Christmas Surprises

by Jenn Faulk

  "Yeah, we've got to get him to stop that," Jacob frowned.

  "He had no diaper on?," Rachel asked, thinking of a poop mess to end all poop messes in her beautiful bedroom.

  "No diaper," Gracie smiled reassuringly, "but he was clean! Well, except for the lotion. And I have no idea what he was thinking, but... well, Rachel, he was so unevenly greased up that he likely just wanted to spread it around. Which is probably why he went over to the wall and rolled along it, leaving lotion everywhere."

  "Like his body was a paint roller, and your wall was a canvas," Jacob sighed.

  "Everywhere," Gracie moaned. "Oh, Rachel, I tried to clean it up, but there was so much lotion."

  "Kids are such freaks," Jacob grinned.

  "Yeah, that's why he's already on his first nap of the day," Gracie said, looking down at him. "Poor kid wore himself out being a freak and all, all over your bedroom walls."

  Rachel opened her mouth to comment... then shut it again, absolutely no idea what to say in offering to this.

  "So," Micah offered a second later, just as lost for words as Rachel. "Maddie. Sick."

  "Mercy, yes," Gracie cooed. "And Grant said it was the tiramisu, which none of the rest of us even ate, but Rachel..." She bit her lip. "I just wonder, you know, because there's a stomach flu going around. And we've all been here, up in one another's space for nearly twenty-four hours, and my kids' immunity is kaput after the move and no flu shots, so there's just no telling what kind of germs they're going to be able to pass along."

  Oh, the very thought. Rachel resisted the urge to grab a bottle of Lysol and start spraying everyone down individually.

  Micah could see the struggle in her eyes, even as she looked to the cabinet where it was kept.

  "Hey," he said to the group, his hands to his wife's shoulders, "why don't we go ahead and set up Christmas before all the kids are up?"

  And Rachel, thankful for the distraction, simply nodded and went with him.

  Natalie

  There was a knock on her door that morning, only a few minutes after she'd finished reading her Bible and praying for the day ahead.

  She pictured Brian on the other side of the door, ready to wish her a merry Christmas, and she'd smiled as she'd made her way over there, so thankful that the weather had given them even more time together.

  But when she opened the door, it was Micah and Joy that stood on the other side.

  If that didn't take her back to twenty or so Christmases in her lifetime, she didn't know what would.

  She remembered the Christmas where Chris had opened their bedroom door to an elementary aged Micah and a toddler aged Joy.

  "Dad!," Micah had said. "There's a batcave under the tree! Santa brought a batcave!"

  And as was fitting, Joy had Micah's Batman action figure in her mouth, chewing on his head, even as she jumped around like her brother, excited for him.

  "Dad, you have to come with us and be the Joker!," he'd said, and Chris had smiled as he'd left the room to much noise and excitement.

  Then, there was another Christmas with her children at the door, long before sunrise. A teenage Micah with exhaustion in his eyes and an exuberant Joy clutching his hand.

  "Santa came!," she'd yelled. "Santa came! Dad, he came!"

  Micah had sighed, just as Chris had, and he'd added, with a yawn in his voice, "She woke me up at 3am, Dad. I couldn't hold her off any longer."

  She could still remember the Christmas a few years later, with Micah spending the majority of the holiday sulking over a breakup, with Joy pulling him to the door of his parents' room that morning, proclaiming to them all, "We need to open gifts so Micah will get in a better mood. It's Jesus's birthday, after all."

  And Chris had said, "You're right. Happy birthday, Jesus. And that girl wasn't the right one for you, Micah."

  Which had been true, of course.

  The mood had been somber for all of them a couple of Christmases later.

  She remembered every detail. Micah and Joy at her door on Christmas morning, walking into the room that felt so empty without Chris, who had only been gone a few weeks.

  "Merry Christmas," Micah had said softly. "We made you breakfast."

  She'd thought about Chris, telling her on all the Christmases past how one day -- yes, one day -- those kids of theirs would be real adults and would wake them up on Christmas Day at a normal hour and only then to tell them that they'd done something spectacularly wonderful for their parents. A trip to Fiji. A new widescreen TV. "I'd settle for them just making us breakfast instead of screaming in here about gifts and how we need to get out of bed already," he'd joked.

  She'd heard Micah tell her that they'd made breakfast... and she'd begun to cry. Which was reason enough for Joy, holding her brother's hand and so close to her own grief as well, to cry, too. Soon, Natalie was lying down in bed again with both of her adult children holding her, all three of them mourning the loss they felt together.

  Here they were again.

  But there was a smile on Joy's face this year... and the hint of one on Micah's face.

  "Well, merry Christmas, you two," she said, reaching out to hug Joy first.

