“I do. Pick me up around seven?”
Charlie came back and set a mug on the table, then sat next to me, as he sipped from his own. He put his hand on my knee and gave a squeeze. I might have squeaked a little, because Clay coughed.
“Yeah, okay. See you tomorrow,” he said hurriedly.
We hung up, and I turned to Charlie. “So what all do I have to worry about for this wedding?”
He sipped his coffee and seemed completely content as he cuddled up next to me. “Not one thing. Clay is going to take you to get your suit, and everything else has been handled. All you need to do is show up to the courthouse on time. Clay said he made a special arrangement for us to get married that day, and I doubt he’s going to want anything to go wrong.”
“I think Clay has it planned down to the minute.” I bit my lip before I said the next part. I had no idea if he’d be amenable to spending the holiday with my family. “I might have said we would spend the night at Mom’s house for Christmas Eve, then head out from there the next day. That’s okay, I hope.”
He put down his coffee mug, turned, and looked me in the eye. “Why would you think it’s not? I love your family, and I want to be part of it. Besides, I might be able to talk your mom into pulling out some baby pictures. I’d love to see what little Matt and Clay looked like.”
“I love you. Thank you for being you.”
He picked up his cup and took a sip. “I don’t know how to be anyone else.”
Smug bastard.
AFTER WEfinished shopping, where I got a dark blue suit with gray stripes throughout, Clay took me back to Mom’s house so we could talk to her about Christmas. She must have been looking out the window, because as soon as I opened the door, she came flying out of the house.
“Matt,” she cried, rushing down the sidewalk toward me, her arms open wide.
I stopped and waited for her, and when she reached me, I squeezed her as tight as I could. I knew she’d been baking, because I could smell the spices she’d been using and see the splotches of flour that dotted her shirt. I didn’t care. It was a sign I was home. As for the hug? I needed my mom more than I’d ever thought I could.
“Come in,” she said, taking me by the hand.
I looked at her as we walked and noticed things I hadn’t when we were together the last time. She’d gotten much older. Her hair, which had been a chestnut brown, now was mostly gray. Her laugh lines formed crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. And she was thinner than I remembered. But her smile was just as bright. And her love for Clay and me was obvious in the way she fussed over us, urging us to take a seat while she went and got us something to drink.
As we sat down with a plate of gingerbread cookies and a hot drink—I declined the coffee and had some hot apple cider instead—Clay told her about his idea for us to come together for the holiday. Suffice it to say, she was thrilled with the idea. She had us go into the attic and haul down all the boxes with the supplies that had been stored up there for so many years. I lost count of the number of things we carried, but with each box, Mom’s excitement grew.
“This is going to be wonderful,” she declared. “Any thoughts about what you’d like for Christmas dinner?”
Every year for Christmas, we would have chicken and stuffing, cranberry sauce that Mom made, and whipped potatoes with gravy. The house would smell absolutely amazing for the entire day as she stood in the kitchen and sliced, diced, sautéed, boiled. God, even now, I can remember waking up to those amazing scents.
“What about what we always had?” I asked, then looked at Clay. “Would that work for you?”
He grinned. “I was hoping you’d say that.”
OVER THEremainder of the week, Charlie had me bouncing around with Clay and Mom, looking at things to decorate the house with, gifts we wanted to give my family, and the like. He claimed he needed time to discuss a book tour with his publisher. He said he’d asked not to go on this one, as he was getting married. Allegedly they raised a fuss about it, so he was talking to them. Curiouser and curiouser.
Christmas Eve we arrived at my mother’s house at four in the afternoon. She had the tree set up in the living room, just like we used to do. You can’t imagine how much fun we all had decorating the thing. The tree was beautiful. Six feet tall, it stood proud as the centerpiece of the room. We had decorated it with almost a thousand twinkling lights and kitschy little baubles, but when Mom pulled out the box marked “precious,” my heart stopped. Bulbs that held pictures of her and my dad were hung on slender strings. Ornaments that Clay and I had made in school were there, ready to be placed on the tree. Every one of them brought memories. When she pulled out the star and handed it to me, I had to fight back the tears. There was no way it was the original. That got ruined when the tree got knocked over as Clay and I fought about some stupid gift. But it looked exactly like….Shit.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Is this the actual star?”
She smiled at me and took it from my hands, gazing fondly at it for a moment. Then she showed me where a few chips were missing, but also where other parts were put back together with glue or something. “I saved it,” she said, running her fingers over it. “It took a few tries before I realized it wasn’t unlike putting a puzzle together.” She twirled it. The light refracted and made tiny colored spinning dots on all of us. “I guess I could have thrown it away, but your father picked it out when you were born, and I couldn’t get rid of it. Guess I’m just sentimental that way.”
Emotions overwhelmed me. Memories of my father, the hugs on Christmas morning that ended when he died. Our first Christmas after that was somber, and it dawned on me that’s what it was probably like for Clay and Mom after I left. I stumbled back a half step, and Charlie was there right away. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders. When Mom handed the star back to me, I offered it to my brother, but he shook his head.
“Go ahead and put it up. This is the start of a new year for us, so it’s only fitting that you do it.”
My hands trembled when I got up and walked to the tree. I was deathly afraid the star would fall and shatter again. It had to be perfect, because in my mind, it symbolized me coming home once again.
“Charlie?” I whispered, unable to move. “Help me.”
