Page 47 of Don't Hate the Holidays
JACK
Something bangs against my door, half-rousing me from sleep. The doorknob jiggles and I hear another bang, and then Janet hisses, “Hugh!”
“Uncle Jack!” Hugh calls, trying to open the door again. “It’s Christmas!”
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and let myself stay in my cocoon of blankets for a few more seconds, then throw them off me and race to open my door.
“It’s Christmas?” I ask Hugh, going to my knees. “Are you sure?”
He tackles me with a hug and almost knocks me flat. “Yes!”
“Then we have presents to open!” I say. He races around Janet and into the living room. “In a minute!” I call after him.
Janet runs after Hugh, calling for him to wait. I make a quick stop in the bathroom and rush to grab something from my room,then join the others in the living room. Eli is sitting up on the couch, folding the blankets he used last night. I can hear Mom making coffee in the kitchen. Hugh is sitting on his car mat, visibly shaking as he resists the urge to dive into the presents under the tree.
I take the blankets from Eli, who dips his head in thanks and heads toward the bathroom, yawning. It’s five in the morning. Hot chocolate sounds like a great way to start the day. And leftover cookies. I bring the container of cookies out while the water is boiling, then go back and add the mix and bring the hot chocolate to the living room. Eli is back by then, looking perfectly awake, in blue plaid pajama bottoms and a solid black T-shirt.
I glance at my own pajamas (soft gray pants and a long-sleeved green shirt) and put on the elf hat I’d tossed behind the couch before Eli saw me. He smiles.
“Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas!” Mom says, coming in from the kitchen. She hands one of the travel mugs in her hand to Janet and sits in her usual spot, cradling the other mug between her palms. “Did everyone sleep okay?”
“Let’s open presents!” Hugh says, running over to her and leaning on her knee.
“Stockings first, dude,” Janet tells him. “Elf, why don’t you hand them out?”
I stuff a cookie in my mouth on the way past the container and hand everyone the stocking with their name on it. Last year, Hugh’s was the odd one out, since Mom, Janet, and I have stockings from the same set: cream-colored with a snowman, reindeer, and Santa on them (I’m the snowman). Hugh’s is newer, almost the same cream color but with a different style on it, and bells. I give the last stocking to Eli, but he doesn’t move to take it.
“What is this?” he asks.
“Your stocking,” I say. It’s dark blue and decorated with snowflakes; completely different than ours, but they complement each other. He doesn’t take it, so I set it across his lap and sit down next to him, picking up mine.
“I didn’t expect to open anything,” he says, voice quiet with surprise.
“Did you think Mom would let you watch us open gifts and have nothing for you?” Janet asks.
Eli swallows hard and picks up the stocking. “Thank you.”
“Dig in,” Mom says. “Hugh’s already halfway through his.”
She’s right, but I still wait for Eli to pull the first thing from his before I start mine. Our stockings always have a few staples: a new toothbrush, a few scratch-offs (Mom cashes in any that win, but whoever gets the most gets the first slice of the cake Mom makes on New Year’s), an orange, and a giant box or bar of our favorite candy/chocolate. Mom puts one surprise in there each year, and this year it’s a scarf in Fredricks High colors of navy blue and white. I wrap it around my neck immediately. Janet has a hat in the same colors, with a pom-pom on top. Eli has a scarf to match mine.
Janet and I fill Mom’s stocking each year. Well, Janet does. I contribute cash. We follow the same pattern she does with us, and she laughs at the surprise gift this year: fuzzy socks with a cooking design on them.
Eli grabs a cookie and leans back, watching Mom pull the fuzzy socks on with a soft smile. He’s perfectly relaxed, those broad shoulders loose, and my heart picks up its tempo to see him this way. To see him have the Christmas morning I’m positive he’s never had before, and surrender himself to the experience wholly.
Just like we have a system for stocking stuffers, Mom has a system for gifts: one thing we need, one thing we want, andone thing to read. Eli doesn’t have three things to open. I don’t either. I said to take my ‘one thing I want’ and use it toward Eli’s gift, since it was more expensive.
Eli does have one thing under the tree, though. An envelope. His brow furrows as he opens it and reads the slip of paper inside. “I owe you one dinner of your choice, before New Year’s.” He brings his bewildered gaze to Mom. “Mrs. Benson, you don’t owe me anything.”
“It’s Christmas,” Mom says, and her tone welcomes no challenge.
Eli’s smile returns, bigger than before.
“Does this include dessert?” I ask.
Eli nudges me.
