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“I’m proud of me, too,” she gasps. “I heard Tony talking outside on the phone to a friend. He was complaining so loudly I thought the whole place would hear him.”
“Youshouldbe proud of yourself,cara,” someone chuckles at the kitchen door, and I step away from Lucia as if I’ve been burned. Grandma Giovanni is leaning on the doorjamb, looking at us with thinly veiled delight. “I’ve been waiting for years for you to stand up to your cousin.”
Lucia, face red with the embarrassment of being caught kissing me, smiles to herself.
“Now, you kids have fun,tua nonnahas to go put out some fires.” And with that Grandma disappears from the door, leaving us alone.
“Well,” Lucia says, straightening her hair. “That was a lot for first thing in the morning.”
“Does every holiday have this much excitement?” I ask her teasingly.
“Oh, probably,” she huffs as she starts to look for a clean and empty mug for coffee. “They all start to blur together after a while.”
Just as she starts to pour herself coffee, I snake my hands around her waist and pull her close. “In that case, I look forward to experiencing them together for the rest our lives.”
“Really?” she asks, breathless in my embrace.
“Really.”
Epilogue
Lucia
Eight Years Later …
I don’t like confrontation, but sometimes, you just have to intervene. As I watch my six-year-old stomp his little foot at his older cousin, I realize that I’m going to have to step in if I want to prevent a repeat of the scrap they got into last year. You’d think they’d live and let live, but some arguments just refuse to be resolved.
“My daddy is the real Santa!” Jamie shouts, his little face getting red with anger as he argues with his cousin.
“Santa isn’t real, I’ve told you already,” the older boy, Hayden, huffs.
“He is too!”
“He is not!”
“He is too! He’s my dad and my dad’s real, so there!” Jamie says as his little body shakes with fury.
It feels like just yesterday that Hayden and his twin brother were crawling all over my husband during our annual holiday family gathering. For the past few years, Matt’s had the honor of playing Santa for the ever-growing number of kids that come to celebrate. He’s thought about “retiring” from the role, but something about Jamie defending him so ardently makes him put on the red velvet suit every year without fail.
Right as it looks like Jamie’s going to launch himself at his cousin, I step in and scoop him up into my arms. Immediately he starts crying, tears of frustration making him hiccup as he holds on to me.
“Why doesn’t he understand, mama?” he wails as I carry him out of the room.
“I know, baby,” I say soothingly as I carry him to the kitchen. “Some people just don’t want to admit when they’re wrong.”
This makes him cry even harder. I get it. This sort of thing can feel life ending when you’re that small. I can’t imagine trying to be patient and hold in your anger when you’re this worked up.
When I step into the kitchen, my mom looks over her shoulder at the sound of a crying child. She immediately starts to coo and comes over to take Jamie from me. Almost instantly, Jamie’s big tears slow to hiccupping sobs as his nonna starts to wipe them away, saying soft things to him as she carries him away.
I motion to her that I’m going to check on my husband, and she nods at me as she listens to her grandson weep about the unfairness of the world. I’m glad she takes it in stride like she does. After all, it’s her fault that Matt even plays Santa every year in the first place. It’s probably good for her to see the long-term consequences of it.
I slip up the stairs quietly to the guest room Matt and I have been put in. As I close the door behind me, I see that my husband is already mostly suited up in the Santa costume. My heart warms as I take the sight in.
We’ve been married for seven years, together for eight, and nothing makes me smile quite like seeing him pull on the old costume and play with the kids. Lots of things about our relationship make me smile, but there’s just something about these moments at the holidays … I cherish them.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he rasps at me as he buttons up the velvet coat.
“Hey, Santa,” I say shyly as I approach him. “Need any help putting on your costume?”
