Page 78 of A Cozy Holiday
Apparently, twins run in Jamie’s family, on his mother’s side. I never thought I’d be lucky enough to carry one child, let alonetwo. Already, I love them more than I can put into words, even though it feels like they’re clawing at my insides and stomping on my bladder.
Jamie spent the summer expanding the house to carve out new rooms for Honey and Kiki. They may have their own space now, but they still sneak into each other’s beds.
The sanctuary is thriving. Visitors started arriving this summer, bringing a little extra tourism to Cranberry Hollow and a boost to the local economy. The old wooden pens have been restored, and all the vet supplies at the sanctuary are up to date. Every reindeer—even the ten calves born this spring—has been adopted online. Baby Selleck, already a solid one hundred pounds, trots confidently through the barn, a proud little commander among the newer arrivals.
“I know. They’re stubborn like their mom,” Jamie says softly, dabbing at tears I didn’t even realize were there. Funny how little things make me cry now. Yesterday, I wept for ten minutes over how tiny and perfect the newborns’ baby socks were.
“And now we’ve got to get going,” he continues. “First snowfall, and Honey and Kiki are already picking ornaments for decorating their outside tree.”
“Maybe the sleigh ride will induce labor!”
“We’re not taking that risk,” he says firmly, helping me into my jacket. “We’re decorating the one by the cabin.”
“To think a year ago, I was drunk emailing you, and now I’m the size of a polar bear with your children.”
“Ourchildren,” he corrects.
“Yes, ours,” I echo, my hand resting instinctively on my stomach. “Five girls in the house soon. You sure you’re going to survive?”
“This is all I ever wanted,” he says simply.
By the time we reach the house, the snow is falling in thick flakes, dusting the ground in a soft, white blanket. Jamie helpsme out of the truck, and the girls wave from the porch, their excitement radiant.
Over the next hour, we decorate a giant tree together next to the house. Honey and Kiki work with quiet concentration, their small, gloved hands deliberately placing pink bows and ribbons between the branches. It’s my first time joining this little family tradition, and I can’t help but wonder how many more years we’ll get to do this—how next year we’ll have two new little ones joining us. I imagine their small footprints in the snow and burst into a new round of tears. Jamie stretches to place the ornaments on the higher branches, his jacket rubbing against mine as I wobble on tiptoe, too pregnant to reach very high myself. When a small contraction catches me by surprise, Jamie is immediately at my side, steadying me with gentle hands.
Finally, the tree glows under the soft sweep of string lights and all the pink ornaments we’ve tucked between the full branches.
Kiki sets up a tripod, then trots back inside to fetch Jubilee, returning with my fluffy little rabbit. I cradle JubJub while she munches happily on a stray piece of lettuce and blinks up at me with pure contentment.
The girls wrap their arms around my belly, giggling, while Jamie folds me into his side, his warmth enveloping all of us.
“Dad and Joy, can this be our Christmas card this year?” Honey asks, beaming as she gives bunny ears to her sister.
“Of course,” Jamie says.
“And…Joy?” Kiki starts. “We wanted to ask you something?”
“Maybe, sometimes, we can call you Mom?” Honey asks.
They’ve slipped up a few times over the last year, calling me Mom, but the combination of formality and sweetness makes my heart squeeze.
I can’t hold it in. Tears spring to my eyes, and I laugh through them. “Yes.”
Jamie presses soft kisses to my cheeks, and we all huddle together in a snug, tangled embrace. In that moment, I am exactly where I want to be, surrounded by family and by love that doesn’t feel forced or complicated. A year ago, I would have told myself that this life—this small, slow town, this makeshift family—wasn’t for me.
But here I am.
And it is more than I ever imagined.
