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I slip out of my leggings and sweater and pull on a maternity nightgown.
When he returns, he pulls off his clothes, and we climb into bed. I curl into his side as he clicks on the television mounted above the chest of drawers.
“Thank you so much for making this happen. I honestly didn’t think it was a possibility,” I tell him.
“I can’t believe I was able to surprise you,” he says.
“I should have known something was up when you gave me that bogus headache excuse,” I quip.
“Yeah, I panicked. My dick was hard as a rock, and our parents were about to pull in.”
I giggle.
“Do you have a headache now?” I ask.
He quirks an eyebrow. “You aren’t suggesting we get naked with your parents down the hall, are you, Isley Tuttle?”
I slide my hand down to the band of his boxers.
“There are things we can do quietly,” I suggest.
He grabs the remote from the nightstand and turns the volume up a few decibels, and I proceed to thank him properly.
The next morning, Langford picks Ezra up, and he comes to help Daddy get ready while I make breakfast. We plan to take them to the resort and show them around Santa’s Village while Morris takes Ezra out for a day of skiing.
I make Daddy’s favorite—pancakes and link sausages.
He eats two helpings, and then we all pile into Langford’s truck.
“I forgot how beautiful the mountains are in the winter,” Mom muses.
“Dang snow. I’ll need to shovel our driveway when we get home,” Daddy says.
Mom’s eyes meet mine, and she shakes her head slightly.
Ezra talked to me and Langford this morning. He said that Daddy slips in between the past and present sometimes, and it’s best not to contradict him. Pointing out that he is forgetting things or making things up in his head only leads to unnecessary agitation and fear on Daddy’s part. So, when possible, we just go along with what he is experiencing at the time.
It’s hard at first, but as the day progresses, it gets easier.
Mom and Ezra handle it all with ease, and if Mom can do it without breaking down and getting upset, so can I. I blame the few moments I walk away to compose myself on pregnancy hormones.
Langford, for his part, does everything he can to pack the day with holiday cheer.
“I want you to make a ton of Christmas memories,” he tells me as we watch the carolers dressed in Dickens-era attire.
As I watch Daddy struggle to remember the words to familiar carols, my heart aches. But seeing Langford’s unwavering support and love as he sits with him so Mom and I can peruse the shoppers gives me hope.
In this moment, I realize that the true magic of Christmas is not in the gifts or the decorations, but in the love and togetherness of a family.
“Let’s take a picture with Santa,” Mom suggests.
“Aren’t we a little old to sit on the big guy’s lap?” I tease.
“Santa is for everyone,” she says as she grabs my hand.
We get into the line, and an elf hands us each a candy cane before we climb the steps to Santa’s chair.
“I can’t believe you want to do this. It’s so not like you,” I say.
