“We went to Barcelona last year for spring break and I ate a lot of Manchego there,” says Penny.
Everyone laughs. That’s exactly the kind of thing I want my kid to be able to say one day.
“Has anyone ever told you that you have an old soul?” Ian asks Penny.
“Papa says I’m mature for my age because I’m around a lot of adults.”
Curt chuckles. “It’s true, I do say that. We’ve always let Penny come to our dinner parties and spend time with our friends. I really don’t understand why more parents don’t do it that way.”
“Oh, Penny, that reminds me, I brought something for you. But maybe you’re too grown-up to want it?” I tease.
She giggles. “I don’t think I’m too grown-up.”
I fetch the surprise from my purse. I wisely chose an “adult” coloring book with much more intricate drawings of London landmarks than your typical kids’ fare.
“Thought you could do this on the plane ride over.”
Her tiny round face stretches into a smile as she flips through it. “Thanks, Margo. I love it.”
Her dads are glowing.
“Have you been to London before?” I ask her.
“Once, but I was too little to remember. I have some pictures of it in my room, though. Do you want to see?”
A ticket to the second floor.
“That sounds like fun,” I say, turning to Jack and Curt. “If you guys wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all, go right ahead,” says Jack. “In fact, why don’t we all go? I’ll give you a tour.”
Hell yes.
“I’ll stay and get the salmon ready to put in,” says Curt, “but here, let me top you off before you head up.”
He comes around the island with the martini pitcher. I hold my hand over my glass: “I’m a lightweight,” I say, smiling, attuned to the subtle fizziness already spreading through my limbs. I need to stay sharp.
The rest of us follow Jack back to the front of the house, where he points out the den. “Those built-ins were one of the first things we had done when we moved in,” he says. “And this is the more formal living space over here.”
“I love the fireplace,” I say. “Is it wood-burning?”
“Yeah, it’s original from 1948.” He leans over to adjust a knit throw draped over the back of the sofa closest to us. “It’s one of my favorite parts of the house, especially around the holidays. We put the tree right over there, in that corner by the window.”
I lock eyes with Ian. He has to be thinking the same thing—this is meant to be.
The first time I met his parents was over Christmas, the year we started dating. I’d never been serious enough with a boyfriend to spend the holidays together, so I was a nervous wreck trying to figure out what to pack, what types of gifts would come across as thoughtful but not trying too hard. His dad picked us up at the airport. I let him and Ian catch up in front while I rode in back, silently coaching myself on the things I might say when we got to the house—Your home is lovely! Thank you so much for having me!
When we pulled up, I felt like I’d landed inside the Hallmark Channel. It was creamy brick, like the outside of this house, with red-bowed wreaths in each window, and ivy climbing up one side. It’s not that it was anything ostentatious—Indiana real estate is obviously a lot cheaper than here. Before they retired, Ian’s mom taught high-school English and his dad was a pharmacist. But it just looked so… what’s the right word? Solid.Like it was built to last. The polar opposite of the vulgar, vinyl-clad McMansion that my parents opted for in a new-money (or, in our case, imaginary-money) subdivision.
Ian’s mom and his sister Brooke took turns enveloping me in long hugs. “We’ve all been dying to meet you!” his mom said. She took the shopping bag full of gifts off my hands, and showed me over to the tree—past the fireplace, in a corner of the living room, right by a window.
Exactly the same way we’ll do it here.
After she finished stacking my presents beneath it, she pointed out the ornaments that Ian made as a kid: Popsicle-stick snowflakes, salt-dough candy canes and snowmen. She and Brooke enlisted me to help with the Christmas cookies. They even shared the secret family shortbread recipe.
We stayed a whole week. By the end of it, I felt like I’d gained an entire family.
Jack invites us to follow him upstairs. Penny runs ahead. “My room’s this way,” she says when we reach the top, taking my hand and tugging me down the hall.
