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“You know who I always thought you would make a good couple with?” Pops says.
“Who is that?” I ask with a smirk, taking a bite of mashed potatoes.
“Miracle Lane,” he says.
I nearly choke. Can this man read my mind? “Miracle Lane? Don’t we seem like opposites?”
Mom laughs. “Complete opposites. Not to mention she is off being a nun, last I heard.”
Pops, though, shakes his head. “No. I saw her dad, Hank, at the diner the other morning. She moved back home a few weeks ago. I guess living in a convent didn’t suit her.”
The idea of Miracle being back in town and no longer being a nun is a shock. Wasn't I just dreaming about that on my way to my parents' house? Is it possible to have my Christmas miracle happen that fast?
I smile, my parents watching me. "What?" I say, knowing my grin is obvious.
"So maybe you like the news that Miracle's back in town," Mom says, taking a sip of her champagne.
"Honey, don't start in on that. It's just going to push him away," Pops says.
I shrug. "Not true, Dad. Yeah, I've always had my sights set on Miracle. Surely you both know that."
"No, we didn’t," Mom says. "You always keep that sort of thing to yourself. You really had a crush on her?"
"Yeah, but I always figured what's the point of even considering her and me? You remember what I was like in high school and what she's always been like." I shake my head, remembering how sweet Miracle always was. She was even an angel in the school lunchroom, saying grace before she opened her paper lunch bag and pulled out a pb and j. Even as a fifth grader, she would open her purse and hand someone a $5 bill if they forgot lunch money, and she always seemed to save a seat for someone who was looking for a place to eat lunch. She's just that kind of person.
Mom speaks up. "What, you mean like she's pretty religious, and you only go to church three times a year?"
"Three times?" Pops laughs. "I think it's two."
"Regardless," Mom says, "I do think you're opposites in that. I never considered you much of a religious person, Silas. You know I've accepted you just as you are, but I'm not so sure a girl like Miracle would be interested in a man who wasn't..." She bites her bottom lip as if thinking of the word.
"Look, I say my prayers every night before I go to sleep," I tell my mom.
"Really?" she asks, leaning in. "What do you pray for?"
"For you and Pops to be happy. For me to find the girl of my dreams and settle down, have a family, get you some grandkids that you're always talking about."
"You don't need to rush those things," Pops says. "You're only 22."
"I know, but you were married to Mom already at that age."
That doesn't mean you have to follow in our footsteps. We were young and in love and...”
I pipe up. "That's what I want too, is all, so that's what I pray for before I go to sleep. I'm praying to God or whoever the universe may be. All I know is I'm not so opposed to a higher power. But what I really believe in is love."
Mom's eyes widen. "Going out to sea made you quite the romantic, huh? Maybe all that time on the boat has you thinking."
"And what are you thinking about?" Pops asks.
"I'm thinking about the meaning of it all. What's the point? It seems like I could keep on messing around like I did when I was young, getting into trouble, barely graduating high school, or I could clear all that bullshit away right now, focus on finding the one, on being happy, on making a life—a real life for myself.”
Mom and Pops look at one another across the table. "You know I always wanted more kids," Mom says. She reaches out and takes my hand. "I always thought I would have a big old family, but I was gifted with you after so long of waiting. It took a decade of trying before I had my Christmas miracle, and that was you, Silas. And I guess now it's Christmas Eve, twenty-two years later, and I'm just sitting here in awe, looking at my son all grown up, wondering when did you become so wise? You figure it all out on your own."
"Well, I kind of had pretty good examples," I say, looking at both my parents. Pop then looks all misty-eyed, and for a mechanic who has callused hands and doesn't talk about his emotions all that much, I'm surprised to see him so emotional.
"Sorry to choke you all up," I say, looking at him, but Pops just shakes his head.
"No, don't say that, son. It's good. The last few years with you being gone in the Navy has had me thinking too, about the point. And you're right: It is about love, family."
