Page 15 of The Holiday

“I want waffles.” Lacey appears in the kitchen wearing a pair of stretchy cotton pajamas that are covered in candy canes. “Hi, Heather,” she says shyly. “Can I have some waffles, too?”

“Of course you can.” Heather pours the batter she’s been making onto the hot waffle iron. “Want to help?” Lacey nods and comes to stand next to her. “Okay, then I need you to close this iron,” Heather says, taking Lacey’s small hand and putting it on the handle. “And push it down until clicks. You see this red light? When it turns green, you need to use the handle to flip it over, and then we’ll take the waffle right off the hot iron, alright?”

Lacey nods, wide-eyed. Her face is covered in freckles, and her hair is strawberry blonde and silky-thin, unlike her brother’s thick, dark mane of hair.

Heather sets the table with one eye on Lacey the entire time, and when Dave opens the door, letting in a cold blast of winter air, he stumbles onto this idyllic scene. A huge, happy grin spreads across his face as he unwinds the scarf from around his neck. “Feels like snow out there.”

“Impossible,” Heather says, padding over to him in her slippers and robe. She stands on tiptoe to kiss his cheek, which is icy cold. “Oh, my.” She steps back as she feels the chill radiating off of Dave’s coat. Shipwreck Key is never this frigid. “You’re an icicle. Go warm up by the fire with your grandson. I think he’s watching a Christmas cartoon.” Heather takes Dave’s coat and scarf as he sheds them, walking over to hang them on the coatrack by the door. As she does, her long, flowy nightgown and satin robe billow behind her.

In no time, Heather and Lacey have the table set with a platter of steaming waffles, scrambled eggs, sausage links, and hot coffee for Heather and Dave, and everyone is seated.

“Do you have milk?” Lacey asks from her seat.

Heather stands and goes to pour two glasses of milk for the kids, admonishing herself as she does for forgetting.I’ll get this right, she thinks, pulling two unbreakable glasses from her cupboard as Dave talks to the kids about the fact that it’s Christmas Eve.It’ll take some time, but I love this man, and I’ll be the best grandma to these kids that I can be.

Heather glances over and sees Dave watching her. He says nothing, but the wink he gives her as Finley tells him about pre-school says everything: he sees her. He knows she’s trying. He appreciates her. And their life together is going to be beautiful.

Sunday

She has to admit: she’s more excited about the potential for snow than for the holiday itself. Not that Christmas isn’t lovely and warm and festive, but the talk of snow is so exciting.

“Like this?” she asks Banks, stringing several kernels of popcorn and then a single cranberry on a piece of thread. She’s never made her own garland like this before, but Banks swears that his mother used to do this with him and his brother every Christmas Eve.

“Perfect,” Banks says, eyeing her creation over the top of the reading glasses he’s just started to wear.

They’re sitting in the living space of his tiny guest house on Ruby’s property, where he still lives, but even though it’s just temporary housing and not the kind of house a person lives in forever, it feels like the coziest place on Earth. Sunday flushes with happiness as she keeps stringing popcorn.

“How are things going at your place?” Banks asks. He’s turned on Christmas music for them to listen to, and because his house has no fireplace, the heat is cranked up high to fend off the cold.

“Not bad,” Sunday says. She’s given her house to Cameron, Olive, their little families, and to Peter for the holiday, insisting that they all use it as home base while she stays with Banks. It’s the best choice she’s made in a while, as she’s within steps of Ruby’s front door, and she’s been forced into close proximity with the man of her dreams. She beams at him happily, watching as his oversized hands fiddle with a needle and a small piece of popcorn.

“Cameron says Peter is already bored of the island,” Sunday adds, “but I think he just needs to relax. He’s never been good at appreciating a moment, or understanding that time is fleeting.” She picks up another piece of popcorn. “Owen won’t be a baby forever, and tomorrow can bring any number of things, so it would be in his best interest to just chill out and enjoy today.”

