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* * *
I wake refreshed.
After showering, I head downstairs to an empty dining room.
A few minutes later, Dad walks in wearing dark trousers and a white button-up shirt. “Merry Christmas, son.” He comes to me and holds out a hand. As I shake it, he places his other hand over mine.
“Merry Christmas. Are you ready for everything Mom has planned?”
He chuckles. “No one is ready for that.”
I grin because we’ve all suffered through Mom’s extensive holiday planning ever since we were children. It’s her day, and Dad knows better than to interfere.
“She has matching sweaters for us all,” he says with a poker face. I know he begrudges it, yet the joy it gives her means we all play along with one rule—no pictures uploaded to social media.
“Are the colors brighter than last year?”
He shakes his head as he pours his orange juice. “I’m not privy to see. Did your brothers wake you last night?”
“No. What time did they get in?”
“Jobe arrived before midnight. His work Christmas party kicked on without him. And Byron arrived around ten with Brandon.”
“The Aussie stayed in LA for another Christmas?”
Dad nods. “It appears we may be signing two rookies.”
“Who knew they would become friends when those two met at college as teammates and almost enemies to vie for court time as freshmen?”
“Brandon has more patience than I have with my son.”
I laugh. “Byron wants another trip to Australia and to stay with Brandon’s family. You know he loves the laidback lifestyle and how Aussies love their sport.”
My father shakes his head. “That boy… I can’t wait for a woman who can make him settle down.”
Byron has plenty of women. “You think a woman will help him see the light of not playing ball and work for you?”
My father grunts.
I don’t see it happening anytime soon.
“What time did everyone get to bed?”
“No idea, but your mother woke me when she came to bed around two.”
“True?”
“She is excited to have everyone together at home.”
It’s the small things that give my mother the most joy.
Brandon wanders into the room with his curly hair, a tangled mess. He is wearing a navy college T-shirt and gray sweatpants. My father’s poker face hides his thoughts, yet I know exactly what he’s thinking.
Sweatpants should only be worn to the gym.
“Morning, Brandon.” I stand to shake his hand. “Merry Christmas. It’s good to see you again.”
He offers a firm handshake. “Morning. Merry Christmas to you both.” He turns and shakes my father’s hand. “Thank you for your kind hospitality for another holiday season.”
