20. Summer Santa & Frozen Cocoa
Chapter twenty
Summer Santa & Frozen Cocoa
KARA
Stepping back from the big bowl of popcorn, I inhale the scent of salt and butter appreciatively. Everything is ready for movie and cocoa night, Christmas in July style.
After what happened today, I need this. We all need this. Mick and Fitz need to be reminded that we may be a mob family and scary stuff might happen, but we are still a family and good stuff happens too.
The man in fake dreadlocks and beard turned out to be Karl Nystrom and he was working alone. But he had an inside source for his intel. Kenneth Shaughnessy.
The bastard.
He put my son's life at risk and I will not shed a single tear when my father passes the death sentence at the tribunal in two days.
Forcing thoughts of mob justice from my head, I focus on my preparations for movie night.
Drapes closed to block out the summer evening sunlight? Check.
Enough buttery popcorn for even my hungry hoard? Check.
Fake flames from the electric insert in the fireplace crackling cozily? Check.
Christmas tree glowing with multicolored lights and bedecked with mini candy canes? Check.
Now, we just need Santa and the frozen cocoa.
My phone chimes with a text.
After a quick glance at it, I tell Mick, "Get the kids. He's here."
Technically, Santa has just been escorted through the gate, but he'll be outside our apartment door soon enough.
"On it." Setting his phone screen side down on the coffee table, Mick stands and heads down the hall to the bedrooms.
I hear running feet before the knock comes. Wearing red candy cane pajamas, Cormac barrels into the room first and sniffs the air. "Is that popcorn?"
"Yep."
He grins and makes a beeline for the big bowl. I grab him around the waist and twirl away from the coffee table. "Not so fast, buddy. What's the rule?"
"No popcorn until the movie starts," Fitz answers for his brother, his preteen cool belying the fact that he used to be the one who couldn't wait to grab his first handful.
"Aww, mom!" Cormac grumbles.
Ruffling his hair, I let him go. "Patience is a virtue."
"No, it's not."
I laugh.
Sorcha and Mavie arrive next, holding hands. Sorcha is carrying a neatly folded blanket while a stuffed rabbit dangles from Mavie's fist by one long ear.
The knock at the door catches all the children's attention.
"Who's that?" Cormac demands, his body vibrating like a plucked tuning fork.
"It's a surprise." Grinning I head to the door, unsurprised when Mick beats me to it and waits for the secondary knock from our security man outside before he opens it.
Mick opens the door.
Summer Santa stands there holding a festive Christmas tray with six mason jars, straws striped like candy canes sticking out of them. Three are bigger and three are smaller, sized just right for little hands. They're all filled with what looks like milkshakes, but are in fact frozen cocoa.
"Ho! Ho! Ho!" Santa lifts the tray. "I brought frozen cocoa straight from the North Pole."
Cormac lets out a delighted yell.
Mavie's eyes go wide with delight and Sorcha takes a step backward, dropping her sister's hand.
"You didn't come from the North Pole dressed like that," Fitz says.
Summer Santa's snowy white hair and beard are the only traditional things about him. A Hawaiian shirt in bright green with red hibiscus flowers and board shorts replace the traditional red suit. Instead of black shiny boots, his feet are shod with sandals.
Santa points at him. "You caught me. The elves are on vacation with me and they made it in Mrs. Clause's kitchen."
Fitz snorts.
Cormac and Mavie are already tugging him inside. "Come in!"
I rescue the tray of drinks from his grip before Cormac's hold on his arm makes him tip them onto the carpet. Mick takes it from me and sets it on the coffee table, his eyes filled with warm humor.
He's not smiling. He's too alert around strangers for that kind of softening, but I can see what others outside our little family don't.
Mick the doting da.
Mavie and Cormac drag Santa across the room to an armchair beside the tree.
As soon as he sits down, our almost four-year-old climbs onto his lap and starts peppering Santa with questions about the North Pole and how many elves go with him on vacation.
Fitz stands off to one side taking pictures with his phone, seemingly as into our family movie night as his younger siblings. If in a very preteen way.
Santa mugs for the camera. "Make sure you get my good side."
"You don't have one," Fitz deadpans.
"That's not very Christmasy."
"Neither are board shorts."
Santa sighs dramatically. "Tough crowd."
"I want to go to Disneyland like my friend Joy," Cormac announces.
My heart skips a beat. Of course, he does. I haven't had a chance to bring up the possibility to Mick. Taking Fitz to the fair when he was five was a security nightmare Mick only told me about later, but he did it.
