Page 38 of A Holly Jolly Mix Up
18
Jane
As I sip my steaming coffee on this magical Christmas morning, the aroma of cinnamon and roasted beans mixes with the scent of fresh pine from the towering Christmas tree. I’m nestled comfortably in the oversized cushions of the couch with Angus snuggled next to me, his tiny snores providing a rhythmic soundtrack to this perfect morning.
Andrew is seated across from me on a plush armchair, his long legs stretched out towards the crackling fire. The soft glow from the fireplace illuminates his handsome face.
As I watch Andrew laugh at one of Dad’s corny jokes, I can’t help but marvel at how Andrew has blended effortlessly into our family. His quick wit and easy charm have won over everyone.
“Another cherished Brooks’s tradition,” Mom begins, her voice warm with nostalgia. “Are you ready for it?”
I turn to Andrew and can’t help but smile at his confused expression. “Every year, Mom finds the most hideous Christmas sweaters, and we take a family photo.”
Mom chuckles as she grabs a worn photo album off the bookshelf and brings it over to Andrew. The pages are filled with pictures of us, each year more ridiculous than the last. Yet, in every single one, we’re all laughing, the joy practically leaping off the pages.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Mom says to Andrew with a mischievous glint in her eye. “I’ve found just the sweater for you.”
As she reaches under the tree for the gifts, Andrew shoots me a pleading look. “You didn’t warn me about this,” he protests half-heartedly, but there’s a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Where’s the fun in that?” I counter, grinning.
Andrew laughs and shakes his head. He’s a good sport though.
“Okay, Andrew.” She hands him a brightly wrapped package. “Open it.” She claps her hands excitedly as she sits down next to me on the couch, eagerly anticipating his reaction.
With a wide grin, he pulls out the bright red sweater emblazoned with the words “Suspect: GingerbreadMan. Charge: Evading Capture.” and an image of the gingerbread man in handcuffs.
“Wear it with pride, detective!” I tease.
Mom hands me a package. “Jane, here’s yours.”
I eagerly tear off the wrapping paper to reveal a neon green sweater with a llama wearing a Santa hat, complete with an oversized 3D bow around its neck. It’s adorned with pom-poms and ornaments along the neckline and sleeves, making for an eye-catching but not necessarily attractive garment.
“Fa La La La Llama,” I read aloud, my face scrunching up in dismay.
“Wear it with pride, Jane,” Andrew mocks me, trying to stifle his laughter.
After we all open the sweaters, Dad sets up the camera. “Alright everyone, gather around. The timer’s set for ten seconds. Smile!”
We huddle close together, laughing at each other’s ridiculous sweaters as the camera clicks and captures this Brooks’s tradition.
We all look at the photo on the phone. Dad’s “Fleece Navidad” wool sweater adorned with leaping sheep, Mom’s “Santa Claws” with a holographic cat in a Santa hat, and Nonna’s “Chillin’ with My Snowmies” sweaterfeaturing a group of snowmen with plastic carrots for noses.
As I gaze at the photo, a pang of sadness hits me as I realize how many years I’ve missed out on these cherished moments. But I quickly push those thoughts aside, knowing that I must focus on the present and continue making new memories.
My attention is pulled toward Angus who stands on the edge of a chair, reaching for a candy cane hanging on the tree.
“Angus!” I sternly call his name, but it’s no use.
He growls playfully as he tugs at the candy cane, determined to make it his. Andrew lunges forward to help when suddenly the candy cane gives way and Angus starts to run with his newfound treat. Andrew’s eyes widen in surprise as he finds himself suddenly in harm’s way of our toppling Christmas tree.
“Timber!” Dad calls out as he rushes toward Andrew.
With quick reflexes befitting a detective, Andrew steps back just in time. Between Andrew and Dad, they catch the wobbling tree before it crashes onto him.
Everyone breathes a sigh of relief as they secure it back upright. All except Angus, who is now triumphantly pawing at his candy cane.
“I’m sorry about that.” Andrew gives me an apologetic glance, gesturing towards Angus who seems rather pleased with himself. “He has quite the sweet tooth.”
