Chapter 32
Mike bounded down the stairs, Buddy at his heels. Streaks of gold and magenta lined the horizon beyond the windows. The Christmas tree glowed in the darkened living room, its lights reflecting off the ornaments. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted from the kitchen.
“Merry Christmas, Mom,” Mike called.
His mother stood at the counter, where she sprinkled a cinnamon and brown sugar mixture over long rectangles of dough before rolling them and nestling them into a buttered pan for their second rise.
“And the same to you,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder while her hands continued their practiced work.
She slid one finished roll into place, then finally turned fully toward him, grinning. “Well, look at the two of you.”
“I decided it was about time I gave Gwen’s family some competition in the outrageous Christmas pajama department.” He crossed the room and kissed the top of her head. “I’m going to take this guy out real quick and then come back to feed him.”
She nodded. “I’ll have these in the proofing drawer by the time you return. Then we’ll take our coffee and sit by the tree. I want to hear everything about these pajamas.” She looked from Mike to Buddy.
By the time they returned from their brisk walk, pink-cheeked and energized, the cinnamon rolls were tucked away, and two steaming mugs waited on the counter.
Mike and his mom carried them into the living room.
“This quiet moment, just as dawn breaks, is my favorite time of Christmas Day,” his mother remarked as she settled into her chair. “It gives me time to reflect on my many blessings: my health, my home, and my children and grandchildren at my table.”
Buddy padded in behind them, licking his lips.
She set her mug on the end table and opened her arms. “And that includes you too, big guy.”
Buddy went willingly, leaning into her embrace with a contented huff. She wrapped her arms around his thick neck.
Mike watched the scene, warmth spreading through him.
“So,” she said, releasing Buddy and picking up her coffee, “matching flannel Christmas pajamas. I never thought I’d live to see the day.” She pointed at Mike. “Did you find those at the pet store in Raleigh?”
Mike shook his head. “I got them at the hotel gift shop. I spilled coffee all over the only clothes I had with me. By the time I got to the shop, other stranded travelers had claimed every sweatshirt and hoodie. This,” he lifted the collar of his pajama top, “was the only thing left.”
“And you’d already taken in Buddy?”
Mike shook his head again.
She leaned forward, trying to study his face in the glow of the tree lights. “I’d love to hear more.”
Mike inhaled. “It’s quite a story.” He told her everything: the stray dog in the freezing night, Lauren and Pumpkin, the borrowed bowl, and the crumpled gift bag with no note.
When he finished, his mother sat back. “My goodness. That almost sounds like a meet-cute in a holiday movie.”
“Except this one doesn’t have a happy ending.” Mike sighed. “I don’t know how to contact her, or even if she’s interested in me.”
His mother scooted forward, elbows on her knees, mug cradled in her hands. “Oh, she’s interested,” she said firmly. “What was her name, again?”
“Lauren.”
“Lauren,” she repeated thoughtfully. “She’s surely the one who left you the matching dog pajamas.”
Mike shrugged.
“Oh, come now. Who else could it have been?”
“Even if it were her, she didn’t leave a note.”
“You don’t know that,” his mother countered. “You said the bag looked like it had been run over. I’d wager there was a note. Something happened to it.”
Mike stared into his coffee. “Even if you’re right,” he said quietly, “what difference does it make? I can’t get in touch with her.”
“You were both flying from Los Angeles. You just have to find the right Lauren.”
“Is that all? I’ve already done some digging. If she had an unusual name, maybe I might have a chance. But Lauren was one of the most popular names in the late eighties and early nineties. Artificial intelligence estimates there are thousands of Laurens in Los Angeles in that age bracket.”
“So you’re giving up?” his mother asked.
“What choice do I have? I met her once, and only for a few hours. I know nothing about her.” He glanced down at Buddy, now sprawled at his mother’s feet, her hand resting absently on his back. “I’m grateful I met her. I got this guy out of it.”
“I think you learned something else,” she said, taking a thoughtful sip.
“Oh?” he prompted.
“That you’re more open to a relationship than you’ve been telling yourself.”
Mike turned his head away. His mother had an uncanny ability to get to the heart of things.
“You’re still smitten,” she continued. “And if she’s meant for you, you’ll cross paths again. But if not, I hope you keep your heart open when you return to Los Angeles.”
Buddy thumped his tail against the carpet as if in agreement.
Mike pursed his lips. “Speaking of going back,” he said, “I have to leave earlier than planned. It’ll take four days to drive home.”
“You were scheduled to fly on the thirtieth,” she said. “When do you absolutely have to be there?”
“I’ve got a construction project starting January second and need to be on site.”
She nodded in the dim light. “I understand.”
“As much as I hate cutting this visit short, I should hit the road tomorrow.” He couldn’t see her expression clearly, but her shoulders had gone still.
“There’s another storm predicted for the twenty-eighth and twenty-ninth,” his mother replied. “I was going to suggest you leave tomorrow to stay ahead of it, if you couldn’t extend your visit.”
He reached for her hand. “The older I get, the more I appreciate that what’s best for Gwen and me always comes first for you. I’ll come back in the spring,” he added quickly. “And I’ve got an idea for summer. It’s part of your Christmas present. We’ll talk about it with Gwen’s family.”
The sun crested the horizon, spilling golden light into the room.
She met his eyes. “Since I’m being such a good sport,” she said lightly, “I have a favor to ask.”
“Name it.”
“Is your best friend from architecture school having his annual New Year’s Eve party?”
Mike nodded.
“And you’re invited?”
“Of course.”
“Then I want you to go.”
He leaned back. “You know those things aren’t my scene.”
“I think it’s been long enough that you wouldn’t know,” she replied with a wry smile. “You complain about dating apps. But you won’t meet anyone sitting at home. There will be people there. You can have conversations and make connections.”
