Page 55 of When We Were Younger

The back door next door swings open, and from my spot in my backyard, I can see Mr. Hudson light a cigarette. I can smell their dinner now–turkey, maybe, like the one Mrs. Hudson made on Thanksgiving. My stomach rumbles, and I wonder if I can sneak into the kitchen and get a granola bar for dinner without waking Mom up. I think I have some snacks still left hiding in my closet, but the food next door smells so good. Mrs. Hudson is the best cook.

I stand up and tiptoe across the lawn, and when Mr. Hudson sees me, he curses and drops his cigarette to the ground, crushing it under his shoe.

"Well, hello there Miss Dottie Lynn. Merry Christmas to you," he says cheerfully. He looks a little bit like Santa with his belly, but he's not as big.

"Merry Christmas Mr. Hudson," I say quietly, just in case Mom can hear me from here and wakes up. She usually sleeps really hard, but I don’t want to risk getting in trouble and missing out on Kira's Christmas party tomorrow. Mr. Hudson kneels in front of me. He does that whenever he talks to me. He's tall, but he always comes down low so I can see him.

"It's a little chilly out here, don't you think? Why aren't you inside with your mama?" he asks me. I shrug.

"My Mom is asleep. I was bored." My stomach rumbles again, and I feel embarrassed.

"You know what, little lady? We're having a celebration inside, and Mrs. Hudson made a whole lot of food. Stephen and Delilah are helping her decorate Christmas cookies. What do you say about going in and joining them?"

I want to, I really want to. But I get nervous. I look back over my shoulder, wondering how long I can be gone for before Mom notices.

"No need to wake up your mama. I'll have Mrs. Hudson give her a ring and let her know you're safe over here."

"I don't want to get in trouble," I whisper. I feel like I'm going to cry, and I don't know why.

"You don't worry one bit about getting in trouble. There's nothing wrong with spending some time with friends on Christmas Eve. That's what the holidays are all about. Go on inside and get yourself some cookies and a chocolate milk, alright?" Mr. Hudson stands and opens the back door, and I go in.

"Dorothea!" Stephen calls from the kitchen table. He's got green frosting all over his hands. "Come make cookies with us! Can she, Mom?"

I turn and look at Mrs. Hudson, who nods as Mr. Hudson whispers something in her ear.

We make cookies and listen to Christmas carols. We eat turkey and drink hot chocolate with candy canes stuck in them, and Mr. and Mrs. Hudson put on a movie calledHome Alone.Stephen says they watch it every year. I've never seen it before, but it's really funny. In the morning after I wake up in Delilah's bed with her, we go downstairs and there are a million presents under the tree. Some of them even have my name on them.

"Can I come here every Christmas?" I ask Mrs. Hudson when all the presents are opened and she's helping me braid my new doll's hair.

"Of course you can, Dottie Lynn. Every single Christmas."

31

DOTTIE

The Hudson house is wonderfully loud on regular days. On a holiday? The whole place sings.

Stephen leads me through the door and across the entryway, never letting go of my hand even as he hugs his dad and noogies his sister. Delilah wraps me up in a warm hug and drags me away from him, leading me to the living room where her daughter plays with cars on the carpeted floor as The Grinch steals Christmas on the TV behind her. I glance over my shoulder to see Ivy dragging Stephen up the stairs.

"Dottie Lynn, I'm going to steal Stephen for a little bit. Don't worry, I'll return him in one piece." I give them a thumbs up, and when Ivy turns her head, I shoot Stephen a questioning look. He gives me a half shrug, so I turn my attention back to the little lady on the floor.

"Sadie, this is Dottie Lynn. She's a friend of mine and your Uncle Stephen's!" Delilah says as she sits on thefloor with her child. I sit down too, carefully so as to not tug too tight on my dress and cross my knees underneath me.

"Hi Sadie, it's nice to meet you," I say, and the little girl waves.

"Hi Miss Dottie Lynn. You're very pretty. I like the sparkles in your hair," she says in a high-pitched voice. Judging solely by her size and when I remember seeing Delilah's pregnancy announcement on Instagram, I'd say the kid is about five years old.

"Well, that's nice of you to say! Would you like some in your hair?" I shoot a quick glance to Delilah, who nods. Sadie squeals and plops herself right down on my lap. I dig around in my clutch and pull out a few of my extra sparkly barrettes, and then part Sadie's hair. I twist the front section back into a braid and then pin it with two barrettes, one top of the other. I give Sadie my compact, and she checks herself out in the mirror.

"You braided my hair! Uncle Stephen lets me practice my braids in his hair!" She says as she pets her braids, moving the compact around and looking at her hair from all angles.

"No way! He used to let me practice my braids in his hair when we were kids, too!"

"You knew Uncle Stephen when he was a kid?"

"I sure did!"

"Was he little like me?"

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