Page 99 of Back to December
“He means Elf,” Luna says. “I want that one, too.”
I think we really missed an opportunity here by not naming her Hermione.
LeviOsa, not LeviosA.
“Outnumbered,” Holden says, flashing a grin at me. “But Home Alone after. Another tradition.”
My heart flutters a little faster. “Deal.”
We’ve already let the kids stay up entirely too late—at least by what I consider normal standards—but I assume he meansjustus. As soon as he’s done loading the movie, he drops into the space between Luna and me. He stretches an arm across the back of the couch, inviting me in, and I snuggle Henry closer as I settle beside him.
By the end of the opening credits, there’s soft snoring coming from my lap. Henry’s heavier, his little body pressed against mine. Luna giggles at the antics on television, and every once in a while, Holden leans in to whisper funny commentary in my ear.
About half an hour in, Luna slumps against Holden’s side.
“I guess we wore them out,” I whisper, absently stroking Henry’s hair.
“All those fun old-fashioned family Christmas shenanigans,” he winks. “I’ll go put them in bed.”
“I can help. We’re evenly matched, it just makes sense.”
He chuckles as he scoops up Luna, and I cradle Henry close as we take them to their rooms. As I lay him in bed, I mentally catalogue the day—every laugh, every glance—just in case today is all I get.
I tuck the blanket under his chin, his lashes resting heavy against his cheeks. Henry once said that stories are rituals so people can make sense of the world. Maybe that’swhat today was—a ritual of sorts. A way to remember how love can make a home out of chaos.
Sebastian said I’d remember no matter what, and I want to.
The family breakfast, the commentary during our wedding video, the tree farm, the quick carriage ride Holden snuck in before we picked up the kids, and everything once we got home. The decorating, the food—all of it.
Henry said people need rituals so they have a sense of order and control in a chaotic world. Folklore is one of those things. The stories we tell need rituals for structure and meaning, to bridge between the ordinary and the extraordinary. But sometimes, the endings have to change.
It’s something that I can’t stop thinking about.
Holden and I got close to changing our ending, and then I fell right back into old habits—holding back and keeping him at a distance to protect him. But it’s obvious that we somehow got here without that choice. This is acompletelydifferent ending—where I stopped running and we finally turned a new page.
Holden is quiet as he meets me in the hall, and even quieter as his hand slips into mine to lead me back to the living room. I settle on the couch while he turns off the lamps, and soon it’s just the two of us in the soft glow of the Christmas lights.
If this is my ghostly glimpse of what could be, I don’t ever want to wake.
“Think you can hang in for Home Alone?” he asks, waving the DVD around.
“You know, you can stream these on the internet now.”
“But why would I want to ruin tradition?” He squints at me like I’ve suggested a trip to the moon.
“That’s fair. What’s Christmas without eating junk and watching rubbish?”
“Perfect answer,” he says.
He starts the movie and disappears into the kitchen. Moments later, he appears with an armful of Christmas tins.
“What are those?”
“I’m going to pretend you didn’t ask that.” He pulls off the lid to expose my favorite of his concoctions—gingerdoodles.
“You didn’t have to go all in with the rubbish like that!” I scoot forward and swipe two from the tin, shoving one in my mouth almost immediately.
We settle into the cushions, and he pulls a blanket over both of us.
