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Declan
We spent Christmas Eve at my dad’s house. It was loud and crazy, just like our family. I’m fairly sure Tommy was given every dinosaur that ever sat on a store shelf. My dad and Katherine gave Annabelle and me a weekend away in a private hut over the ocean in Jamaica and said they’d happily take care of Tommy while we were there. Nattie got the babies matching onesies that say “Little Sinclair” on them. They’re both white with black lettering. There were also tiny pink tutus and little pink socks that look like ballet slippers in a box next to two miniature stuffed footballs. She says she’s happily passing on that nickname to her future nieces or nephews.
Apparently, everyone’s convinced karma’s gonna be a bitch and give me girls. The joke’s on them because I would love nothing more than to have two beautiful baby ballerinas who are the spitting image of their mother. Boys, girls, or one of each, I don’t care.
Belle and I didn’t stay too late, knowing I had a game on Christmas Day. After being told that Santa wouldn’t be coming until he was fast asleep, Tommy finally went to bed. He wasn’t happy about it, and I’m pretty sure he was on a massive sugar high. He kept talking about trapping one of Santa’s elves like they did in a Christmas show called Prep and Landing. This kid has been obsessively flipping back and forth between that and the Toy Story Christmas Special. I never thought I’d be able to recite an animated movie word-for-word at my age, but I can.
Every single word.
I’ll be happy to give him his new noise-canceling headphones tomorrow. His broke a few weeks ago, and it’s been driving Belle nuts ever since.
She drops down next to me on the couch after tucking Tommy in and lays her head on my shoulder. “We’ve got to wait a little while before bringing all the presents out. Last year, he almost caught me. I don’t want a repeat.”
I grab her feet off the ottoman and place them in my lap to rub them. Within minutes, my wife is sound asleep, and I’m left sitting on the couch, thinking how good my life is.
Christmas morning, we’re woken up by a happy squeal, followed by Tommy running in and jumping on the bed. “He came. He came. He came.” He pulls the blanket off Belle. “Belles! Santa came. We need to go downstairs.” He jumps off the bed and heads for the door.
“Tommy, if you go downstairs, you cannot open anything until we get there, and we need five minutes. Go sit on the couch. We’ll be right behind you, bud.” He races out of the room, and Belle stands up, stretches, and then races to the bathroom. She’s still sick all the time. She’s coming up on twelve weeks in her pregnancy, and our fingers are crossed that the morning sickness will stop then.
She comes back out of the bathroom a minute later with a toothbrush in her mouth. “You better get moving, hot stuff. He’s not going to wait forever.”
She walks back into the bathroom, and I follow. Standing behind her, I lean my hands on the white marble countertop and cage her in. “Thank you, Annabelle.”
Belle spits out the toothpaste. “For what? We said no presents.”
“For giving me a family.” I kiss the top of her head.
“Pretty sure that was your gift to me, Dec.” She twists and kisses my lips. “Now brush your teeth and get downstairs. We’ll be lucky if he hasn’t opened everything already at this rate.”
I watch my wife walk away and stare after her. Belle has on cable knit white socks pulled up over her knees, tiny white cotton shorts with little red and white candy canes scattered all over them, a red tank top, and a long white sweater thrown over it. Her hair is in a messy bun, and her face is fresh and glowing.
She looks pure.
She looks beautiful.
She looks like every fucking fantasy I’ve ever had come to life, and all I can think about is how I want to get her dirty later tonight.
Watching Tommy open his presents is like watching the living embodiment of pure joy. He’s as excited about the ninety-nine cent dinosaurs that Belle attached to each tag as he is about the three-foot-tall, animatronic T-Rex.
Not gonna lie, that thing’s cool as hell and surprisingly solid.
When he’s finished opening his gifts and exploring his stocking and is happily stuffing his face full of Amelia’s double-stuffed vanilla cream donuts, I hand Belle the bag I got for her, and she gives me her mean mom look.
I’m becoming familiar with it.
“’No presents’ means no presents, Dec.” Then her dimples pop deep as she reaches down on the other side of the couch and hands me a big red box with an elaborate plaid ribbon. “But somehow, I knew you weren’t going to stick to our deal. So, this is for you, my love.”
“Okay, babe. You go first,” I tell her.
I watch as she opens her gift and her eyes start to tear up. “Declan... I love it!” She slips off her white sweater and pulls down her new black Philadelphia Kings hoodie, then stands and turns so I can see the back. “Mrs. Sinclair” stretches across her shoulders in a glittering gold script with my number thirteen sparkling beneath it. “It’s perfect, Dec.”
When she sits back down, she orders, “Now, open yours.”
I pull off the plaid ribbon and then rip off the red foil paper. It’s a large, framed picture of the moment right after our wedding. Belle and I are in the center with Cooper and Tommy on Belle’s left and Nattie and Dad on my right. She’s had it matted and framed in a beautiful platinum frame and the date is engraved at the bottom. I put it down and carefully lean it against the ottoman before I cradle her face in my hands. “I love it. Thank you.” My lips brush over hers.
“I thought we could hang it when we find a new house.”
“Really? I wasn’t expecting that.” We discussed the idea of moving a few days ago, but I didn’t want to push it yet.
