Page 115 of The Art of Being Merry
Jace nods, his eyes falling to Dax’s pajama bottoms. “Santa Stitch. I want some.”
Dax holds out a leg. “So cool, right?”
“Yep.” Without hesitation, he climbs up onto my bed between the two of us. If he thinks it’s weird to find Dax in my bed, he doesn’t let it show. “Atlas is still asleep, but when my eyes popped open, I had to see what Santa brought.” Excitement oozes off him, he can barely contain it. “A bike. There’s a bike with my name on it.” He pushes to his knees, bouncing on the bed. He’s going to wake Atlas, but I don’t have the heart to tell him to lower his voice. What does it matter at this point if Atlas wakes up?
“No way. You had it on your list.”
“Guess Santa got my letter. Can I ride it today?”
“Probably not.” I don’t let an ounce of guilt filter in about the cold weather here versus North Carolina. No doubt he’d be able to ride if we still lived there.
“Soon as it’s a little warmer out, I’ll take you where my dad taught me.” Dax’s offer is genuine and sweet, and I love how he’salways sharing his history with me and the boys. Traditions run strong in his family. I want that for my boys.
“Great, but I know how to ride. I don’t even need training wheels.”
Dax looks over his head at me, confirming what he says to be true. “He’s been riding since he was four without them. He just needed a bigger bike.”
“No teaching. Just riding. Might have to dig my bike out of the shed, too.”
“Yes,” Jace agrees with a nod.
Atlas appears at the doorway, his gaze volleying between the three of us.
“Merry Christmas, Attie.”
“Dax came over so early because he was too excited to sleep. And look at his pajamas.” Jace points to Dax’s leg, as if Atlas could miss them.
My breath hitches waiting for his response, Jace’s unplanned explanation exactly the words I couldn’t say.
“Did you bring the pancakes and sprinkles?” Atlas asks, directing his question to Dax.
“Yep, was waiting on you. Or we could eat after we open presents.”
The words flow from his mouth as if this were an everyday occurrence. He doesn’t even have to make something up, to make excuses for something he forgot, to think about how to handle the situation. It’s intuitive. Natural. Like he was made for this. Being part of the family, even if not from the beginning.
Maybe it’s fast and easy because it’s what’s meant to be.
A trail of torn holiday paper collects on the living room floor after being ripped off the wrapped presents, the boys oohing and aahing at the gifts. New video games for the gaming console, Lego sets, arts and crafts, books, some new clothes—warmer for a Vermont winter—and board games.
Dax bought the boys a pair of matching PJ pants. The minute they were open, Jace handed them to me and insisted I take thetag off so he could wear them. Given the holiday and his adorable need to match Dax, I couldn’t say no. Not wanting to be left out, Atlas did the same.
“Where’s mine?” I asked, totally kidding. But when Dax handed me a wrapped present, I was giddy to match my guys.
Dax and all.
The tree casts a glowing light in the room, pancakes with sprinkles have been devoured, and I’m a little tipsy from Dax’s holiday mimosa. We eventually have to head to the Nicholases for brunch, but until then, the boys want to enjoy their gifts.
Currently, Dax and I are cuddled on the couch—again with no questions from them—and the boys are FaceTiming with my parents, who drop a bomb.
“We’re putting our house on the market and moving to Vermont.”
I practically rip the phone from Atlas’s hand. “I’m sorry, what?” Not that I don’t want them here, but it’s cold. They hate winter. They hate snow. They’ve lived in the same house where Willa and I grew up since before we were born. What are they thinking?
“It’s crazy, but we’re taking a page from your notebook. You’re all up there. There’s nothing here for us anymore.” Mom sounds a little sad. Again, I can’t let the guilt in.
“Okay. Do you have a timeframe?”
“Nope. It might take a while for the house to sell. We’ll have to hire movers and such and find a place up there.”
