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“I want to come.”
“We can’t kill him, Constance.”
“Maybe I can plead with him…”
“I think if he speaks to you, it’ll just make it worse. I’ll take care of it.”
She dragged her hands down her face before she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “I guess I should make breakfast.”
“I’ll take care of it. Get some sleep.”
“You’ve been out all night—”
“And you’ve been up all night. I can take care of Claire.”
“You’re sure?” She turned to me, beautiful vacancy in her gaze, like she really was too tired to be fully present in the conversation. There were bags under her eyes, a tightness to her skin. But there was something about the way she looked early in the morning. This was one of the first times I’d gotten to see it.
I gave a nod.
“Can I take your bed…?”
I nodded again. “Always.”
“Dad, we don’t have any cookies.” Claire looked through the pantry, pushing aside cans of soup and boxes of cereal.
“Because we don’t need any.” She’d always had a sweet tooth, when I could barely tolerate the stuff. I joined in on the festivities like getting gelato after school just to bond with her, but it’d never been my thing. If a wine was too sweet, I didn’t like that either.
“What about Santa?”
“We’ll get some before he comes.” I stayed on the couch, one of her favorite shows on, our coloring books on the coffee table. I prided myself on being a good father, but I did drink when she was around, whether that was wine or scotch. It never inhibited my faculties, so it wasn’t like I was an absent parent.
“Dad, he’s coming tonight.” She ran back into the living room, giggling because she knew something I didn’t.
“Tonight?” I asked. “Wait…”
“It’s Christmas Eve!”
Shit. “It is?” I pulled out my phone and checked the calendar.
“Santa is coming tonight, and we don’t have any cookies. What if he doesn’t leave any presents?”
“He will. I’m pretty sure he’s full of cookies by the time he gets here.”
“But if I don’t have cookies, he’ll think I’m a bad girl.”
“No, sweetheart.” I brought her in for a hug and kiss on the forehead. “He could never think that. But we’ll make some anyway—just to be safe.”
“Yes!”
“What should we make?”
“Those cookies where we decorate them.”
“Sugar cookies?”
“Yep.”
“Alright.” I got off the couch and headed to the kitchen. “Let’s see what we’ve got.”
“Constance, we’re making cookies!”
She came into the living room, still in her tight leggings and a baggy shirt. Her eyes were still sleepy, but not exhausted like they were before. “You are? That sounds like fun.”
“Daddy forgot that Santa is coming tonight.”
“He did?” she asked with a chuckle. “That sounds about right…”
“Come on, help us.” Claire grabbed her hand and pulled her into the kitchen.
We worked together to make the dough, cut them into Christmas trees, reindeer, and gingerbread people, and then put them in the oven. After they cooled, we used the colored frosting to decorate.
“Look at my tree.” Claire showed Constance.
“Very nice,” she said. “What do you think of my reindeer?”
Claire stood on her platform so she could reach the counter, and she leaned over to see the cookie on the sheet. “What’s that red thing?”
“His nose,” Constance said.
“Ooh,” Claire said. “That’s really cool.”
“What about mine?” I’d decorated a sled, and I’d mixed red and black together to make this really deep color to decorate it.
Claire gave it a disapproving look. “I don’t like it.”
I grinned and put it down. “Just not as good as you are, sweetheart.”
Once all the cookies were decorated, the afternoon was long gone, and now it was dark outside.
“I’ll clean up everything and start dinner,” Constance said. “You can sleep for a couple hours.”
“I’m alright.” I dusted off my hands before I crumpled the parchment sheets and tossed them.
“Does that mean you’ll be home tonight?”
“I was supposed to go out, but I didn’t realize it’s Christmas Eve.”
Her eyes lit up, like that was the best news she’d heard in a while. “Great.”
Once Claire was put to bed, I took a couple bites out of the cookies and left the plate on the coffee table.
Constance walked out, carrying a handful of wrapped Christmas presents.
I’d totally dropped the ball on Christmas this year. Had too much shit going on. Stretched too thin. But she’d picked up the slack.
She put the presents under the tree, most of them addressed to Claire. There was one for me too.
Guilt dropped into my stomach. “I didn’t get you anything.”
There was no hurt in her eyes, just a smile. “Yes, you did. You gave me Christmas.” She sat beside me. “You gave me a home. It doesn’t come in a box with shiny ribbon, and it certainly doesn’t fit under the tree…but it’s the greatest gift anyone has ever given me.” She stared at the tree for a while, taking in the twinkling lights and the presents she’d just stuffed underneath. Then she slowly turned to me, and that same look of wonderment remained on her face.