“I’ll bet single women don’t go to New Year’s Eve parties alone.”
“Perhaps not,” she said. “But plenty of people attend, and some of them may know the perfect person for you.”
Mike stared into his cup, considering.
“It’s one evening,” she pressed gently. “The food is bound to be good. It won’t hurt you to try.”
He looked up at her, smiling. “Will it make you happy if I say yes?”
“Ecstatic.”
He exhaled. “All right. I can’t say no to my mom on Christmas. I’ll go.”
Buddy lifted his head and gave a soft woof, as if sealing the agreement.
Mike’s family sat in a happy wreckage of torn wrapping paper, crumpled bows, gift boxes, and instruction manuals scattered across the living room floor.
Early morning sunlight streamed through the windows, pale gold and bright, competing with the glow of the lights still twinkling on the Christmas tree.
Remy and Ryan sprawled on their stomachs, already deep into the illustrated booklets for their new Lego sets. A half-built spaceship and what appeared to be the beginnings of a medieval castle lay in pieces around them.
Gwen circled the room with her phone, narrating as she snapped photos. “Hold that up, Remy. I want to see your face,” she said. “Ryan, show me the box again.”
Mike hovered nearby, crouching to point at a diagram. “See? That piece locks under here. If you flip it, the whole thing will be crooked.”
“Legos were your uncle’s favorite toys,” Gwen said to the boys. “I’m convinced that’s why he became an architect.”
“That and his erector sets,” their grandmother added from her armchair.
Gwen snorted. “I remember stepping on Legos with bare feet when we were growing up. Now I suppose it’s my turn to do it all again.” She gave Mike a playful nudge with her elbow and snapped another photo.
Buddy lay stretched out on the rug in his flannel pajamas, chin resting on his paws, watching the chaos like a benevolent monarch.
Gwen pivoted toward her brother. “I am absolutely getting a picture of you and Buddy in those pajamas.”
Mike froze, his mug halfway to his lips.
“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes,” Gwen continued, “I would never have believed this.”
“Am I really that much of a stick in the mud?” Mike asked, setting his mug down.
Gwen lowered her phone and raised her eyebrows.
The boys looked up, intrigued.
Mike groaned but pushed himself to his feet. “Buddy,” he called. Buddy sprang up, tail wagging, clearly sensing his presence was important for something.
Mike dropped to one knee beside him. His pajama pants pooled on the floor, mirrored by the smaller but equally festive flannel on Buddy’s broad frame. “Sit,” Mike commanded.
Buddy sat tall and proud.
“Smile!” Gwen called.
Mike draped an arm around Buddy’s neck just as Buddy turned his head and licked his chin.
Click.
“Perfect!” Gwen laughed. “Wait, one more. Look at each other.”
Mike obliged, turning to Buddy. The dog gazed back at him with unwavering devotion.
Click.
“And one where you both look ridiculous.”
Buddy’s tongue lolled out. Mike let out an exaggerated sigh.
Click.
Gwen lowered the phone, wiping at her eyes. “This is the greatest Christmas gift I’ve ever received.”
“As long as you don’t post that anywhere,” Mike warned.
“What?” Gwen gasped theatrically. “Why would I ever do that?”
“Because you’re you.”
She grinned wickedly. “Maybe I’ll just keep it for future leverage.”
“Blackmail?” Mike asked.
“Absolutely.”
“Buddy,” Mike muttered, scratching behind his ears, “we may need to stage a counteroffensive.”
Buddy thumped his tail in agreement.
Their mother smiled from her chair, watching her grown son in festive pajamas on the floor beside a dog he’d adopted less than forty-eight hours earlier.
“All right,” Mike said, rising. “Before we head into breakfast, I have one more gift.”
Everyone turned toward the tree. All the presents had been opened.
“It’s not wrapped,” Mike continued. “It’s more of an idea.”
Even the boys paused their building.
Mike cleared his throat. “Now that we live on opposite sides of the country, it’s occurred to me that the greatest gift is time together. So, this summer, I’d like to bring all of you to California for a week.”
Gwen blinked. “What?”
“I’ll rent an Airbnb big enough for everyone. We’ll have breakfast and dinner together, and during the day people can explore. L.A. has beaches, mountains, museums, parks, and Dodgers games.” He looked at his brother-in-law. “And if anyone wants to go to Disneyland or Universal Studios—”
“YAY!” the boys exploded in unison. They scrambled to their feet. “Both?” Remy demanded.
“Both,” Mike confirmed. He turned to his mother. “You’ve always loved the galleries in Los Angeles. The food is even more amazing than on your last visit. And I remember,” he glanced at Gwen, “that you said the shopping is next level.”
Gwen laughed, eyes shining. “This is … wow. That’s incredibly generous.”
“My work keeps me busy. I don’t get back here enough. This is selfish, honestly. I’d love showing you my city.”
His brother-in-law nodded. “We’re in.”
“July,” Gwen said quickly. “Before school starts.”
“My summer is wide open,” Mike replied.
His mother’s voice was soft but steady. “I can’t think of anything I’d like more.”
The boys were already chanting, “Disneyland! Universal!”
Buddy barked once, as if adding his vote.
Mike laughed. “All right, all right. As soon as I’m back in L.A., I’ll send you dates and options. You’ll have to respond quickly because places book fast.”
The timer on the oven sounded. The smell of baking bread drifted from the kitchen. Their mother stood. “The egg strata and cinnamon rolls are done. Breakfast is ready.”
“Come on,” Mike said, clapping his hands lightly. “Christmas morning breakfast is my favorite meal of the year.”
Buddy trotted ahead toward the kitchen as if he agreed completely.