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Now
Death by present wrapping.It’s a backbreaking, soul-destroying job, but mothers over the world unite on Christmas Eve for their most important role of the year: last-minute present wrapper.
It’s a total shit it’s my birthday, but in the years since having Isaac, the time spent on my birthday has got gradually smaller with every passing year and the time spent wrapping presents for my son has grown exponentially.
I’m not going to lie, having Freddy bringing me snacks, drinks, and providing me with ample kisses is making it far more enjoyable than in years past. I also get to bark orders like, "Tape!” at him. Or, "Hold here." What can I say? It’s a total power trip.
Isaac is out with Elliot. Back in September, I’d kind of hoped that we would have been passed this by now, but Isaac seems to need the continuity, so I’m letting it run on. Elliot’s even being halfway civil, although there is still no sniff of a divorce. Four-and-a-half years to go.Yay.
In the weeks since my mother’s death, my life has been slowly coming together. Reading her diaries has helped me feel closer to her than I ever managed in when she was alive, and I appreciate now that she was sick, really sick, and she tried to protect me from it. I read the diaries from the beginning, and they took me from the year after I was born, up until when my dad died. I’m guessing losing Dad was the trigger for her final mental break. She really did love him. I wish I’d seen that in my youth but knowing it now has helped.
“How many do we have now?” I try to estimate the enormous pile in front of me.
“Way too many. He’s one lucky boy.”
“Oh, I’m sure you were spoiled when you were young.” I grin up at Freddy.
“Nope, I was lucky if I got a new wrench.”
I laugh and clamber onto his lap. I can afford a short snog break. “Do you love cars more than you love me?” I ask. He laughs and kisses me in answer. It’s a possible yes.
Since living in the garage conversion, I’m realising just how hard Freddy works. It’s also giving me the opportunity to ogle him looking sexy while covered in grease at various points throughout the day. Really, there is no losing in this situation.
I’m writing again, and funnily enough, all my main characters have a preference for fast cars and spend a lot of time down and dirty. I’m also trying my hand at happily ever afters. I don’t know if I can pull them off yet.
Money isn’t a problem. In fact the insurance paid out on the ugly concrete house and as far as I can tell, overvalued it. I invested in the Bale business, left some for living, and the rest I’ve put into an account for Isaac. It does explain why the pile of presents is so high this year.
“So, birthday girl, do I get to spend some quality time with you today, or do I just have to watch you wrap?”
I smile and lean in, grazing my lips against his. “What exactly did you have in mind for quality time?”
"Dinner, dancing, maybe some of this?" His lips find mine, firmer, harder, intense, His hands grip onto me, possessive and dominating.
"And since when do we go to dinner and participate in dancing?" I bite the corner of my mouth, suppressing my mirth. I am well aware that we do a lot of the other; living together truly has its perks.
“We did once, if my memory serves me correctly.” Freddy slides off the sofa and holds out his hand. “Would you care for a dance, Amber?” I still feel an empty echo after he says my name. French should come after Amber, and it sounds all too obvious.
“Dance? But shouldn’t dinner come first?” I giggle as he hoists me up and slides his hands around me.
“Are you a rule follower now?” He starts to sway us to a tune in his head and giggles take me over at the absurdity of it all. Eleven years ago, I thought this was the most romantic thing ever, whereas now I just feel downright silly. Isaac could come home at any moment, I haven’t hidden the presents, and I’ve got food to prepare.
“Amber, relax. Stop fighting me.” I didn’t even realise I was. I take a deep breath and exhale slowly, relaxing my body against his.
He twirls us out into the middle of the room, a soft hum reverberating from the base of his throat. He’s singing that song again, the one my dad used to listen to when I was a child. I wonder if he ever sang it to my mum before her mental illness stole her from him. Tears prickle my eyes. “Amber?” Freddy calls me into the present.
I offer a small sigh, my eyes shining as I look up at him. “This reminds me of my dad.”
Freddy pulls me in tighter. “You know,” he murmurs into my hair. “I’m almost entirely sure that things can only go up from here.”
“Is this some form of sexual reference?”
Rolling his eyes, he snatches me back in closer. “No. Well maybe, in a bit. What I’m trying to say is that I think that this Christmas is a turning point.”
He’s being serious so I sober my expression. “From what?”
“From the past. So long as you don’t leave me again.”
