Twenty-Five: Mistletoe.
“Christmas, children, is not a date. It is a state of mind.”
-Mary Ellen Chase
They've always told us that Christmas is about more than just boxes under a tree, and I think that's very true. Once I started growing up, I realized that gifts didn't matter to me so much, because Christmas was a time when everyone smiled and got along, even if only for a few hours.
Waking up on Christmas morning wasn't as exciting as it used to be, when I was still small enough to get away with screaming loud enough to wake the whole building, but there was still that invisible feeling in the air of everything being magical.
Aunt Sheridan and Uncle Dill and I opened presents around lunchtime, because it was our family tradition to sleep in really late on Christmas. There weren't many gifts with just the three of us, but that didn't matter because I still got to see the glee on my aunt's face as she opened the dictionary-sized cookbook I bought for her.
“Oh God, this will only encourage her,” Uncle Dill muttered, but he was quickly appeased when he opened the Fleetwood Mac coffee mug I'd gotten him.
The two of them got me an old-fashioned Polaroid camera and a giftcard to the bookstore, which surprised me because I guess they knew me better than I thought. Uncle Dill got his wife a gaudy ruby ring that was just her style, and she gave him tickets to the next Ducks game. They even kissed, which doesn't happen very often, but I guess it was special because it was Christmas.
That was the morning—it was just the beginning.
All the parties started at four, when it was just starting to get dark. My aunt and uncle dropped me off in front of your house with your present and a big poinsettia plant for your parents. I wasn't sure what to expect, because I'd never been inside your house and I didn't know your family, but everyone was lovely.
Your mom opened the door and squealed over the plant, hugging me as she ushered me through the door. Your living room, clean and big and elegant, was full of dozens of unfamiliar faces, so many adults and kids and teens that my head began to spin, and I just wanted to turn and bolt out the door.
But then I saw you. You, in a red dress and thick tights, standing by the Christmas tree with an elf hat on your head. When you saw me, you beamed and danced over, twirling into my arms to the beat of the holiday song playing on the radio.
“Hey,” I murmured, breathless at your smile.
“Hey,” you replied. Then, quietly, you said, “I decided.”
I didn't know what you meant at first, and I didn't have time to ask because you moved out of my arms and took my hand.
“Come meet everyone,” you beckoned.
It was a whirlwind of names and faces as you introduced me to your grandmother, Marcia, your aunt Elsie, your five-year-old cousin Ben, and everyone in between. And quickly, I realized what you meant, because to each person you said, “This is my boyfriend, Sam.”
Boyfriend. I decided I liked it.
Your aunts tried to ask me a lot of questions and some of your older cousins looked at me funny, but it really wasn't hard to smile and say hello, and soon I'd met everyone and we were back where we'd started. We stood together by the twinkling red and gold décor of your Christmas tree and watched the swirl of sweaters and wine glasses.
You got shy all of a sudden, started tucking your hair behind your ear and fidgeting. Our hands were still entwined, and I don't think either of us had any intention of letting go. I looked down at you, chewing on my bottom lip.
