Page 42 of Only Ever You

Bash’s gaze still lingered in the vicinity of Faye to watch the befuddlement cross her face at Maya’s request.

“Thestockings, mon chou.?*” Michèle cupped Maya’s round cheeks and a thread of something like longing wrapped around Bash’s heart as his niece smiled a toothless grin. “Andoui, if everyoneis ready?”

After hums of ‘yes’, the Phillips-Dumont clan were on the move once more.

Bash hung back to walk beside Faye, expecting she’d have a question or two. They brought up the rear like two collies herding the flock of family members through the door, crossing the hall, turning into the main living room. Bash had never thought how odd it was to have more than one until he himself,did.

“What are we doing?” Faye asked him.

“Mamanlikes waiting until everyone is here to hang the Christmas stockings on the mantelpiece.” Bash echoed the lowness of her voice. “The girls like it, and it's something to do other than eat, I guess. Prepare to leave this house fully satiated on Boxing Day,” he said, unable to think of the last time that thought had crippled him. “You won’t need to eat for a week.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Faye smiled. “Thefood, and the stockings.”

Michèle opened up a fabric padded ottoman at the end of the sofa next to the Christmas tree and began to hand out stockings.

Since retirement from practice, she’d taken up every hobby under the sun; candle making, horticulture, basket weaving – which explained why the olive tree in the annexe had shown up. Bash knew it was to compensate for the insane weeks she’d worked for all of her life.

The stockings were only one of her many new creations. With matching linen-like material, she’d lined them with fleeces coloured the themes of the season, and around the opening and on the heel she’d trimmed them with different Christmas patterned fabrics.

The girls had cartoon gingerbreads and Christmas gnomes – notelves.Maya had put Bash in his place on that. His was decorated more simply with a pattern of illustrated Christmas trees.

His nieces made excited noises as Arthur helped them hang their stockings off of weights on the mantle’s edge. Saira cooed over the prettiness of the string lights and garland draped behind them.With a look from her and something silently mouthed, Matt had gone into ‘dad mode’ and taken his phone from his jeans pocket, holding it up with the camera moving from point to point.

And Faye stood on the sidelines watching everybody else.

Bash’s chest filled up with something sharper than sadness as he regarded her looking in like she didn’t think she belonged. She was so quiet and far away, like she wasn’t here at all. He dropped his stocking onto the nearest sofa and took one step for her when?—

“Faye,” Michèle called her over.

Hesitation washed over Faye’s face but she crossed the room in a few strides. Curious, Bash wandered to their forming group as well.

Michèle smiled and reached down into the ottoman again. “This one is for you.”

Sure enough, presented in her hands as she straightened was Faye’s own stocking, the letter ‘F’ appliquéd in red on the front just like everyone else’s had their initials too. In truth, Bash hadn’t known his mother would do this for her, but he had an inkling that she might, and something strange swirled within him. A pang of shock and rightness, like giving Faye a permanent place at the table.

Warmth settled in his chest and replaced his worry about how Faye might feel being here; his mother wasn’t one to allow someone to feel left out in her home. His gaze drifted up to Faye’s eyes and she looked as though she pulled back tears.

“Oh, Michèle,” she said, taking the stocking with tentative hands like it was priceless art. The trim on hers was aptly baking themed, with gingerbreads, mince pies, and mugs of hot chocolate. “It’s beautiful.”

“I could have made it even more perfect for you if I’d had a little longer warning,” his mother said with a pointed look over at him.

Bash spun away and feigned interest in the high beams, all thewhile smiling to himself. That feeling of rightness? He knew exactly what it was now.

He was glad all of a sudden that Faye had come; glad that he would get to give her the gift he’d stressed himself over for weeks on Christmas morning in person, and hopefully receive this same look on her face.

“No, no it’s perfect,” Faye said, pressing a bent finger to her under-eye. “Thank you.”

“Here, Faye.” Gently shifting the girls aside, Arthur offered out his hand to her. “Let’s get yours set up too.”

Too.

How could one tiny word and a handmade stocking suddenly hold so much meaning? In Bash’s aching heart, the gestures of his family reaching out felt like acceptance – a seal of approval about Faye that never needed to be earned, freely given in that one gift. It was ridiculous; they weren’t even dating.

He watched the joy on Faye’s face and it must’ve been infectious in some way, because when he stepped up beside her and added his stocking to the line along the mantle, there was no thought of America or work or anything else in his mind except for this moment.

That peace was shattered when the doorbell rang through the house. Every Phillips-Dumont plus Faye snapped their eyes to each other as if to count heads and see who wasn’t here.

Bash leant backwards and glimpsed the rear of a marked taxi screeching out of sight off of the driveway, but he couldn’t make out who the shadow belonged to by the front door.

---