Epilogue
EMMA
* Christmas Night, Eight Years Later *
There are so many old holiday traditions in Holly Valley that I love. Carol singing. The Christmas tree wishes. The Christmas Eve Eve Ball, of course, and the huge but casual Christmas lunch at Dylan's family's house.
But I also love the new traditions we’re starting with our daughter. Like baking one more round of cookies after the holiday festivities are almost over.
"How much stirring is enough?” Olivia peers into the bowl, curiously studying the mix of flour, eggs, and chocolate chips. She's only reaching the kitchen counter because she’s standing on a chair that I’ve wedged in the corner so she’s less likely to fall.
"You see how some bits of it are kind of dry, and others are a little wet?"
She nods, bouncing her ponytail adorned with a sparkly red bow.
She’s already in her snowman pajamas, since her shiny dress ended up with several splashes of gravy during Christmas lunch.
One of her favorite things about the holidays is dressing up every single day.
Plus the lights. Plus the constant baking.
"We have to keep stirring until it's all the same consistency."
"What's consismamcy mean?”
"Con-sist-en-cy. That's when all the parts are the same. We want every bit of the dough to have the same level of wetness."
"Oh! You mean…damp?" Her lovely moss-green eyes, so like her father’s, glow as she grins. She just learned that word the other night, when Dylan was drying her hair.
"Exactly! We want everything the same amount of damp."
I hear Miriam snort a laugh from the dining room. "Keep an eye on that one," she calls out. "Her father overstirs everything, like he's trying to beat it to a pulp. Always has. Always will."
Miriam is still the queen of holiday baking, but she gives us a bit of space for this mother-daughter project. Chocolate chips weren't in the original plan for these cinnamon sugar cookies, but…well, we’ll see what happens.
"Mommy, do you have a date for the New Year’s party?" Olivia asks. “The lady at the store was talking about her date.”
"Of course, sweetie. Your daddy is going to be my date."
She nods to herself, stirring thoughtfully. "Am I too little to have a date?"
There's another snort from the dining room, which I ignore. "Yes, I think you should wait until you're at least nineteen or twenty."
Miriam mutters “Tell her thirty” through another snort. Luckily, I don’t think Olivia catches that.
"How old were you when you started dating Daddy, Mommy?"
"Twenty-two."
Olivia points to my wedding rings, which she’s always loved. "How long did you date Daddy before you got em-gages?”
"Engaged. And it was about an hour and a half."
I don’t mean to say it. It just pops out.
There's a few seconds of silence before I hear a wild banshee shriek. "What?" Miriam leaps to her feet and sprints into the kitchen. “You’re joking, right?”
I’m already laughing so hard that Olivia is doing the same, though she doesn’t understand why. “It’s a long story, Miriam. Dylan and I will tell you over a glass or three of wine sometime.”
My gorgeous husband tiptoes into the kitchen to sneak up behind our daughter, setting down her spoon before grabbing her. She collapses into fresh fits of giggles as he swoops her around the room.
“What’s so funny, girls?” He looks over to see Miriam’s eyes wide with shock. "What?"
"I was joking that we’d only been dating for an hour and a half before we got engaged," I explain, grinning.
“Oh, right. That." He sets Olivia back on her chair. "I thought we weren't going to tell her for at least ten years,” he says out of the side of his mouth. “On our anniversary or something."
"Yeah, sorry, it just kind of…popped out."
Olivia looks around at all three of us, then gets ready to cover her ears. “Grammy, are you gonna do that loud thing again?"
Miriam just laughs. "No, honey. You're safe."
My mother-in-law sits back down, waving her wine glass at us. “I can tell you're not joking. Whatever bizarre story it is, I'll get it out of you one way or the other."
Olivia pokes her spoon back into the bowl, then turns to Dylan. "Does this have the right damp consismamcy?" He takes over, demonstrating how to hold the bowl steady with one hand to really fold the mixture together.
As I watch my sweet family, Miriam comes over to stand next to me, her shoulder pressing against mine as she leans close.
"They grow up in a blink," she whispers. "So fast you'll feel that you’ve forgotten more than you remember. But the holidays – those will stay with you forever."
My arm slides around her in a warm hug. "Good to know. Thank you."
"Thank you. We’re going to train that girl up so that she can take over half of the baking, so we can focus on lounging a bit more every year."
"I'm loving your grandma wisdom."
She elbows me gently. "And later tonight, once you've had a glass of wine, you're going to explain the actual timeline of how you two started dating."
I burst out laughing. "Miriam, I swear… You are never going to believe me.”
It was extremely hard to read Mrs. Mackenzie's handwriting, but her potato salad recipe is available at the bottom of the welcome email of the Haley Travis email list -