Page 113 of A Light in the Darkness
I’m about to point out that that’s basically the opposite of what I just told him to do, but I swallow it instead. “Call me again, okay?”
“I don’t take orders from you anymore.” He scoffs. But then I hear the undercurrent of amusement, and just before the dial tone plays in my ear, he says, “But I will.”
As soon as I drop the phone onto my dresser, Misty is at my side. “Who’s Moose?”
“Just a friend.” I swipe a hair off her face, where it got stuck to the gloss on her lips. I’ll have to ask Remy if he’s been in contact with him, if he’s really okay, and if there’s anything we can do. But that conversation will have to wait for another day, because Misty grabs my hand and leads me to the staircase.
“She’s coming!” She announces, cupping her hands around her mouth so that her small voice carries down the steps. I can’t help but laugh as she rushes ahead of me and then ushers me down, as if I may have forgotten the way.
“What would I do without my hype girl?” I tease, tapping her on the nose as I pass. Her love language is touch, and she’s comfortable with showing and giving affection. I can’t say the same of all of them, though we’re working on it.
“You won’t have to find out.” She grins, pointing me toward the foyer, which is surprisingly empty. It’s also suspiciously quiet, until a giggle pierces the silence. I follow it to the living room and come to a dead stop as I take in the scene around me.
Paper snowflakes covered in glitter hang from fishing lines on the chandelier, and the Christmas tree in the corner twinkles with an array of colored lights. The air is perfumed with sugar cookies and cinnamon and pine.
And crowding the space is my family.
It's still weird to say. I haven’t gotten used to it just yet. But that’s exactly what they are—my brothers and sisters, my friends and father, my sons and daughters. My eyes pick Rhea’s out first, knowing that she can’t keep a secret to save her life. This has to be her doing.
“What is this?” I laugh, looking at the papier mâché ornaments adorning the pine tree.
“Now!” Rhea stage-whispers, and then a loud, collective “Merry Christmas!” fills the space, echoing off of the tall walls.
“Can we open presents?” Tyler asks, tipping his thumb behind him at the tree with all the excitement of a typical six year old on Christmas.
I don’t even know how to answer that, because I don’t know where it all came from… orwhy.
“In a minute.” Remy says, coming to my side and wrapping an arm around mine.
“I’m confused.” I admit, when he only stares at me like he’s expecting some sort of thank you. It’s beautiful, I’ll give him that, but I’m not sure why he decorated the house five months early, particularly given that every time I step out the door, I feel like I may melt.
“It’s Christmas.” He says, as if that’s self-explanatory.
“No.” I laugh. “It’s July.”
“Exactly.” Remy grins. “The first night I met you, you were celebrating Christmas in July. Rhea warned me that you took it seriously.”
“Notthisseriously.” I laugh. “You’re going to confuse the kids.”
“They’ll be fine,” he promises. “They really enjoyed helping me set this up.”
“It’s… beautiful.” I smile, reassuring them that their effort hasn’t gone to waste. It really is beautiful, despite how confused I am.
“Yeah,” Remy says, though his eyes don’t leave me for a moment. When they do, he looks out at the scene he orchestrated. “It’s almost perfect.”
“Almost?” I tease, trying to imagine what could possibly be missing.
“Almost.” He nods.
And then, he sinks to one knee at my side and takes my hand in his. “We missed our first Christmas together because I was too stupid to admit that you’re all I need. And I couldn’t possibly wait ‘til this December to ask you to be my wife, because I think we’re going to be busy with our daughter then.”
I stare at him, my nose crinkling at the mention of ‘our daughter’. We haven’t figured out the baby’s gender, though blood test results could have given us a conclusive answer by now. It’s not that I don’t want a daughter, but he’s hellbent on the idea of it, and I think it may be a boy.
“We’ll be busy with ourbaby,” I correct him, for probably the thousandth time since I told him I was pregnant.
“Baby girl,” he nods. “So, I figured I’d get this out of the way now…”
He brandishes a ring— a beautiful solitaire I hadn’t even noticed him holding.
