Page 21 of A Different Kind Of December
“Oh, Rock Star, that works, too. Can’t wait.”
“You’re giving me a boner in front of my parents, baby.”
“I got under the dinner table and gave you a bl—”
“Ash,” I snap. “Little ears.” I gesture towards Conner and Nina’s boys, who are playing with the action figures they’ve just unwrapped.
While Conner is laughing, Nina, who’s a lot quieter than Ash, Jimmie, and Georgia, is staring wide-eyed.
“Sorry,” Ash calls out to anyone that wants to listen.
It’s the end of anotherChristmas day.
Our home has been filled with noise and chaos for almost forty-eight hours now, but things are starting to wind down.
The girls just need to get the message.
Georgia’s parents have gone off to bed and so have Bailey, Sam, their kids and Conner and Nina’s boys. The younger adults and teenagers are scattered around the house doing fuck knows what, but it’s Christmas, 3.20am boxing day morning to be precise, and I’m past caring.
“If I hear this song one more time, I might just shoot someone,” Lennon states as I top up his glass.
“Don’t let Georgia hear you say that. She’s had this shit playing nonstop for the past three weeks.”
“Jimmie’s the same. The house has been lit up like Blackpool since the first of—” He stops and then corrects, “The end of November.”
We give each other a nod, both knowing the importance of the date he was going to say.
The first of December is always a tough day for Georgia. Always has been, always will be. I’ve learnt over the years just to play it by ear. Some years the day goes by quietly, others it’s manic. What has become a tradition is that it’s the date the house gets decorated for Christmas. I think this is just a way to keep her brain occupied and busy.
This year, things changed though. It was like a switch had been flipped inside of Georgia, and she finally found it within herself to leave her guilt behind and see past the grief.
I know there will forever be a part of her that isn’t just mine. A part that I will always share with Sean McCarthy and their babies. I can mostly deal with that. I have the odd moment of self-doubt, but I know that she loves me. I know that what we share is pretty fucking amazing and that we lucked out when we found each other again and then went on to have our kids.
She’s the other part of me. I don’t go in for all the mushy bullshit, but I am seriously not complete if I’m not around her.
Despite sometimes being a mouthy, stubborn, selfish pain in the arse, she has always loved me fiercely and with so much passion that it blows me away. To have gone through all that she has and still have that capacity to love our kids and me the way she does astounds me.
I watch Georgia now as she messes with the laptop connected to the Karaoke machine. We bought that thing as a joint present for the twins a few years back, but it’s the triplets, the terrible trio of Georgia, Jimmie, and Ash who put it to most use. Tonight, they’re joined by Nina.
The girls have just finished murdering “Santa Baby” and are now debating which song should be up for slaughter next.
That’s a lie, actually. Georgia has a great fucking voice, the other three, not so much.
I watch my wife as she smiles towards the laptop, knocks back the champagne that’s in her glass, and turns towards Marley.
“Big brother Marley, come sing with me?” The other girls boo and hiss at being outed, but Georgia just turns her beautiful smile and her glassy eyes towards me. My heart rate accelerates, the way it has done for over thirty years now. The way it always will.
She’s my world.
I have a life I once never dared to hope for, but I got it, and it’s all because of her.
“Top me up, Tiger!” she shouts over the microphone, and because I’m more of a pussy than a Tiger where she’s concerned, I pull a bottle of the bubbly from the ice bucket on the coffee table and head towards her.
I hear akerchasound from behind me as someone tries to mimic the sound of a whip cracking and turn to give Marley and Reed my middle finger before giving my wife my undivided attention.
I quickly move the bottle of Krug out of the way as Georgia wraps her arms around my neck and slams herself into me.
“Merry Christmas, T. I love you so fucking much.”