I look hopefully at my husband who winks at me and then gives Santa a miniscule inclination of his head in affirmative.
Santa nods solemnly. "Excellent choice."
Cormac is grinning when he climbs off Santa's lap. "Did you hear that mom? Santa's going to get us Disneyland."
"I heard." I give Mick a questioning glance.
Did he mean it? His barely-there curve at the corner of his lips tells me it's going to be fine. That he did mean it. That what Fitz went through isn't going to change what Mick is willing to do to give his children as happy of a childhood a mob underboss-soon-to-be-boss can.
I let my own smile take over my face. I've never been to a theme park. I might be as excited at the prospect as the kids, who are all talking a mile a minute.
Except Sorcha. Tucked into the corner of the sofa furthest from Santa, she's observing her siblings in silence.
Finally, Mavie remembers she needs to ask Santa for what she wants and climbs into his lap. "I wants cookies for breakfast."
Santa laughs, "Ho. Ho. Ho."
Mick shakes his head. "Even Santa can't override your mam about cookies for breakfast, Mavie-love. Try again."
Mavie screws her face up in thought and then a grin breaks across her features. "I wants a mermaid tail."
Our daughter scoots off his lap before Santa can comment on that one and runs over to her sister where a whispered conversation ensues.
"What about you, young man?" Summer Santa asks Fitz. "What do you want for Christmas in July?"
"I want you to put the FBI on your naughty list," Fitz says with a smirk.
That startles a real laugh out of Santa.
After he solemnly acknowledges that Sorcha wants another one something (his guess is as good as mine on what that something is) and promises to check his summer inventory for one, Santa bids us all a Merry Christmas in July and leaves.
"Another what?" I ask Sorcha, handing her a frozen cocoa.
"Santa knows."
Mick's arm slides around me and he whispers in my ear. "Don't get fashed about it, mo chroí, we'll figure it out."
Just like we figure out so many things. Together.
Besides, we have a secret weapon. We have Mavie.
A few minutes later we're all piled onto the sectional. Individual bowls of popcorn handed out. Mavie curls against my side. Cormac sprawls against Mick.
Sorcha sits next to Mavie, cocoa balanced carefully in both hands, bowl of popcorn ignored on the coffee table.
Fitz lounges in a beanbag chair, close by but separate. A pang twinges in my heart, remembering when he was little and wanted to be part of the cuddle.
But then he smiles at me over his shoulder before starting Rudolph and Frosty's Christmas in July and the pang disappears. He's such a good kid. And he still is a kid, despite what happened yesterday.
We're not ten minutes into the movie before Mick has my hand clasped in his. His thumb brushes across my knuckles.
Fitz glances over, his gaze zeroing in our joined hands. "You're always holding Mom's hand."
Mick gives Fitz a nod. "Can't help it, boyo."
"Why not?"
"I love your mam."
Fitz makes a face. "I guess it's okay."
"High praise."
"Don't get used to it."
Mick grins.
By the time the movie's half over, Mavie is asleep with her head in my lap. Thirty minutes later, Cormac's head droops onto Mick's chest. My husband shifts him automatically, settling our son more comfortably without waking him.
I glance toward Mick.
He's already looking at me and my heart does that little squeeze it still does after all these years.
His mouth moves silently. "I love you."
"I love you too," I mouth back.
"I saw that." Fitz's voice cuts through the moment. "You two are so cringe."
The words are typical preteen sarcasm, the look on Fitz's averted face is something else.
Satisfaction.
We all needed this night, me probably the most.
Mick and I built this family so different to the one I grew up in together. Through love, loyalty, and more than a little stubbornness. And we'll both do whatever we have to in order to protect it.
Even if it means killing my dad's cousin with his approval.
When the credits begin rolling, Sorcha and Fitz are still awake, but both are yawning. There are no bedtime stories read tonight as we tuck the children into bed.
"No staying up texting," I warn Fitz as I let Mick pull me toward our bedroom.
Our son acknowledges my words with a wave of his hand.
When we reach our bedroom, my gaze drifts toward my nightstand. Toward the drawer hiding the gift waiting for July 25th.
A gift that is going to rock both our worlds. Anticipation hums through me.
I want to give my husband his fantasy and claim something for myself, rewrite a painful piece of our past. I'm ready. I trust Mick with all of me.
And I'm going to show him that on the night of the 25th.