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I nod. “She's doing a book signing. All profits will go to the soup kitchen.”
“I can't wait to come. It's going to be fantastic. I'm so proud of her,” Annabelle sighs. “Crazy what could happen in five years, isn't it?”
I nod, bringing my three-year-old daughter, Noel, closer to me. Her two-year-old sister, Eve, is twirling around in her red dress. Filson has our one-year-old daughter, Winter, in a carrier on his back. So many Christmas blessings. All our babies were born in December.
Annabelle leans over and gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I beam at my friend who looks so happy. “You just look so adorable pregnant,” I tell her.
“Are you jealous?” she asks. “This is the first Christmas that you haven't been pregnant since you got married.” When I bite my bottom lip, her eyes grow wide. “Oh, my God, you are!”
I look down at the kids, not wanting them to know, I haven't even told Filson. “I just found out,” I admit to her. “But you know it’s our dream, a baby every Christmas for as long as possible.”
“You guys are crazy and ridiculously adorable,” she laughs.
I don't disagree. Filson and I are the happiest people to ever live in Snowy Valley.
Moments later, when he calls me over and hands me the scissors for the ribbon-cutting ceremony, I look up into my husband's eyes, full of admiration. Looking at the boy I have loved since I was a little girl, all grown up. He seemed so misunderstood for so long, and now it's crystal clear. I see him as he is, and as he can be. A man who isn't just handsome because of his sexy beard, but a man who is handsome because he is my heart, my home, my forever.
“I'm so proud of you, Filson,” I say looking up into his pine green eyes. I cut the ribbon and he pulls me to him, giving me a kiss on the lips.
“I'm pregnant,” I whisper as we pull apart. The crowd behind us cheers as the red ribbon falls to the ground, his shopping center officially opened.
He shakes his head incredulously, my belly flip-flopping with love. “You always give me the best gifts,” I say. “But this year it's my turn to top yours.”
“A fifth baby. God, I love you, Maple.”
“Good,” I say, “Because I was hoping tonight once the kids are down, we can celebrate this new blessing.” I take his hand and press it to my belly.
He gives me a smile and I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him again, his beard tickling my face. Home is where the beard is … and his is never that far away.Epilogue ThreeFilsonTen Years Later…The line at the soup kitchen has finally slowed, and I take a moment to step away to take our eight-month-old daughter, Carol, from Maple’s arms. Our family is all here, helping out today like we do most Saturdays. The oldest kids, Nick, Eve, and Winter are serving bowls of soup, while the three younger ones are making snowflakes out of white paper with our new live-in nanny at a table in the corner. They remind me of Maple’s and my first Christmas together.
“Carol’s been a little fussy,” Maple says. “I think she’s tired.”
“Not surprised,” I say, leaning closer to my wife and kissing her softly. “It’s hard to sleep here. It’s been bustling all morning.”
Maple tightens the apron around her waist. Earlier in our marriage, we were going for one a year, but we’ve slowed down a bit and have stopped at six, though we’ve been talking about a few more once Carol starts walking. For two people who don’t have any extended family, we created our own little tribe, a bunch of Filson and Maple mini-mes.
“Honestly though, I’m feeling just as tired,” she says. I take a closer look and see her tired eyes. I’m sure her feet ache too. It’s why I planned the perfect Christmas gift for her.
“Want one of your Christmas gifts early?” I ask.
“Christmas isn’t until next week,” she says twisting her lips.
“I know, but you deserve it now.”
“Fine,” she says. “If you insist.”
I take her hand and lead her to the back room off the kitchen where her desk is. It’s neatly organized with files and recipes, orders for groceries and a volunteer schedule. Over the last ten years, dozens of people have started pitching in to help. The kitchen now distributes clothing and household goods, along with a small clinic where clients can receive important medical care. Maple’s Granny would be so proud to see where her good intentions have led – to a flourishing center serving thousands of people a year.
“Well, first off, I got you this,” I say, closing her office door.
She takes the package from my hand and unwraps the candy-cane striped paper. Inside the tissue paper is a silky red nightgown. “Filson, this is beautiful,” she says, running her fingers over the material. “But not exactly practical.”
