Christmas Surprises

by Jenn Faulk

  "But what?," she asked, brushing Zoe's hair behind her ears.

  "It doesn't matter, does it?"

  Just as she was about to answer him, they heard raised voices in the living room.

  And barking. Loud, screechy barking.

  The sound was already getting old, quite frankly.

  "Sugar's at it again," Rachel said, thinking of how the dog had been randomly speed running through the wrapping paper, the discarded boxes, and the mess of so many people all morning long.

  Mad dog, Brian had called it. All that pent up energy, thrown out there to the delight of the kids.

  "I wanna see!," Zoe exclaimed, her throat suddenly well enough.

  "Then, go on," Micah said, helping her off the counter and sending her on.

  Once she was gone, Rachel turned to her husband.

  "'It doesn't matter'," she said. "What does that mean, Micah?"

  "It doesn't matter what I think about my mother's life, does it? I mean, I hope it matters a little bit, but ultimately, she's got to live her life, right?"

  Rachel nodded, thinking about all that mothers give up while they're raising children, wondering at the freedom they have during different seasons to pursue what they want, to put themselves first.

  Wasn't that the story of her life right now? Putting herself first for a while, pursuing what she wanted?

  She didn't want what she'd said she wanted, though. Not anymore.

  She thought of home, of staying here and doing what she'd learned to love and do well. She thought of work, of being who she was before she had children...

  Life was different. She was different. And it was okay to want different things now.

  She needed to tell him. So, she did.

  Just blurted it right out with no preface, as though he could read her mind and would logically see how she'd reached this conclusion.

  Because even if he wasn't a mind reader, he knew her. He'd get it.

  "Micah, I don't want to go back to work," she blurted out, peace in her heart in the decision, hope that he would be okay with it --

  "What?," he asked, surprise in his voice. "I thought we were talking about my mother."

  "We were," she said. "And about being a mother, giving yourself permission to do what you want to do, not what everyone thinks you should do. And I don't want to go to work!"

  He watched her for a long moment, obviously attempting to process it all.

  "But all the work you've done these last few months getting ready, telling everyone who will listen that you're going to find yourself again, and --"

  "I wasn't lost, though," she said, starting to cry. Because that would make her decision look sane, right? Blubbering like this.

  Oh, well. She had to be her.

  "Oh, Rachel," he said softly, pulling her into his arms.

  She had to be her. And luckily, he loved her.

  "I only thought I needed to find myself," she continued crying. "But I'm not lost. I didn't lose myself in having the girls. Well, maybe I did. But I lost the old Rachel who didn't know what it meant to love like that, to love you so much, to love the girls, to love the life we've made. The new Rachel loves it all, Micah! And I... I don't want anything to change. None of it."

  She could only imagine how disappointed he was, thinking of all the money they wouldn't have to supplement his income now, thinking less of her because she didn't care to be anything more than a stay-at-home mom, thinking about how he'd have to take care of a whole load of mooches for the rest of his life.

  "Okay," he said simply.

  Well, that wasn't right.

  "Okay?," she asked, pulling her head up off his chest to stare at him.

  "Yeah. Okay," he said. "You should probably call the office tomorrow and let them know before they start your paperwork, though."

  Paperwork. His greatest concern was paperwork?

  "Aren't you upset?," she asked.

  "Why would I be upset?," he said, grinning. "This is good news."

  "Good news?!," she asked. Definitely not what she'd expected.

  "I'm glad you're going to be here," he said. "I'm not sure what the best part of every day is. Leaving in the morning with you on the porch waving to me, wearing those pajama things you wear --"

  "They're yoga pants, Micah," she said, having explained this to him again and again. "Not pajamas. Yoga pants."

  "You don't do yoga."

  Darn him.

  "Yoga pants," she said again.

  "Yeah, well," he laughed, "you look really cute in them. And you look even cuter when I come home and you're already here in the kitchen with the girls doing homework, folding laundry, fixing dinner, or just rushing in all apologetic because you've spent the whole day watching Friends reruns."

  One time. She'd done that one time, and he made it sound like she spent every day in front of the TV.

  But he was smiling.

  How was he still smiling?

  "I think that's the best part of the day," he said. "Coming home, knowing that everything is taken care of with the house, with the girls, with our lives, because you've been here doing all the real work while I've been out staring at people's teeth all day."

  The real work. Did he really feel that way?

  "But aren't you upset? My mom worked outside the home. Your mom worked outside the home."

  "Well, good for them," he said. "I didn't marry them."

  He hadn't. But he'd married a nurse who had a full time job, who had career goals, who was trading it all in now.

