Page 103 of If This Was a Movie

And we only take one more fuck break.

A success, if you ask me.

There is a pile of paper covering the living room floor, various patterns and colors, ribbons, and bows mixed in as Sophie opens her last gift—some new set for her Ashlyn dollhouse Jules decided she had to have.

“That’s it, Soph,” Jules says as she smiles at our girl, who is looking around like something isn’t right. “What’s wrong?” Jules asks, unsure.

Sophie takes a moment before pouting. “It didn’t work,” she says grumpily.

“What didn’t work?” I ask, sitting back and fighting a laugh at her dramatics.

“The Christmas magic, it didn’t work.”

“What do you mean, sweetie?” Jules asks. She’s absolutely the worst at keeping secrets, as evidenced by her widening smile she can’t fight. It’s why I didn’t even tell her my plan until a couple days ago, instead having Jaime help me secure and hold on to Sophie’s gift for a bit. As Jules assumed, Jaime and I have become fast friends, both constantly dealing with the chaos that is our women and the schemes they brew up. He’s a quiet guy, but when he does talk, it always makes me laugh.

“Last year, I told Santa I wanted Daddy to marry the real life Ashlyn. And you guys aren’t married, but we’re working on it, you know?” She gives me wide, knowing eyes that Jules misses, thankfully.

Jules snorts out a laugh before nodding. “Okay?”

“And this year, I told him I wanted a cat because Dad said I wasn’t ready, but if you ask Santa and you’re good,you get what you want.”

“Well, that’s not exactly how that works, Sophie,” I say, sitting next to Jules.

“But it is how it works,” she says, flailing her arms. “And I was good! What was the point?!”

Jules rolls her lips into her mouth to fight a laugh before finally putting our girl out of her misery. “You know, I think there’s one last gift,” she says, tipping her chin toward the tree, where deep in the branches is a pink wrapped gift.

“What? No, there—” she starts, then spots it, bolting up. She’s gotten so fucking tall in the last year, my little girl is not so little anymore. I can’t help but wonder how long Jules will want to be married before she’ll want to try and give Soph a brother or sister.

I hope it’s not too long. I don’t know if Jules knows yet, but since they got married last summer, Jaime told me he and Ava are starting to try for a kid of their own. I know Jules would love nothing more than to have kids around the same age as her best friend.

Sophie grabs the small box and starts tearing the paper without any hesitation. Jules looks at me with a soft, serene smile as she stands, quietly walking toward our room to get the gift Jaime dropped off last night after Sophie went to bed. Soph opens the box to find a small pink collar, her eyes going wide as she looks at me.

“Daddy?” she asks, but her eyes move quickly to the hall where Jules, in the matching pajamas she bought all of us, is stepping out of our bedroom, a small white cat in her arms. “OH MY GOD!”

“Merry Christmas, Sophie,” Jules says with a smile. “It’s not from Santa because he can’t bring real animals on his sleigh, but he told us you wanted a cat, and your dad and I decided you’ve been so responsible, watching Peach and all, that you earned one of your own.”

Sophie's eyes start to water, and I watch Jules’s follow suit.

I shake my head. My two girls, total crybabies.

“Can I hold her?” she asks, her voice soft.

“Sit down,” Jules says, and Sophie runs to the couch before Jules hands Sophie the incredibly gentle and chill kitten. Instantly, it curls up into our daughter’s lap, settling down to go back to sleep. “Oh. My. Gosh,” she whispers, eyes wide. “Daddy, do you see it?”

I nod, and I look up to see Jules taking photos and videos of Sophie. “She’s cute, Sophie. But you’ve gotta take care of her. That means cleaning the litter box, making sure she’s fed, and playing with her every day.”

“I will! I promise!” she shouts, and even though she’s only six and I know she probably won’t remember most of the time, I smile and nod.

“I know.” Jules and Sophie talk about the cat, Jules probably sending a million pictures to everyone we know, and I move, grabbing one last gift I hid in the corner before setting up my phone, knowing that’s what Jules would want.

“Hey, dollface, I’ve got one more,” I say, and her brow furrows. We’d talked about making sure all gifts were done before we gave Sophie Ashlyn, the kitten, but I also knew then I was lying. “Humor me.”

She rolls her eyes, sitting next to Sophie right where I expected, and I hand her the box, sitting on the edge of the coffee table to watch her unwrap the box, then taking the lid off. When she gasps, I can’t help but smile. She lifts out a frame—the matchbook from that very first night—between two panes of glass.

Her hand goes to her face as she looks from the frame to me to the frame again, her eyes watering as she does.

God, she’s so fucking cute.

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