Page 9 of Ten Christmases Without You
“Charlie, right?”
“Yep.”
“What kind of cookies did your mom pack in your lunch?” she asked him, evidently having heard the exchange.
“Oreos,” Charlie replied, spooning some baked beans onto his plate.
Aunt Charlotte perused the veggie tray, pinching a stalk of celery and dredging it through the ranch dip. “Oh, well that explains it.”
“Explains what?” Charlie asked.
“Emmy was wild about Oreos when she was a toddler. Her mother and I used them as rewards for her potty training. She’d tear off her pants for one.”
“Okay! Charlie, can I talk to you in the living room?” Emmy snatched his plate before he could browse anything else, stacked it on hers, grabbed his arm, and dragged him toward the doors.
He grasped two more cups of punch as she pulled him.
“We’ll all be in the living room soon for the gift exchange,” her dad said on their way out.
Fabulous.
Emmy yanked Charlie through the doors.
“We might have had a different high school experience if my mom had continued packing me Oreos for lunch,” Charlie said, laughing, his eyebrows bobbing as they stepped into the safety of the empty living room. “I had no idea the kind of draw they have for you.”
She rolled her eyes.
Emmy unstacked their plates and set them on the coffee table before lowering herself onto the sofa.
He placed the drinks down by their plates and sat beside her.
“I remember you in high school. You threw paper at me in Spanish class in ninth grade.”
He leaned into her space, his delicious scent tickling her nose. “I was just trying to get your attention.”
Just then, the doors to the kitchen opened, and the flock of her relatives fluttered in.
“Christmas present time!” Aunt Charlotte sang, waving her hands in the air.
Aunt Elsie pulled kitchen chairs into the room, one after another, making a large circle around the coffee table, while Emmy’s dad and Aunt Charlotte were already hunched over by the tree, pulling gifts out as the others made their way into the room.
If the spell of their conversation hadn’t been abruptly broken by the family’s entrance, it was certainly halted when Madison plopped down between Emmy and Charlie.
“Okay,” Aunt Elsie called out, quieting the room.
She placed her hand on top of a Mason jar full of little pieces of paper and shook it to mix up the slips, then moved out of Emmy’s father’s way as he loaded red and green wrapped gifts onto the coffee table.
“I’m going to come around the room,” Aunt Elsie said. “Take one slip of paper. The person with number one chooses the first gift. The person after that can steal any opened gift and offer a wrapped present to the gift holder or open a new one from the table. Charlie, Madison brought two gifts to cover you—you’re playing too.”
Charlie addressed Madison, “Thanks.”
“Was that a sarcastic ‘thanks’? It should be. You haven’t seen the typical gifts.” Emmy whispered to Charlie with a giggle.
Aunt Elsie held the jar out to each family member.
When it was Emmy’s turn, she reached in, pinched a slip, and unfolded it: number one.
Figures.