Banks takes their coffee mugs to the kitchen and refills them. “Nearly impossible for most of us,” he calls to her as he pours a bit more cream in each cup of coffee. “Especially if we get too ‘in our heads’ about stuff.” Banks sets her mug back down on the table and she turns her head up to him, puckering her lips for a kiss. He obliges.

“I’m the queen of getting in my own head,” Sunday admits. She pulls her feet up under her and wiggles her toes around inside the fuzzy socks she’s wearing. “But since moving down here, I’ve really learned to just go with the flow. I mean, what else are you gonna do?”

“That’s fair.” Banks is back to intently working with his popcorn and cranberries, watching his own meaty hands as they slide each kernel down the length of thread. “Speaking of going with the flow, do you think we should talk more about…the future?”

Sunday lifts an eyebrow over the tops of her reading glasses but continues to work on her garland. “As in the adoption process?” They’ve talked about it a few times already, but more in the sense of “This is something wewantto do,” instead of “This is how we’re moving ahead with this.”

“Yeah.” Banks sets his string of popcorn on the coffee table and turns to face her on the couch. “Not to be morose, Sun, but we’re in our fifties. The time is now.”

“The time might have been twenty years ago,” Sunday laughs, but it’s a dry, wistful laugh. “Sorry. Bad joke. I hear you.” She lets her garland fall into her lap as she reaches for her coffee mug with both hands. They sit together in companionable silence for a long moment, listening to “Merry Christmas, Darling” by the Carpenters as the tree in the corner of the room twinkles.

Banks usually doesn’t decorate for the holidays, but a boat showed up at the dock the week before with a load of trees for sale, and before he knew it, Sunday had purchased a small one and dragged it to his guest house with a huge, proud grin on her face. He’s amazed almost every day at the things he never thought to do before Sunday, and he loves the little ways that she’s changed and morphed his life. For instance, he’s never been one for details like putting a beer mug in the freezer, or using a towel straight out of the dryer, but these are the kinds of touches that Sunday does without even thinking—just handing him a warm towel or an extra-cold beer with a smile on her face.

“I don’t want to do it if you aren’t one hundred percent serious about it,” Banks says with emotion in his voice. “It’s too big. Too important.”

Sunday finally turns to look at him, searching deep in his irises before speaking. In his eyes, she can see the years that he’s longed to be someone’s father, and the ways that it will fill him with joy and a sense of completeness. He’d given up entirely on the idea, accepting the fact that his ex-wife had gone on to have children with someone else after years of him being reticent about it, and now he sees that his life isn’t set in stone; the book isn’t closed on fatherhood for him just yet.

Sunday puts one hand to his face, brushing her fingertips against the grain of his unshaven cheek. “I’m one hundred percent serious,” she whispers. “I am. Being a mother has been the great joy of my life, and it’s something I desperately want to share with you.” A thrill runs through her that she hasn’t felt since the first time she’d decided to adopt. “I had no idea it was still in the cards, so it’s taking me a moment to really sit with the idea and see it becoming a reality, but I want this, Banks. I want this, and I want a life with you. I want us to be a real family.”

His eyes fill with tears, something Sunday has never seen. He reaches up and wraps his hand around her fingers gently, pulling her hand to his lips and kissing it. “Thank you,” he says. “This is the best Christmas gift anyone has ever given me.”

He’s genuinely choked up, and Sunday wants him to just sit with the feeling that she knows is blooming inside of him. The excitement, the joy of thinking about a child who you haven’t even met. Someone who is out there, just waiting for you to find them so that you can complete one another’s lives. Now that her girls are grown, Sunday can’t even begin to imagine what her life would be like without them. Someone else may have birthed them, but those girls arehers. And she hopes that whoever adopted the little boy she gave up over thirty years ago as a young, single woman feels exactly the same way.

“As soon as the holidays are over, I’ll start putting out feelers and get things going,” Sunday promises. “I should have enough connections from the National Council for Adoption to ensure that we get on the fast track.” Sunday bites her lip as she watches Banks. “Are you still totally set on a boy?”

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