Page 96 of Back to December
Ella, Bridget, and I did our best to create our own once we had our own place, but that can’t compare to the moments occupying my time now. Holden and I never really had time to getthisrooted in something we could do every single year. Our time was too precious.
I wish I’d realized what I was missing out on.
Maybe that’s what I’ve been chasing, but couldn’t put words to. Not perfection, just a place that remembers me back instead of me being the one to hoard all the memories.
Flour dusts almost every available surface. Cookies, frosting, and candy overrun our kitchen table.
Henry is standing on his chair, enthusiastically squeezing frosting onto every available square inch of gingerbread he can see. Luna is bent over her gingerbreadhouse, tongue between her teeth as she frames windows and doors.
“She’s really serious about this,” I say to Holden, popping a gumdrop into my mouth.
“Mommy steal!” Henry gasps, dropping his frosting and pointing a chubby finger at me. “Give me. My turn.”
“It’s the Mommy tax,” I insist, grabbing yet another.
“Caught red-handed.” Holden laughs.
“I want one!” Henry squeals excitedly. “Blue!”
“It’s kind of late—should I let him have one?” I half expect my non-motherhood inexperience to give me away, but Holden just grins at me, unbothered.
“I think after the day they’ve had, it will be fine.”
“One,” I caution, holding up a finger for extra emphasis.
Henry giggles and grabs three. I’m too blissfully happy and fulfilled to care.
“We’ve got a structural problem on House Four.” Holden makes an explosion sound as a whole side of his house falls. “I’m out of the running, I guess.”
“Well, if someone would stop eating all the support beams…”
“Heresay.” He slaps a hand on the table with a wide smile.
“I don’t think that word means what you think it means.”
Luna lets out an exaggerated huff. “If you two are going to be silly, will you please go somewhere else? You’re ruining my Christmas lights.”
I’ve never heard such a well-spoken four-year-old in my life. I also don’t think I’ve been admonished by a child before.
“Daddy is sorry—no more table slapping. Your lights are beautiful.”
She flashes him a smile, then goes back to her work. “Mommy keeps bumping the table, too.”
I drop my mouth open and hold my hands up in mock surrender. “I will make sure not to touch the table. Right after I see if it’s possible to fix this wall.”
Holden leans close to me. “You bought the strawberry candy canes, Laila. You can’t expect me to exercise self-control when you buy thestrawberryones.”
I have one memory of strawberry candy canes, and I find it hard to believe that we’re referencing the same thing.
“What’s the big deal about strawberry candy canes?” I ask, feigning nonchalance.
He’s made a mess of his gingerbread house, probably to lose to our children because Holden is thekingof gingerbread houses,and I have to really lean in to see if there’s any saving his destruction.
There’s no reason to take it this seriously, except that this is the most fun I’ve had in ages. It’s the kind of fun that sneaks past every guard I’ve ever built. The kind that feels dangerously like belonging.
“You’re joking, right?” he says.
I blindly reach for the nearest tube. “No.”
