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“But then your parents would be alone in the morning.”
“Trust me, I think Dad will be okay with that.”
He sets the bag of presents down near my tree, reaches into it, and lifts out a bottle of wine, toes off his shoes, and pads in his socks into the kitchen.
“Want a glass of wine? This is a good bottle.”
“Sure. Did you want the lasagna?” I cooked it in case he arrived earlier but ended up eating by myself.
“No, thanks. I ran through a McDonald’s drive-through.”
“McDonalds? You?”
He shrugs. “Christmas Eve. Pickings were slim. Besides, one thing of French fries won’t kill me.”
“I’m glad you realize that.” His biceps bulge slightly as he strains to pull out the cork using my dad’s archaic wine opener. “I have a better one of those.”
“Nah, this is fine. I picked up some of your favorites from the French bakery. They’re in the bag.”
“My favorites?” I re-enter the den as he sets out two wine glasses.
“Macarons? You like them, right? It’s the only dessert I ever see you buy.”
“Well, they’re kind of a pain to make. But, yes, I do like them.”
He offers me my glass and sits in front of the Christmas tree.
“What’re you doing?”
“Well, we’re exchanging presents, right? That’s what you do on Christmas Eve.”
I stand in front of him, one arm over my midriff.
“It’s late. Shouldn’t you be getting home? Your mom is going to worry about you on the road.”
“She thinks I’m driving over in the morning. We said we were spending Christmas Eve together.” He looks at me like I’ve forgotten some important conversation.
“I know, but I just figured you’re running so late, so you’d head on to your folks. It’s Christmas.”
“Yeah, it is. And that’s why I’m here with you. Now, sit down so we can toast.”
“What time is everyone arriving, again?” He said after lunch, but that’s a broad swatch of time.
“You’re asking me?” He holds up his glass for a toast, effectively ending that line of conversation. “Merry Christmas Eve.”
Our glasses clink, but an unsettled feeling stirs in my belly.
“Have you heard from Oliver?”
Oliver spent the last few days with Kate in Vermont with her family. It turns out they actually met a year ago, when Sam’s kids were sick and the Duke family Christmas got postponed. She moved to Texas about a month ago, and I’ve been getting to know her. She and I hit it off once I finally got to meet her in person. Oliver and Kate are flying to Connecticut, then flying down with Sam and his family in their private jet to Texas. Mrs. Duke filled me in on the plans, but she didn’t share flight times.
“Here and there,” Ian says, and I know that means he’s texted sporadically with his brother.
“Have you met Kate yet?”
“When would I’ve met her?” He sips the wine and closes his eyes, letting the wine work its magic through what I imagine are tense, stiff, exhausted muscles. The man works himself to the bone.
“I don’t know. She’s going to be your sister-in-law.” He hasn’t been home since she moved down here, so I guess I am asking a silly question.
