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“Merry Christmas, Crew,” she says.
He looks startled, but he hugs her back. “Merry Christmas, Mrs. Larkin.”
“Call me Mary.” She pats him on the cheek.
Crew grins like he’s won the Stanley Cup.
Nathan enters the kitchen, his hair sticking up straight, rubbing his jaw. He has beard stubble and looks like he doesn’t understand why he has to be awake.
But then Mary reaches out to give his hand a squeeze. “Merry Christmas, Nathan. We’re glad you’re here.”
The cobwebs seem to lift, and his back straightens. He smiles at her. “Merry Christmas, Mary.”
“Did I tell you all about the time Danielle played an angel in the Christmas play?” She reaches into the refrigerator and pulls out the bacon. “All those red curls under that halo—it was so cute, I almost couldn’t stand it.”
“Mom, no one cares.”
“Not true,” Nathan protests.
“I want to see the pictures,” Crew says.
“I bet she was the most angelic of all the angels,” I agree, dropping some water on the skillet to test the heat.
Mary beams at all of us. “She really was. But…” Mary’s smile turns just a bit mischievous, and I see Dani’s face in forty years. “Her halo was a little crooked the entire time.”
We all laugh together at that as Dani grins and blushes.
CHAPTER12
Nathan
“Nathan, would you like more coffee?”one of Michael’s many sisters asks me with a smile.
“I would love some, thank you.”
She holds her hand out for my mug, and I pass it over, feeling very content this Christmas day. Danielle slept tucked against me all night, exactly the way I like it, and meeting Michael’s family is going even smoother than expected.
Being with the Hughes family is a walk in the damn park after being at the Larkins’. Or even with the McNeills, who while wonderful and welcoming, are… exuberant. Like Crew himself. Full of energy, and questions, and high fives. Danielle’s parents were exhausting in their strained disapproval, even if in the end I felt like we’d made some serious progress after my talk with Kevin, Crew’s determined enthusiasm, and Michael’s cooking skills.
Both previous houses had also felt crowded for different reasons. The McNeills have a large house, but it was stuffed to the gills with family and friends, and everyone had talked loudly and over each other. The Larkins’ small house had compartmentalized rooms and too much furniture. Between that and their clear discomfort, the house had felt a little suffocating.
Which was why it was so important to escape to the RV and spend time alone, the four of us, fucking out our frustration. It had been a long, taxing day, with the best possible ending—all of us loving on Danielle.
But I could spend every Christmas with the Hughes family and actually enjoy myself. I don’t even care if Michael is there or not, just give me a stocking on the mantle and a seat at the table because this is comfortable to me. Of course, that’s not actually true. Part of what is making this Christmas stand out isn’t just being around a loving family or spending it with Danielle. It’s us. Cookie & Co. My friendship with Michael and Crew is just another layer to the foundation of a different future for myself than I ever imagined.
The coffee mug reappears, and I take it with a thanks, raising it to my lips as I observe the gathering.
It’s clear where Michael gets his chill demeanor from because his father, Clayton, is exactly the same. Genuine smile, strong handshake, social but not aggressively so, and easy to talk to. His mother Lorraine is warm, intelligent, and can direct her children with a single look.
Michael has five siblings, three brothers-in-law, and six nieces and nephews, yet nothing feels chaotic or crowded in the ranch-style home filled with books and landscape artwork that I’ve been told was done by Clayton’s mother. The Christmas decor is classic red and very elegant, with ceramic angels and a large hand-carved nativity scene. It’s the complete opposite of the plastic Christmas emporium Crew turned Dani’s apartment into. The poinsettia I brought fits perfectly in the Hughes’ home.
The food covers the entire length of the buffet table, and my mouth is already watering just eyeing it all. I barely ate last night or this morning because when I’m tense, I can’t swallow, so I’m starving now.
I’m sitting on the sofa between Michael’s sister, Tonya, and her son, who is seven, who keeps eyeing me with a half-smile, like something about me is cracking him up.
The other kids are all downstairs in the finished basement, with one of Michael’s brothers-in-law supervising. I occasionally hear running, or a thump, or a cheer coming up the stairs, which makes me think there are obstacle courses in play down there.
Danielle is in a wingback chair across from me, holding Michael’s other sister, Becca’s baby, Braydon Junior. I’ve been told he’s six months old, and he is sporting a toothless grin, round cheeks, and a full head of hair. He’s wearing a tiny rowing sweater that matches his father’s, along with baby khakis. He’s pretty fucking cute.