  "Merry Christmas, Mom!," Joy said into her shoulder. "And there's snow outside! Can you believe it? And everyone's got the stomach flu!"

  Natalie looked over to Micah with concern, but he just shook his head. "No, we're all good," he said. "Just rumors of stomach flu."

  Joy nodded. "Yeah. That's what I meant to say."

  "But it did snow," he said. "Won't stick for long, but it's out there."

  "Then, I need to get out there and see it with the grandkids before it's gone, huh?," Natalie smiled, looking towards the doorway.

  "Actually, we wanted to talk to you first," Joy said... then pointedly looked at Micah.

  Uh-oh. Here it came. The talk about Brian, about the relationship, about the engagement...

  Which they still didn't know about. Today had to be the day, though.

  Maybe whatever Micah had to say would give her the bravery to shut him up once and for all by announcing that she was getting married, no matter what he thought.

  "Micah?," Joy asked.

  "Yeah," he sighed. "Look. Rachel talked to me last night, Joy talked to me this morning, I prayed about it all, and... I'm sorry."

  "Was it that hard, Micah?," Joy asked, beaming at him.

  "Harder than you would think, yes," he said to her. Then, to his mother, "I'm sorry for the way I acted. And I'll let Brian know, too. It's just..."

  Harder than you would think. Natalie got that. And she could understand the reasons for it, given all the memories she was having, knowing what kind of memories these two had of their own.

  Chris wouldn't be lost in this. No matter what happened, Chris wouldn't be lost.

  She thought of Brian and what he'd done just two weeks ago, what she'd not told anyone else.

  "You know," she said, swallowing past the lump in her throat, simply because of this new memory that connected her past to her future, "I was cleaning out the garage the other day."

  Because I'm moving. Because in a few weeks, I'm marrying Brian, and we're going to sell the house because I'm going to be living with him.

  One thing at a time, Natalie.

  "And," she said, taking a breath, "I couldn't get your dad's motorcycle to start."

  The motorcycle. Bought back when Micah was out of college and out of their pockets, bought because Chris had always wanted one, bought because they were going to have a fun retirement eventually, traveling together on it.

  There had been no time for that, though. She hadn't been able to bring herself to sell it, to have it moved somewhere else, or to hardly look at it after he died. On the day she was cleaning out her garage, another man's engagement ring on her finger, she'd tried to start it, just to see if everything was running smoothly, still not sure what she was going to do with it.

  It wouldn't start. If her heart could have broken any further, it was this t
hat did it.

  Brian had come out to find her opening the toolbox (hers, not Chris's, because she was the engineer, after all) and had watched her for a long moment as she'd cried over that bike, starting work on it, and trying to get it to start again.

  He'd not said a single word. He'd not offered a condolence or expressed any hurt that she was holding onto a bike neither one of them would ever ride, mourning a man who would never go away.

  He'd simply gone over and passed her the tools she needed, held the bike still for her, and worked alongside her when four hands were needed instead of two, to manage all the grief and pain.

  Afterwards, when it was running again, she'd offered an uncertain shrug. "I should probably just sell it."

  And Brian had said, "No. There'll be room for it."

  She looked up at her children, wanting them to hear what Brian hadn't needed to say explicitly, because it was so well communicated in everything he did.

  "Dad's motorcycle?," Joy asked. "You still have it?"

  She nodded, just a little ashamed of this. But the relief on Micah's face, the understanding... oh, she saw it there.

  Don't forget him, Mom. Please.

  "Brian helped me fix it," she said. "And he's making room in his garage for it, so I'll always have it with me."

  Then, there was something else on Micah's face. Shock. Realization.

  Joy just looked confused.

  But why would...

  Oh, no. She'd just said it, hadn't she? That she was going to be living with Brian now.

  "What?," Joy asked. "Why would Brian have it in his garage?"

  Before Natalie could answer her and prepare herself for the onslaught of her son's judgment, Micah smiled a decisive smile that so clearly took all of his strength and said, "I think Mom and Brian are getting married, Joy."

  There was acceptance in this statement, if nothing else.

  Acceptance. It would have to be enough for now.

  Besides, Joy was more than making up for his lack of enthusiasm.

  "Mom!," she yelled, embracing her mother. "Oh, Mom! I love him so much! I'm so happy for you!"

  There were details to discuss and plans to make, of course, and everyone else to tell.

  But for the moment, she wanted only Brian to know that now, there was no secret. So, she got her purse, slipped on her engagement ring, and looked over to Micah, as Joy continued to gasp.

  "Congratulations," he managed quietly.

  Enough for now.

  They made their way downstairs where Santa had left the gifts. Brian was there in the big middle of the noise and chaos, playing cars with Andrew while Lydia tucked a baby doll in his arm and Mia put a tiara and jewelry on him.

