Nixon

••• Thirty-Seven •••

The music is soft, filling in the background as my eyes scan the white blanket of snow outside the window. With my back against the wall, smell of cinnamon in the air, and the twinkling lights surrounding me, it truly feels like Christmas, the season of family and friends as we surround fireplaces and drink hot chocolate as we sing Christmas carols. Sure, I may not be experiencing those exact moments right now, but it feels like that as the jazz music of the holidays plays through the speakers of the house, the chatter from neighboring rooms filling the air, and the smell of the seasonal treats places in each room. If anything, I planned this night, a night I know would be bittersweet due to what happens when I lay my head down to sleep tonight and tell Nixon I love him. I know what happens within a matter of hours when I slide this cherry red dress off of my body and watch the man I love turn off his lamp for the night. I know what happens when the people filling this house will fade into memory, their smiles and laughter just moments to remember, and the house left empty once more expect for the two souls struggling to accept the reality approaching them.

My fingers play with the fabric of my dress, the material comfy as my stomach can no longer be hidden, though not prominent, I have begun to show and yesterday found myself picking out this dress as one from the past years was too tight. Nixon helped me into this one, zipping up the back as I held his gaze with my own in the mirror, watching his movements as he told me that I looked beautiful. Tonight, red and green fill the house, the eggnog served to the guests as I find myself sipping on an non-alcoholic punch,  drinking from the same punch bowl as the children that run through this house. The children here love the house, finding it large as they have toys to play with. A piece of my mind cannot help but imagine images of my own child running through the house, taking her first steps in the living room, enjoying her first Christmas in the walls of the kitchen, and perhaps even running to her father as he comes home from a long day of work.

Taking in a deep breath, I stray from the window, heading back to the lit rooms as a Christmas tree stands tall in the front entrance, monumental as the gold and crimson ornaments hang from precise locations, a golden star on the top of the tree, and the smell of pine coming from it. Back with my family, Taylor always placed the star on top, mother always kept to a strict color scheme of purple and yellow (as the university she graduated from held those colors), and father always found joy in playing old holiday music as he munched on the sugar cookies. This holiday is different for me this year, not just because I celebrate it with a new family, but because this Christmas is not one lit by smiles of my own, but one where a smile is forced and I want to spend all the time I have left with the man that I married.

Nixon, there he stands, wearing a simple pair of black pants, an expensive navy button-up shirt, and a simple watch. I told him to wear more seasonal colors only to discover that his closet was overflowing with his signature color and no color of holiday cheer. If anything, that made a smile grace my face, a smile because that color is who he is, the color a symbol of his existence as he seems to swear by it.

As my arm links with his and I greet the woman he is talking to, a sense of family surrounds me as this pack has become the family I now know. Rather than Crimson Lock being a group of people I could never connect with, these people have become family, the awkward cousins, crazy aunts, uncles who joke with the younger children, and the people I would open my doors to anyway and make a meal for. These people are who I have to surround myself with if Nixon does not make it back. These people will be the ones to teach our daughter the ropes to being a werewolf if Nixon cannot come home and show our daughter himself. Even when hope is needed tonight, realistic possibilities are kept in mind as I wish they would just go away and let me enjoy a night with the husband and our pack.

"Luna Lily, have you two thought of names yet?" the woman asks, looking to my stomach as Nixon wraps an arm over my shoulder and holds me closer. "Any family names to be passed down or unique spellings?"