“Thanks.” I smile up at him, and he winks.
I gaze down at my device, then slip it under my leg. I actually don’t want to check my messages right now. I’m kind of over the Curry insults and… in spite of my internal protests, I’m actually kind of enjoying watching my family get all excited about presents.
I’m excited too.
Getting this extra Christmas every February is always the best.
It feels like forever, but eventually the parents make their way downstairs. Poor Aunt Nylah is having to be supported by Uncle Carson. His arm is wrapped around her tight as she struggles down the stairs. She’s always had a small limp because of her busted leg, but I think the pregnancy is making everything worse. She looks like she’s beyond ready to get that baby out of her.
Uncle Carson guides her to the couch, and as soon as she’s sitting down beside me, Harley crawls right off my lap and snuggles into her.
“Good morning, caramel.” He grins down at his girl.
She gives him a shy smile. “Hi, Daddy.”
Aunt Nylah grins, kissing the top of her head and wrapping her arm around her.
“Daddy, Daddy, look!” Portia jumps up and down.
He grabs her under the arms and lifts her up to eye level. “Hey, blueberry.”
She giggles. “I got a present under the tree!”
Uncle Carson narrows his eyes. “You didn’t touch it, did you?”
“No.” She bulges her eyes, then points at me. “Zoey wouldn’t let me.”
“Well, Zoey is a very smart young woman.”
Young woman?
Yeah. I like the sound of that.
I can’t help sitting up a little straighter and beaming at my uncle. He winks at me before taking a seat on the floor near Aunt Nylah’s legs.
“Ho, ho, ho!” a deep voice rumbles from the staircase, and we all whip around to see Uncle Wily walking down the stairs in a Santa suit.
He has a pillow secured under his costume with a big black belt, plus the long beard and the floppy hat. He looks so great.
“Santa!” Seb yells, running toward him and punching the pillow.
Uncle Wily makes a show of bending over and pretending it hurt while Aunt Libby frowns down at her youngest son. “Don’t be mean to Santa or you might not get your gift.”
Seb giggles, then puts on his sweet voice. “Sorry, Santa. I mean, Dad.” He giggles again, squealing when Uncle Wily picks him up and throws him over his shoulder.
“Who wants presents?” he booms in a deep voice.
“Me, me!”
“Me!”
“I do! I do!”
Various shouts echo around the room as the excitement levels increase by a thousand.
I wince against the noise and notice that Mom is doing the same as she hands a bleary-eyed Aunt Blake morning coffee. She yawns and takes the cup with mumbled thanks before turning to whisper something to Aunt Dani.
They giggle together, and I wish I knew what they were saying.