  "I... but... what?," she asked. "You were so supportive when I said I was going to go back to work, though!"

  "Rachel," he said, sighing, "it would have been fine. We'd have worked out something for everything you'd miss around here. Someone in to clean, someone to pick up the girls from school, eating at Grant's place more often. It would have been okay if that's what you really wanted."

  "But it wasn't what you wanted?," she asked.

  "No," he said. "But what kind of husband would I have been if I'd said, 'Rachel, I never want you to work another day in your life. Let me take care of you. Stay home, and be my everything'?"

  "The best husband ever!," she very nearly shouted. "It would have left me feeling like it was okay to want nothing more than that!"

  "Okay," he smiled. "Then, Rachel... I never want you to work another day in your life. Let me take care of you. Stay home, and be my everything."

  "Okay!," she said, smiling and laughing. "That sounds so much better than going to work!"

  "Good," he said. "That's a relief to me."

  "But the pool," she said, thinking of the plans they'd already been making for her salary. "And Walt Disney World this summer --"

  "Don't worry," he said. "Grant's got a whole head full of teeth that could use root canals. Oh, and there's no telling what Brian has going on in his mouth. Crowns, skin grafts, excessively painful procedures... who knows?"

  His smile was proof that he was kidding... hopefully.

  "I love you," she said, putting her arms around him. "I think I love you more than I did last Christmas."

  "I don't even know how that's possible," he murmured against her lips.

  "But it is," she said. "Merry Christmas, Micah."

  "Merry Christmas, Rachel."

  CHAPTER SIX

  Easter

  It was going to be the best Easter ever.

  I knew it the moment my phone began ringing during the Good Friday service at our church.

  It started just as we were getting to that somber part of the service. You know, when it's all quiet and introspective, and something like a ringing cell phone would really kill the mood.

  But I'd kept the phone on when we went into church because Maddie was past due, of course, and I wanted to know the second there was any news on the baby front. I knew Grant wouldn't call me before there was news, because he's horrible at returning phone calls. Always has been. And it's been worse as of late because he has these periods of time now w
here he turns off his phone, where he leaves the restaurant, and no one can reach him, even at the little house he and Maddie just moved into a month ago.

  Seriously, they don't even have a land line. They just turn off their cell phones and ignore everyone else.

  Which, you know... good for them, right?

  Anyway, we were praying and singing at the Good Friday service, thinking about the sacrifice that Jesus made, when my phone started playing "Do Ya Think I'm Sexy."

  (Yeah, Micah had downloaded that ring tone to my phone as a joke, programmed it to play when he called, and then made a mistake in entering the number. Now, it rings when my brother calls. When I told Micah to just pay to change it, he told me he couldn't be frivolous with the money, now that he's supporting three moochers and all. This was said with a wink, of course.)

  So, now, I have Rod Stewart screeching at me every time Grant calls. Which, as I've mentioned before, isn't all that often.

  But still.

  There we all were praying, quietly and introspectively, when the call came.

  "Ifffff you want my body, aaaaand you think I'm sexy, come on, sugar, let me know!"

  Yes. Just like that. Right in the middle of the Good Friday service.

  "Ifffff you really need me, juuuuuust reach out and touch me, come on, honey --"

  "Shhhh," Mia and Zoe said together, their little fingers to their lips.

  "I know," I hissed, getting up and attempting to make my way out, just as the phone started another ring.

  Oh, good grief.

  "Iffffff you want my body, aaaaaand --"

  "It's my brother," I whispered apologetically to the people around me.

  A few gasps followed that, of course, so I felt the need to clarify.

  "He's having a baby!," I tossed over my shoulder gleefully, making my way out of the aisle and out of the sanctuary as the phone continued serenading me.

  Just as soon as I was out in the foyer, I held it up to my ear, grinning and ready to squeal... just as the click came indicating that Grant had hung up on me.

  "Lousy brother," I muttered, looking back down at it, thinking that he has absolutely no patience at all, and --

  "Is Huck Finn here or what?"

  I turned to face Micah, who had made his way out of the service as well, Mia's hand in one of his and Zoe's in the other.

  "Who knows?," I said, showing him my phone. "Stupid Grant hung up the stupid phone before I could even get to it."

  "You said stupid!," both girls chided me at once.

  "Yeah," I sighed. "I was talking about Uncle Grant, so the word stupid was --"

  And then I got a buzz indicating a text.

  Grant's patience hadn't lasted long enough for him to wait for me to pick up, but his excitement had been great enough to send me a text, at least.

  "Eight pounds, three ounces," I read out loud, grinning. "Twenty-one inches long."

  "Perfect," Micah said, smiling.

