks and grab breakfast. The road is mostly clear, as we expected, so we’re making good time, but I can’t help noticing the hours as they pass.
We woke up really early, but I just know there’s no way my nieces and nephews won’t already be up by the time we get there…
Nicolas keeps driving, and we keep talking about everything Christmas: our favorite food (gingerbread for me, foie gras for Nicolas), the best themed drinks (gingerbread latte for me, mulled cider for Nicolas), the best present we’ve ever gotten (the knit blanket my grandma made me, a custom leather-bound agenda from his brother), our favorite Christmas movies (The Last Holiday and Home Alone), and the best last-minute cheap gifts (we agreed on boxes of chocolates).
Whenever there’s a lull in the conversation, I’m still humming or singing whatever is playing or looking around at the cars that drive by.
I wonder where those people are headed. Are they going to see relatives, see step-families, or head to work?
Maybe a last-minute gift purchase, or an impromptu change of plans?
Or perhaps they are going to surprise someone for Christmas morning, like in those Christmas movies, when they have those dramatic last-minute reunions. The idea makes me smile.
“What about escargots?” Nicolas asks as we argue about the best Christmas starters.
“Snails? You like it?” I ask, surprised.
“I’m sure you’d love it,” he nods. “It’s unusual, but fairly popular as a holiday dinner starter. Maman served us some at several dinners when she cooked. You can buy them ready with the garlic butter sauce; all she had to do was put them in the oven.”
“I’ll have to try it someday.”
Though I have to confess I’m not super enthusiastic about the idea, Nicolas has never steered me wrong when it comes to food… He knows my tastes so well, he’s gotten really good at predicting what I will like or not!
“Mince pie?” Nicolas asks.
“What is that?” I blink. “Some meat pie?”
“No, it’s actually a small pie filled with sweet fruit filling and spices,” he explains. “It’s a Christmas staple in the U.K. Antoine and I had some when we were in London. You’d love them.”
“We should see if we can find some here!” I exclaim, now curious.
I pick up my phone to look it up, but just as soon, my heart drops.
Rosie just texted me minutes ago with a video of my nieces and nephews digging through their presents.
I smile through the whole five minutes of footage, but my chest still aches a little.
I watch as my nieces and nephews scream, create little tornadoes of Christmas wrappings, run left and right to show off what they got, and flood the living room with boxes and toys.
“…They’re awake?” Nicolas asks.
“Yeah,” I admit a bit sadly.
“We’ll be there in less than an hour,” he tells me, glancing at the GPS.
“It’s fine, don’t worry,” I reassure him. “I knew it was a long shot that we would get there before they woke up anyway. And we’ll be there soon enough to play with them, and they’re waiting for us for lunch.”
I’m not sure which one of us I’m trying to convince more, but Nicolas gives me a determined nod.
“They’re all waiting for you, sweetheart,” he says.
He pats my leg, and I cover his hand with mine, but I can’t help the little wave of sadness that overwhelms me.
I knew chances were high I’d miss my nieces and nephews opening their presents, but there is so much of the Christmas magic in that moment.
My siblings and I are all too old to be fascinated anymore, but most of my brothers’ kids are at that perfect age for the holidays: old enough to understand what’s happening yet young enough to believe the magic is real.
The others are too young yet to expect Santa, but they still love all the animation around them and getting new toys.
So, yeah, I’m a bit sad that I’m not there for it.
At least, not yet. I know Nicolas is trying to be considerate because he’s very focused on his driving and patting my leg when he can.
Let it snow, Ophie.
I follow Emi’s advice and force myself to take a deep breath.
I’ve seen Nicolas do that exercise enough that I can follow the steps easily and discreetly.
Focused on the road ahead, forcing a smile on my lips to trick my mind into an extra dopamine boost, I take a deep breath in for four seconds, hold it in for four more, and then exhale for four more seconds.
Let it snow.
It’s a bit like the first snowfall: I might have missed the moment, but I will still get to enjoy the aftermath, and hope that there’s more to come. And once it’s over, there’s nothing else to be done, anyway. So, I’ll let it snow.
Thankfully, Nicolas said the truth: we’re almost there.
Not even half an hour later, we exit the highway, and I recognize the streets of Portland.
Like any coastal city in New England, it’s all old red brick buildings, cobbled streets, and salted winds.
And right now, my hometown is wrapped under a blanket of white snow, with plenty of Christmas lights leading the way!
I start smiling, this time naturally, as I recognize the streets I pretty much grew up in.
Nicolas even drives by the little Hansel Gourmet shop where I had my very first job as a sales assistant!
That was a few years back now, but I loved that little shop so much…
and I fell in love with Nicolas’s company and its products long before I met him, but I wouldn’t have ever dreamt of being romantically involved with its CEO!
Now that I think about it, it’s a bit like I married my first love?
“Almost there,” Nicolas smiles at me.
I nod. I glance around, taking note of all the little changes in my parents’ neighborhood.
It’s so strange that I don’t know all the neighbors anymore, nor recognize all the shops!
But my life has been in Boston for a while, and when I think of “home,” I think of my cozy little apartment in Boston, not my parents’ colonial two-story house.
It is an amazingly unique feeling to be back, though.
There’s something so nostalgic about finally spotting the house I grew up in, so familiar and yet a bit more foreign every year, with the wooden reindeer family in the garden, the Christmas lights up, and that huge wreath on the door greeting us.
Nicolas pulls up in front of the house, and just seconds later, my feet have barely hit the sidewalk when the door flies open.
“Auntie Ophie!”
My oldest niece barrels toward me with a big grin, the others on her tail.
“Merry Christmas!” I half-shout, half-laugh at our little clan.
Sakina jumps on me first, but soon enough, Kenny, Maisie, and Lilah pile after her, and I collapse in the snow with them in a fit of giggles. Jamie, who is three years old and not quite fast enough yet, arrives last with a big grin to hug my face.
“Auntie Ophie, we missed you!”
“So, so much!”
“Santa came! Santa came and we got so many presents!”
“I got a car!”
“Auntie Ophie, can we play Exploding Kittens?”
“No, my game first!”
“Mario Kart!”
“Alright, kids!” Parveen shouts from the house. “Let your auntie breathe! …And Lilah, I said no slippers in the snow!! You’ll get sick, baby!”
I somehow manage to get up, with nearly all of the half-dozen of my siblings’ kids covering me! The youngest and only one missing on the pile is baby Ash, who is perched on his mother’s hip and eyeing us curiously.
“Auntie, I got the friendship bracelet maker I wanted!”
“And I got the new toy car!”
“Can you play Ticket to Ride with us?”
“Mario Kart!”
“No, Uno first!”
“Mommy said no more Uno, Kenny!”
“Auntie Ophie,” Jamie, the second youngest, coos as his siblings and cousins pull back, and I get to hug my toddler nephew.
“Hi, Jamie Birdie,” I kiss his plump baby cheek. “I missed you too. You’re so big now!”
He giggles and hugs me tight.