Page 24 of Merrily Yours
We clean up and I get her a T-shirt out of my drawer. I like seeing her in my shirt. I don’t ask, I just pull her in to be the little spoon before drifting off into the most restful night of sleep I’ve had in a long time.
Content. This must be what it feels like to be content.
The sun slices through my gauzy curtains, slowly urging me to wake up. I stretch, reaching for the beautiful woman who has occupied my mind for years.
Only, she’s not there.
The sheets are cold and my T-shirt has been folded neatly, laid flat on top of the dresser. There’s a Post-it on my nightstand.
“‘Thanks for a good time. Merry Christmas. Xo, Luci.’ What the fuck?” I crumple it up and throw it across the room.
I should have guessed, but I thought she’d stay. I really thought she’d stay.
I drag myself out of bed, walking across the room to pick up the little piece of her that she left behind. I smooth out the Post-it and put it on top of the shirt I’ll never be able to wear again.
Merry fucking Christmas to me.
“Let’s be naughty and save Santa the trip.” — Gary Allen
Damn.
My wife is hot.
Seeing her pregnant is definitely addicting. I loved it the first time around with Elodie, and I love it even more now that I can watch her blossom in motherhood. She continuously amazes me. Growing a human inside you? I can’t imagine. Growing a human inside you while keeping up with the toddler terror? The woman deserves a medal.
Or an orgasm.
We are going ice skating with the family today, so the orgasm will have to wait. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about taking my wife in her childhood bedroom though.
Focus, Anders. We have a little human that needs to get out the door.
I chase Elodie around with her snowsuit, which I realized was a mistake as soon as she started giggling. She’s decided we are playing a game of keep away from Daddy that has now turned into keep away from any adults. El was an early walker which has turned into a speed demon toddler.
“Elodie Elaine Bardot-Olsson! Get back here or we can’t go ice skating!” I call after her.
“Damn, that’s such a mouthful,” Gabe chimes in, rather unhelpfully.
“Language, Gabriel,” Bex scolds from the couch where she’s struggling to get her snow boots on.
“Damn! Skate-ing!” Elodie screeches from down the hall. Bex shoots daggers at Gabe who is trying desperately not to laugh.
I ignore them both and round the corner into the kitchen where I find Elodie sitting calmly on the counter. Elaine is next to her with a plate of powdered sugar donuts and a glass of chocolate milk. My mother-in-law gives me a look that seems to sayTry me,so I just raise my hands in surrender and approach the scene slowly.
Elodie, now distracted by sugar, lets me put her pudgy little arms and legs into the snowsuit before zipping it up. “Doh-doh, Dada!” Elodie holds a donut up to my face, and I pretend to take a bite.
“Yummy, El! Delicious donut!”
“De-lis-is!” Elodie repeats. Bex waddles in holding tiny snow boots and thick socks. El wiggles her toes and giggles at her mom, her chocolate curls bouncing as she belly laughs.
“Anders! Distract her, please,” Bex requests.
I twist one of Bex’s curls around my finger and pull. “Boing!” I say, causing a full-blown cackle and enthusiastic clap from Elodie.
“More,” she says and signs at the same time, pushing both fists together. “Moreboing!”
I do it again to Bex’s hair and then turn and do the same to Elodie’s hair.
Bex finishes putting on El’s socks and boots and then stands, watching us with her hand on her belly. “I swear if this baby doesn’t have red hair, I’m sending you back.”