  "Kinda big," I said, glancing over at the girls. "But maybe because I'm comparing him to six pound twins, huh?"

  "And the name?," Micah asked, just as another text came my way.

  Sure enough, there it was.

  "Sawyer Grant Finn," I read, laughing out loud.

  "Sawyer," Micah grinned. "I kinda feel like that was my doing."

  "I don't get it," Mia said.

  "It's like Huck," I told her, "but different. Oh, Micah, let's go and see him!"

  "They might not want visitors, since they just had him and all, Rachel," he said.

  Which was probably true.

  But whatever. Like I'd let that stop me.

  "Yeah, already letting Grant know that we're on our way," I said, my fingers already typing out the text.

  "Okay, then," Micah sighed, smiling at me. "Maybe Grant will let us get some dinner for them both or something, huh?"

  "Not likely," I said, looking down at Mia and Zoe. "You ready to meet your cousin?"

  "Yeah!," they both answered me as we began walking out to our car.

  "You both already know how to help out," I said even as we made our way across the parking lot, my mind on my nephew, on Maddie, on Grant, on all the joy ahead of them. "Maybe you can tell Aunt Maddie that you'll keep the baby at our house in a few weeks and let her go on a date night with Uncle Grant."

  "We could do that!," Mia exclaimed. "I can fix him a bottle like I do for Joel. But I'll let Zoe change the diapers."

  Yes, the girls had been getting lots of experience with the newest Morales baby. Jacob and Gracie were still living with us, but their house would be move-in ready in a few more months. We were already planning our summer vacation for the week after they'd move out, knowing we'd all need a little break from normalcy before we adjusted to life as just the four of us again.

  Well, the four of us. And Joy and Taylor, who were still living with us half the time. And Brian and Natalie, who had spent more and more time at our place since the wedding. Our house was very nearly always full.

  I loved it.

  "I don't want to change diapers," Zoe argued as we all four got our seatbelts buckled and Micah began heading towards the hospital.

  "I'll change the diapers for you," I said, reading Grant's text to myself. "He's good with us coming, Micah."

  "Excellent," Micah answered, handing his phone back to Mia. "Text Gammy and let her know that the baby is here." Then to me, "She wanted to know the second we found out. Has some project she's working on and needed the baby's name to finish it. Some quilt thing."

  I smiled at this. "She finally picked up knitting," I said. "Like you once suggested she needed to do, like a good widow and all."

  "Ha, ha," he muttered.

  But he muttered it with a smile.

  "How do you spell Sawyer?," Mia asked, Micah's phone in her hand.

  "S-A-W-Y-E-R," I spelled for her. "And tell Gammy that --"

  "Just got a text," Zoe said, reading over her sister's shoulder. "It's Brian, Daddy."

  "What does Brian have to say?," Micah asked.

  "Congratulations, Uncle Micah," Mia read. "How many miles did you run today?"

  Ahh, this. Micah and Brian are, believe it or not, training for that half Ironman Brian mentioned over Christmas. Training separately for the most part because their schedules don't always match up with work and all the mini-vacations Brian and Natalie have been taking since the wedding, but they still coordinate schedules and share their progress with one another.

  It's been a bonding experience. Sorta.

  "Tell him that I ran ten miles this morning before sunrise," Micah said rather smugly. That had been the first time in years that he'd run that many miles, and he'd been understandably impressed with himself, telling me it took me two whole hours to get it done, but whatever.

  Mia sent it. Then, another buzz. "He texted back," she said.

  "What did he say?," Micah asked.

  Zoe read it to him. "I ran thirteen miles. Took me an hour and a half. Eating too much of your mother's cooking. Slowing this old man down."

  Micah frowned. "Sounds to me like that old man is taking some PEDs along with that home cooking," he muttered. "How is he outrunning me, out swimming me, and out biking me when he's thirty years older than me, and --"

  "Isn't it fun that Daddy and Brian are friends now?," I asked the girls, thinking about how there have been good days with all of us, easing into this new situation and our new reality.

  "Yeah," Micah sighed. "Maybe we can talk him and Gammy into coming to Walt Disney World with us this summer, huh?"

  Already done. Natalie and I have been making plans and finalizing details.

  "That reminds me," I said, looking over at Micah. "Your mother and I were --"

  "Daddy, you just got another text," Zoe announced. "From Jacob."

  "What did he say?"

  "About to leave for Houston," Mia read. "Will be at Sadie's house for the weekend. Had to treat your couch with cleaner because Sugar peed on it, so let it dry for the next f
ew hours."

  Demon dog. She's not biting anymore. Just peeing everywhere. I think I prefer her drawing blood rather than having her shoot me a look, squat down, and --