  Before she could hold her own jewelry up and show Brian what had happened, Zoe, who was playing with Legos, began make noises.

  Natalie thought her granddaughter was playing some sort of game, making funny faces at her sister, sounds in their twin language... until Mia screamed.

  Then, it all seemed to freeze in place. Zoe's hands to her throat, Rachel gasping, and Micah's face turning pale, none of them moving, all of them too shocked to do anything.

  Except for Brian. Brian, who turned quickly to face the choking girl, pulled her up around the waist until her back was against his chest, his hands near her heart, fisted up, and a quick jerk.

  And the tiny toy she'd swallowed flew across the room.

  Madison

  She was staring at the wall, inhaling the rich scent of baby lotion, and thinking that maybe things would be okay.

  She hadn't felt like this the night before. Angry words with Grant, even angrier feelings towards him. All that tiramisu. The hopeless, helpless way she'd felt, getting sick like that, and wondering, not for the first time, if she was really capable of being a mother, thinking that she might have really hurt the baby this time with her recklessness.

  Grant had been so good to her after she'd thrown up all over him. A man was a keeper if he could take being barfed on and still look at you with some tenderness. She'd known that about him long before she'd done what she did, but it was comforting to be reminded of it, as he'd helped her into clean clothes, as he'd held her hair for her, as his cool hand had been the one to brush the tears from her face, and as he'd held her close in bed, long after the last of the tiramisu was gone.

  And in the morning, he'd stayed.

  The snow was the reason for that, likely, but Maddie had imagined it was something else, as Grant had kissed her forehead before getting up to make breakfast, to bring her tea and crackers, and then to climb back into bed with her as she'd done her best to force them down.

  He'd sat there, watching her, silent and uncertain.

  She'd been mortified, of course. How could you be married to someone, know them so intimately, and still find yourself ashamed of your behavior, of how you'd acted, of the words you'd said, the words you could still see reflected in his eyes?

  She didn't know, but she'd felt that way, watching him.

  It didn't change things, though. It didn't change what she'd said, and it didn't change what he'd done, what he'd purposed to do, what he'd been doing all this time in working so hard and distancing himself from her.

  Yelling at him and acting like her mother wasn't right, of course, but sitting by silently while her marriage fell apart, too afraid to speak to the issues, wasn't right, either.

  As she'd finished the crackers and drank the tea, she'd concluded this.

  But where did that leave them?

  "I feel so... gross," she'd managed, thinking that there was plenty to make her feel that way. The tiramisu, the nausea, the words she'd said. "I don't know that I'll ever look at tiramisu the same way."

  She'd not meant anything apart from its most simple explanation, that she'd made herself sick on it. But Grant had heard something more, that the thought of them, of how they'd been so long ago sitting at the bar sharing dessert and pieces of their hearts with one another, would never be the same.

  She knew it by the way he'd looked at her, stricken and honestly worried. Not about the restaurant or about their future with the business, but about them.

  She'd not known what else to say.

  "I should take a shower," she'd murmured.

  And there had been a day when he would have offered to help her. There had been even better days when he'd have insisted on joining her, a seductive smile on his face and clear intent in his eyes.

  But it wasn't there that morning.

  "Okay," he'd said softly.

  What more was there to say? Loads more, but Maddie hadn't known where to start. So, she'd let Grant help her get some clothes together and had stood with her heart in her throat as he'd put his lips to her forehead for a long, silent moment.

  Then, his phone had rung. He'd watched her and let it ring, not willing to let her go, not even to check on the business.

  "Please," she'd said. "It's probably important."

  "Not as important as you," he'd said.

  She hadn't heard that in... well, she couldn't even remember how long it had been.

  "No, really," she'd said, her hand to his chest. "It's fine, Grant. Go and be the boss man." She'd gone for a weak smile that probably looked more like a grimace.

  Grant had answered, and she'd listened, hearing enough details to know that the roads were being cleared, that a handful of workers had gone in late the night before to start prepping the turkeys, and that things were on schedule, despite the weather and all the questions from the night.

  She'd seen the relief on his face then the hesitation as he'd looked back at her.

  The restaurant was going to be fine. But their marriage...

  She'd simply pointed over her shoulder, indicating that she was going to the bathroom, and had left the room, running into Rachel on her way there.

  "Maddie," she'd said, smiling. "I'm sorry if we woke you up with the noise. Santa came and all, so you know."

  Maddie shook her head. "No, I've be
en awake for a while. I think Grant left breakfast for everyone in the kitchen."

  "Found and eaten," Rachel had confirmed. "But I heard you weren't eating much this morning. Are you okay?"

  "Just ate too much last night," Maddie had answered, embarrassed over what she'd done.