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Saint’s sectional is huge, but the four of us clump cozily together in the middle. We snuggle to watch the movie under a festive red and green throw blanket that looks like it migrated over here from Carl’s place. It’s perfect, giving my kids a Christmas surrounded by family and love.
Epilogue
Angel (December 25th, 2026)
MegandOwenhangup from their biannual video chat with Trevor after about five minutes. It’s not ideal, but that’s about all the parenting he can handle and the kids seem to have accepted that once they got past the initial grief and anger. Moving past the hurts he left us with is still a work in progress, for me as much as the kids, but I’ve been learning to lean on our support network more.
It was only a few months after Trevor left that Meg stopped trying to call him. Owen took a little longer to stop expecting the phone—which I got him so he could call his dad—to ring. That was when I caved and accepted Gran’s money from Marcus. Because my practicum meant long hours and fewer shifts at the diner and something had to give, so it was either that or accept Saint’s financial help. I took the family money.
There was more than I expected in the account from Gran’s estate. Enough to let me feel secure that I would always have a way out if things ever stop working with Saint. Enough that when he asked us to move in last year, the kids and I accepted. I’d just gotten hired full time as a teacher with some online tutoring on the side to bring in extra cash, the timing was right for us.
Meg rolls her eyes and throws herself dramatically onto the couch between Saint and me. The kids still call him Saint most of the time, but they tell everyone he’s their step-dad. Owen says it’s because having a Saint who loves them means more than an empty title ever could.
“Ugh, now that’s over with, can we open presents?” Meg complains, but I can see the underlying hurt. Trevor’s abandonment still takes a toll on both kids in different ways. Meg’s mostly past being angry at him. Owen is quiet, his hurt clear. If the past is any guide, he’ll be mostly over it by the time we finish opening presents. I tug my gangly teenager down onto the couch on my other side and hug him, ruffling his scruffy hair and tickling his ribs.
“I don’t know. Are you ready for presents too, Owen?”
Owen tries to resist for a second, fighting to keep his face impassive before writhing next to me. “Okay, I give!”
I stop tickling him and tug him down to brush a kiss to his temple. I’m still getting used to his new height. Kid shot up like a weed over the summer, like he took having his thirteenth birthday on the horizon as permission to be taller than me. The brat.
“Pop!” Owen groans, but he’s fighting a smile.
“Love you, kid.”
“Yeah. I know.” He cracks a smile and snuggles into my side. As much as a teenager is willing to snuggle with his parent. He stoops to rest his head on my shoulder.
“Presents?” Meg reminds us.
“Yeah, Pop, presents?” Saint reaches over Meg to tug on my free shoulder.
Meg sticks her tongue out at him. “What? I’m allowed to be excited.”
“It’s almost like you think you’re on Santa’s nice list.” Saint winks at her.
Meg pouts. “I’m always nice.”
“More like Saint’s nice list,” Owen interjects, since he knows which of us is the sucker to give his holiday wishlist to.
“Sure, kid,” Saint teases as he stands up to approach the tree. It’s covered in memories of the life we’re building together. Owen’s pirate flag is still flying next to the collection of pride flags that represent our family. Trans for me, bi for Meg, aro for Saint, gay for Owen, and ace for Carl and Nick. Baby handprints flutter next to the ornate key ornament Carl helped pick for Saint to give me when he asked us to move in for good. The gnome and angel from our first Christmas as a couple, and so many others.
“Pop, Saint’s being mean to me.” Meg turns her pout on me and I try to look sympathetic.
“I’m pretty sure you made the cut, kiddo.” I smooth a hand over her short hair. The new look suits her. Makes her look so grown up that I can’t help a pang at the fact this might be her last Christmas living at home with us. She’s planning to go to university in Toronto, pre-law. Ready to take on the world and I couldn’t be more proud of her. But the fact that things are going to change is inevitable. I’m going to miss these precious moments of being gathered together as a family like this.
Saint passes presents out to each of us. For the next little while, I just smile at the thought that went into each of the gifts. I could bask in the smiles on my kids’ faces all day. I couldn’t be more proud of my kiddos as they clear away the wrapping paper.
“Want us to help with the waffle bar?” Meg offers.
“I’ll take care of the hash browns and cinnamon rolls,” Owen chips in, fingers flying as he texts on his new phone. “Grating the potatoes and popping the cardboard tube is oddly satisfying.”
“Mhm, hold that thought. There might be one last present.” I appreciate the kids both offering to help with our traditional Christmas breakfast with Carl and Nick. Even if I’m pretty sure it will be forgotten in the excitement about Meg’s last gift. It’s one of those moments where it really sinks in that I’m so incredibly proud of the not-so-little humans I’ve raised. I’m hoarding these memories for when they’re out living their lives in the coming years.
“Hm, looks like Santa didn’t have much room in his sled for you, Meg, here.” Saint tosses one last palm-sized box to her with a wink.
Meg looks between us, puzzled. “What’s this?”
“Open it,” I prompt her.
