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In Philadelphia, they wore Santa hats sparkling with glitter. Behind them, the tree—one of the half dozen in their home—glistened and gleamed from its red-carpeted base to its disco ball topper.
Across the miles they toasted each other.
“We miss you guys.” Marco cuddled Breen a little closer. “First Christmas in a million years we haven’t hung at Sally’s.”
“Tell everyone Merry Christmas from us,” Breen added. “Send pictures!”
“We’ll do that,” Sally promised. “We loved the one of the bridal bash from your blog. You just need to tell your grandmother to send over the secret to her fountain of youth. She wins the Gorgeous Granny Award hands down.”
“I’ll tell her you said so. We’re seeing her later for… the Christmas tree lighting.” The best way to put it, she decided. “It’s a community tradition.”
“How’s that book of yours coming, Breen?” Derrick asked her. “The big fantasy one. You know how I love fantasy.”
“Pretty good, I think. Hope.”
“Her agent wants her to send in a few chapters she’s polished up.”
Breen elbowed Marco. “It’s not ready yet.”
“Won’t let me read it either,” he added.
“It’s not ready yet. Marco’s been working on his music but won’t submit anything.”
“Touché,” he said, then shrugged. “Not ready yet.”
“Our kids.” Sally looked at Derrick with an exaggerated sigh.
They spent a happy hour talking, opening gifts.
Marco modeled his chocolate-brown leather duster.
“I can’t believe it! This is beyond lit.”
“Breen said you had a thing for Keegan’s.”
“Got it in one. I’m going to sleep in it!”
“It’s damn sexy,” Sally commented. “I bet that handsome artist of yours thinks so, too.”
“Wait till he gets a load of me.”
“I can’t get over my boots!” Breen did a turn in the over-the-knee black leather with lacings up the side concealing the zipper. “They’re amazing. I feel like a general.”
“A smoking-hot one,” Derrick told her. “Look at our cutie, Sally. She done gone and grown up.”
“Girl.” Marco put an arm around her waist, struck a pose. “We slay. We’re wearing these tonight.”
“Right there with you.” She plopped back on the couch. “Your turn. It’s from both of us to both of you.”
“Been waiting.” Derrick ripped at the festive paper as Sally winced.
“You know that kills me. All the trouble to wrap it up, make it beautiful, and you tear at it like a three-year-old.”
“Everybody’s three at Christmas.”
Breen laughed. “That’s what I say, and we hope what’s inside’s what counts.”
Out of the sturdy shipping crate, they took a box. Polished to a near mirror shine, the cedar boasted gleaming copper hinges and an ornate latch. The lid held an intricate carving, meticulously painted with copper, of their names inside an infinity symbol.
